Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

Scott switched off the test equipment, letting the tool drop from his hand to clatter against the workbench.

“It should work,” he said, sounding more weary than frustrated. “But I just can’t get that variance evened out.”

“Rusty did,” Thad replied.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed irritably. “But he knew what he was doing.” he stared at the recalcitrant power assembly while draining a third of the contents from a bottle of water. He ran a hand through his neatly brushed hair. “Maybe we’re not meant to succeed.”

“What do you mean?” Thad asked with concern.

“Maybe we never really get this to work,” Scott explained. “Maybe it’s all just some sort of . . . bizarre fantasy.”

“Rusty and the others didn’t seem to think so,” Thad suggested. “And remember,” he said. “They managed to build one here—with our help.”

“Again,” Scott retorted tiredly. “They knew what they were doing.” He drained the rest of the bottle and tossed it into the recycling container. “Maybe we aren’t meant to create it.”

“What do you mean?” Thad frowned.

“This wasn’t their past,” Scott explained. “Maybe in this timeline, we never manage to develop one that works. Or someone else does.”

Thad looked squarely at his brother.

“Do you really believe that?”

Scott met his brother’s gaze and then turned away.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.” He released a low sigh. “I’m just tired.”

Thad brightened. “That I know how to fix.”

“Does it involve quantities of alcohol?” Scott asked dubiously.

“Yes,” Thad grinned.

Scott managed a small smile. “I’m in.”

#

Scott popped the data card into the slot on his computer and sat back, sipping slowly from the bottle of soda that he had grabbed from the refrigerator. To his surprise, his brother had not managed to finish them all off without telling him, so Scott determined that he had better grab one while there was still one to grab.

The computer scanned the data card and then announced that it was ready. Scott leaned forward and then was surprised by the shrill chirp of a message coming through on his computer.

Jenna?

She almost always contacted him through his phone. Scott looked at the incoming user ID, but did not recognize it.

Probably some Russian girl willing me to show me a good time online . . . for a price.

Still, it did not look like that kind of ID code. He still did not recognize it, but decided to accept it anyway. He could always block it later if it turned out to be some kind of scam.

A new window opened. An unusual wash of digital static filled it before it cleared and resolved into one of the last faces that Scott ever expected to see again.

“Hi Scott,” Jade smiled at him.

“I wish this could have been a little more interactive,” she said, seemly mildly disappointed. “But your tech just isn’t there yet,” she added with an amused shrug.

Her expression grew more serious.

“If you’re seeing this message,” she went on, “then that means that there’s data on this system that indicates that you’ve completed the first successful test of the prototype drive core. Congratulations,” she grinned.

“I don’t know how long it’s been since I left,” she continued. “And I’m not really sure that it matters, as long as you’re still young enough to be the test pilot for this thing when you and Thad finally get it off the ground. If everything goes as the histories say, you should be.”

Scott stared at the screen. It was enough of a shock to see his future daughter again. He could believe that she was skilled enough to leave him a message that would be triggered as she had indicated, but he had no idea why.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve left you this message,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.

You do take after your uncle in some ways . . .

“To be honest, Dad,” she said, surprising Scott with her use of that name. “I guess I’m meddling a little with history myself. Except that I got permission to try it.”

Scott frowned. From what he understood from both reading and his personal experience with Christine and Jade, timelines were not something you willfully messed with—even if they were not your own.

“As I think you know,” Jade went on. “Most histories record you as ‘lost’ during your test flight, as neither you or your ship were ever found.” Her eyes seemed to meet his. “I intend for you to be ‘found’.”

Scott considered this somberly. He remembered the stories that Christine and Rusty had told him. He had always assumed that “lost” meant “dead”, it was just that no one had know the right place to look in order to find his body, the wreckage of the ship, or both. He had been a little surprised that even in Christine’s time that they had not located it, but the universe was a big place—with lots of empty space where things could stay lost for a very long time.

“Dad,” Jade said. “Here’s what I need you to do . . .”

#

Scott kissed Jenna deeply and then looked into her eyes. She stared back at him. Her dark eyes were bright. He felt as though he should say the words, “I love you,”, but it was not true. His feelings for her ran deep, and there was undeniable ache at leaving her behind. But he knew it was not love—and he would not have his last words to her be a lie.

He hugged her close, burying his face into the hair that flowed around her ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek. It brought her scent to him, along with memories of holding her like this at other times. Breathing a shuddering sigh, he released her, looking one last time into her eyes. He knew that he remember those eyes, remember her—but the one who held his heart, the person to whom he could honestly say, “I love you”, was someone else.

Scott a glance with his brother, but they exchanged no words. Thad raised his fist slightly and Scott smiled, acknowledging the sentiment. He turned and headed for the airlock hatch.

