“No problem. Believe it or not, I’malmostused to the attention by now,” she answered cheekily, because she’d found early on that making jokes about herself put people at ease.
“Don’t do that,” Trask scowled.
It was Jett’s turn to be surprised.
“Do what?” she asked with a tilt of her head, slightly amused that this hunk of a man seemed to take exception to her self-teasing.
“Poke fun at yourself like that. You should have just told me I was being an asshole, and moved on.”
A nice thought, but…
Jett begged to differ. “Nope. I’ve learned the hard way that unless I make light of my differences at the first opportunity and get all the questions out of the way, my orb colors tend to hang like a pall over interactions with most new acquaintances. And those acquaintances quickly become non-friends. I find it best to shoot first and disarm the enemy so I might glean new allies.”
Trask snorted, then his broad shoulders went back a bit and he started looking at her more…intensely.
“Ex-military?” he questioned with authority, as if he always got the answers he was looking for.
Jett grinned. Broadly. She’d been raked over the coals and intimidated by the best. The stud in front of her wasn’t going to cause her any anxiety. No way.
She shrugged. “I was,” she acknowledged. “I actually separated from the Air Force about six weeks ago, after twenty years in.”
To give him his due, Trask didn’t blink. “Right. It shows,” he stated with a succinct dip of his chin. “I’m just a few months shy of getting out, as well. From the Marines,” he clarified, then added, “As to your specialty, don’t tell me. Pilot?” he posited, glancing at her Cessna.
Clearly, he was looking to complete a profile he was building of her in his head.
The answer he’d had to his own question was too easy—and only partially correct—so she wouldn’t give him that right away, instead she’d turn the light interrogation back on him.
“Don’t tell me. Intelligence?” Jett countered.
He blinked.
Yes.Jett was enjoying this interaction way too much.
When she’d first caught sight of this man’s stiff posture, his military haircut, and the way he’d oozed confidence, she’d decided he’d be fun to mess with. But when she’d taken a second,and much longer look, her thoughts had gone more in the direction of “messingaroundwith”.
Trask was seriously handsome in the classical sense; strong chin, direct gaze, straight, white teeth, and built like every woman’s wet-dream. Add to that, the fact that she hadn’t had anyone warming her sheets for…crap, nearly three years, and Trask was causing all her body parts to stand up and take notice.
“What makes you say that?” Trask returned, snapping her out of what might have devolved into a serious sex-fantasy.
His too-lush-for-a-guy lips suddenly looked like they’d sucked lemons.
Had she unwittingly riled him up?
“No reason,” she started by placating, but then decided to go with honesty. Her big mouth generally dropped her right into trouble, but this guy looked like a straight shooter, and a little candor from her might make it so she could either write him off as an asshole, or get him to stick around and star in a few of her X-rated fantasies.
She’d give it a whirl. “Actually, you do have some ‘tells’. It’s your eyes. Behind those aviators you seem to be constantly analyzing the situation, our location, and the few people wandering around. You haven’t given anything more than anappearanceof relaxation, and even though you asked, you already know I’m more than a pilot. Am I right?”
He nodded wryly. “You are. And to test my intuition, I’m going to say… reconnaissance/surveillance pilot,” he guessed.
Now Jett laughed. “Oh, you are sooo wrong,” she told him. “I, dear sir, am a disaster waiting to happen, and my superiors would never have put me in charge of anything so logistical.”
Trask looked confused, so she kept explaining.
“I’m a walking, talking land-mine, most times,” she clarified, not bothered by it one bit. Jett knew her own strengths and weaknesses. “Except when I’m actingunder specific orders orworking a pre-planned, intelligence driven job. Then I’m aces. Give me a little leeway, however, to make my own decisions? Give over a smidgen of control? Watch out. I can screw up a free cup of coffee.” She ticked off on her fingers. “I’m disorganized, opinionated even when I’m wrong, and I’ve been called ‘flighty’ more times than I can count. I’m easily distracted, but listen up. Here’s the kicker. If I’mhyperfocused on something, like carrying out a mission or flying, good luck pulling my head out of an assignment and getting me to change course.”
She saw Trask’s lips twitch, and considered that a win. Some people responded positively to her lack of a filter. Others were instantly scared off.
It looked like Trask might be intrigued.
