The golden girl from high school, perfect, intelligent … and, at the time, jailbait. She’d been a fifteen-year-old senior, though her height, speech, and confident demeanor made it impossible to tell. He stayed the hell away, wishing he weren’t two years older, even as he wanted her with a desperation that bordered on pain—pain he could only ease by fantasizing about her after school, day after day, as he jerked himself to blinding release.
He took another bite, his lips puckering as he chewed.
Jannie. Fresh, beautiful, smart as a whip, and way out of his league. It had taken him years to push her out of his mind, but, occasionally, she still appeared in his dreams, dreams so intensely erotic that he woke up covered in sweat—and other things.
He often wondered what had become of her. A few times, he evenstarted to look her up online, but something always stopped him from hitting the return key after typing her name into the search bar. Now, he knew what it was. Finding out that she was living a happy life with some fucking guy would gut him, just as he had felt when he was forced to suddenly leave Fargo.
He had no idea how he’d managed to stay cool when he saw her sitting there. Or how he hid the disillusionment deep in his soul when he summoned the courage to approach, only to see that some lucky bastard had gotten her pregnant. Or conceal his elation when he saw no ring, and she confirmed she was divorced.
Divorced for a year, yet very pregnant.
How could that be? Was she already seeing someone else? But … she had asked him to accompany her to tonight’s event. So, maybe she was unattached.
He shook his head. She was so shocked by his physical transformation. It was surreal and intensely satisfying to see her look at him like that after so many years of working on himself. The Nick Kent she knew had been scrawny and ugly, and aside from talking about school-related topics, she’d never given him a second look.
Today, she gave him more than a glance, and it was a heated one. Maybe it was a response to the signals he couldn’t help sending. Maybe he was fooling himself. It took every bit of his self-control to act hesitant about going to her event, while inside, he felt like he might explode.
Jannie Larssen. Who would have thought that after all these years, he’d see her again in Vegas, of all places?
He finished his apple, tossing the core into a nearby trash can. If he had any chance at all now, he would take it; whatever she brought with her, even children, he’d accept.
Someone knocked on the door.
He went to open it and saw three very familiar faces.
“Ah. It’s you guys.”
“Sorry,” the one in the middle said, his clipped English accent matching his impeccable Norton & Sons suit. “It’s only us. Disappointed, mate?”
“Max Randall, you brilliant bastard.” Nick grinned. “Get in here.”
He stepped aside, and the other three filed in, shaking hands and clapping each other’s backs. They had forged a friendship at Embry-Riddle, four guys from different nationalities and backgrounds with a shared passion for aviation. All were successful now. Although their careers took them to various parts of the world, they got together for a bit of fun as often as they could.
This was one of those times, but now there was more than just fun involved. They were here to finalize a plan and find a location for a new business, which, if it took off—and there was no reason to doubt it—would earn his buddies some serious cash. As for him, it would finally give him a proper place to play and explore his proclivities, with the bonus of funding his dream of buying a plane to convert into an air ambulance, hopefully the first of many.
“So, tell me about this location you scoped for the club.” Colton Reynolds swung open the mini fridge. Bottles clinked as he rummaged through them. “Nothing good in here,” he muttered.
The oldest in the group, Colt owned a growing airline charter in Sydney. Although the oldest, he looked like the youngest, and women went crazy over his resemblance to Chris Hemsworth. The Aussie accent didn’t hurt either.
“There’s always something good.” Jordan Night, the eternal optimist, grinned. “Any sweets in there?”
Sandy-haired and gray-eyed, he was one of those guys who looked ripped no matter what he ate, thanks to good genetics. Nick had once watched him put half a stick of butter on a baked potato, yet the guy’s cholesterol numbers always came back perfect, as he liked to boast.
He also liked to brag about owning aviation’s most trusted MRO, Night Aerospace Systems. Nick didn’t blame him. Everyone knew that when it came to performing maintenance, repair, purchase evaluations, and avionics installations, Night Aerospace outshone them all.
Colt reached inside and held up a bag of M&Ms.
“I’ll take those.” Jordan raised a hand and easily caught the bag Colt tossed him.
“You’re gonna get soft, the way you hoover all those carbs.” Max glared disapprovingly as Jordan emptied half the bag into his mouth.
Max owned a successful flight school that proudly claimed to be the only one emphasizing physical fitness. Upon graduation, his clients not only received flight certificates but also left in top physical condition. He aimed to expand it into a chain. He also wanted to control everyone’s junk food consumption.
Jordan took his time chewing. “What’s your squat PR again?”
Max glowered. “Arsehole.”
Jordan laughed.