He did not look back again as he slid inside and then sealed it behind him. Both Thad and Jenna watched the door, as if expecting it to open once more time.

“He’s not coming back,” Jenna whispered, choking back tears. “Is he?”

Thad shook his head slowly. He looked as though he had been struck. The sense of loss that he had managed to keep at bay all these months, even knowing that this day would come—was destined—all came bursting forth.

Jenna clung to him and he tried to comfort her, but enough the soft and beautiful girl in his arms was not enough to distract him from the pain.

“Be careful out there, bro,” he whispered, almost too soft to hear, and then he let his own tears come.

Scott slid into the cockpit and maneuvered himself into the pilot’s seat. The actions were almost automatic, as he had rehearsed them countless times before, more even than his brother knew. He pulled on the restraint straps, checked and fastened them, and then began the pre-launch sequence.

A few minutes later, Thad’s voice came over the speakers.

“Ready here, bro,” he said. “Everything’s looking good so far.”

Scott could hear the barest quaver in his brother’s voice. That his report was free of wisecracks spoke volumes.

“How is she?” Scott whispered, hoping that Thad was wearing a headset.

There was a long pause before his brother answered.

“She’s still here,” Thad said. “She wants to stay.”

“Are you okay with that?”

Another pause.

“Yeah.”

Scott’s lips formed a thin line.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Bringing primary engine controls online.”

#

Devereux could not help but watch the clock. They had arrived at the rendezvous location five hours before the deadline—five hours during which there had been nothing to do but wait. Other once for an urgent need to relieve herself, she had not left the bridge since, even ordering someone to bring lunch up from the galley. She did not dare be away, knowing from experience that situations could change suddenly, and she did not want to be more than a few meters away from the command deck when it did.

She only glanced toward Hawkes this time, not bothering to ask the question she had already him and the other an uncounted number of times.

Well, she thought, Hawkes probably had counted them.

He shook his head, evidently equally weary of delivering the same negative report.

Devereux glanced at the main bridge displays and then at the countdown.

What if nothing happened? she asked herself again. How long do we stay?

That contingency had not been included in their orders. Whoever the operative was, she decided, they were damned sure about their information.

Maybe there are contingency orders, she realized, locked away in the additional encrypted data of the communiqué.

Devereux glanced around the bridge. All of her officers were poised at their stations, prepared to take action. Curiosity over what they might encounter had even prompted Hope to leave her lab in the Infirmary. Rusty stood near the auxiliary Engineering control station with an open intercom channel to the main Engineering Deck.

The countdown read ten seconds and Devereux could hear everyone’s breath stop as her crew waited.

. eight . . . seven . . . six . . .

Only the operational sounds of the bridge stations filled the air.

. . . five . . . four . . . three . . .

Devereux could hear her pulse throbbing in her ears.

. . . two . . . one . . . zero.

All eyes went from the countdown display to the main screens.

Nothing.

There were the hushed sounds of slow exhalations.

Devereux turned toward Hawkes.

An alert sounded from a station to her left.

“Captain!” Elizabeth reported. “I’m reading a slipstream event at zero zero one mark zero zero two.”

Devereux’s eyes went to the main bridge displays.

We’re a little out of position, but not bad.

She turned toward Hawkes again. “Anything else?”

Hawkes checked his console displays before answering. “Not yet, Captain,” he reported. “The threshold is forming.”

On the main screen ahead of her, she could see the spectral nimbus of a slipstream transition event.

“Captain,” Elizabeth called out. Her voice was now under more control, but her tone expressed concern. “The slipstream threshold appears to be unstable.”

Alarm grew inside Devereux.

That can’t be good.

“Helm,” she called. “Be ready to move us out fast,” she said. “I don’t care what heading, but away from that threshold event.”

“Aye, Captain.” Pyrafox’s raced over his console’s controls.

“Captain,” Hawkes reported from behind her. “I’m reading a vessel.” He studied the status readouts on his station. “The instability of the threshold is making it difficult to get a clear identification.”

“Not even a guess?”

Devereux was not comforted by the grim expression on her Tactical Officer’s face as he shook his head.

“Yellow Alert.”

“Yes, Captain,” Hawkes acknowledged her.

There was a subtle change in the alert signals throughout the bridge. Increased communications chatter could be heard over the open intercom channels.

“The threshold’s collapsing, Captain” Elizabeth reported.

“Confirmed,” Pyrafox concurred.

“Are we out of range?”

Pyrafox checked his console and then nodded. “We’re holding our position.”

“Captain,” Hawkes said, his voice had regained its customary even cadence. “I believe the vessel is damaged. The power readings from its engines are erratic.” He looked toward Elizabeth. “Can you confirm, Commander?”

It was Rusty who answered, though.

“Whoever it is,” he said. “They need to learn a thing or two about tuning slipstream drive cores.” He nodded toward the main bridge displays. “I haven’t seen one that unbalanced since . . .”

Rusty trailed off, his eyes growing wide as he stared at the screen.

“By the Morris,” he breathed hoarsely. “I know that ship . . .”

Devereux and the others peered at the screens, unable to make out any detail at this distance.

“Magnify it,” Devereux ordered.

For a moment, no one moved and then Hawkes adjusted the controls from his station. The small dark shape increased in size.

The image remained indistinct. It was clearly a ship, but there was only enough detail to discern its general shape, not to make out any specific features or markings. Still, something nagged at the back of Devereux’s mind.

She glanced toward Rusty, who still stood open-mouthed, transfixed by whatever it was he thought he saw on the screen. Turning back to the main displays, recognition continued to elude her. She moved in the direction of the Tactical station, hoping a slightly different perspective might help. It did not, but only served to strength the niggling voice in her mind.

“I think I’m picking up a transmission, Captain,” Hawkes said. “It’s garbled, but part of it seems to repeat, like an identification beacon.”

Devereux walked to stand beside Hawkes and studied the status displays.

“This one here, Captain,” Hawkes said, pointing to a specific stream of what looked like random data.

“Can you isolate it?”

“I’ve got it, Captain,” Elizabeth said.

An odd squawking issued from her station. It sounded again. Devereux thought she make out a word or two from the noise, but shook her head in frustration, unable to convince herself that it was anything more than her mind trying to find a pattern in the chaotic blast of sound.

“Is it alien?”

“If it is,” Hawkes said, “it matches nothing in our translation matrices.”

“I can’t believe that Fleet Command would send us out to pick someone up with no way to talk to them,” Elizabeth protested.

Devereux glanced at her and then back at the screen.

I can, but I don’t think they did.

“Helm,” she said. “Bring us in closer. Maneuvering thrusters only. Lieutenant,” she said to Hawkes without turning, “Maintain alert status.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The image of the object on the screen very slowly began to resolve with more clarity. Its features were still indistinct, but it was now very obviously a small vessel of some kind.

“Captain,” Hawkes said. “Their engines are off. They’re drifting.”

“Confirmed, Captain,” Elizabeth reported. “It’s starting to spin.”

“Can you read any other power sources?”

Hawkes shook his head slightly. “We’re too far away, Captain.”

Devereux watched on the screen as the ship, no longer able to adjust its course or attitude, presented them with a specific profile as it began to tumble in space.

Her eyes went wide with recognition. Past a suddenly choked throat, she whispered.

“Oh my god.”

- To Be Continued -

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

Devereux entered the Admiral Westin’s office. His aide, a young lieutenant of Indian descent, her long dark hair pulled back into a single ponytail, gave her a smile.

“The Admiral is waiting for you, Captain.”

Devereux thanked her and went inside. Something about the woman’s eyes bothered her.

Optical-data implants?

The lieutenant’s dark eyes had carried an odd metallic sheen. She had read about the technology, about the capability to have information displayed onto surgically implanted lens. Devereux could see the advantages, particularly for this kind of work, as well as more covert assignments. However, she could not quite bring herself to allow a surgeon, however reputedly skilled, to start disassembling her eyes only to replace parts of them with cybernetic implants. Arms, legs, organs: sure. Eyes: no.

Westin rose from behind his desk as Devereux entered and offered her his hand.

“Good afternoon, Christine.”

His smile was warm and sincere. He was an older man, definitely on the other side of fifty, but Devereux was not certain how far. He projected a grandfatherly kind of aura rather than the more fiercely masculine that many men his age put forth. Devereux knew, though, that he could be tougher than iron if the situation called for it. Most officers made a point of not pushing him to that point. Rumors had it that several members of the permanent staff of the most remote and arctic outposts were officers who had take it upon themselves the limits of his patience.

Devereux accepted his hand. It was warm and rough from years of actual hands-on service onboard countless vessels and colonies. He waved her toward one of the empty chairs, waiting to seat himself until she had done so.

He picked up a tablet, glanced at it, frowned slightly, and then looked across at Devereux.

“Christine,” he said carefully, sounding to her every bit like a doctor with difficult news to deliver. “I’ve got good news and bad news for you.”

Since Westin was not a physician, she knew that the report was unlikely to have anything to do with her health.

“The good news,” Westin went on when Devereux did not respond immediately, “is that it looks like your ship will be ready ahead of schedule.”

Devereux’s tension level lowered a few notches. Your ship, he had said. So, she still had one.

“And the bad news?”

“The bad news,” Westin replied, wincing slightly. “Chief Gregg has decided to retire from active service with the Fleet.”

Devereux felt her heart sink only slightly. She had half-expected to hear that report at some time. Chief Anson Gregg was one of most seasoned slipstream engineers in the Fleet. He had served aboard some of the largest and most noteworthy cruisers. While he was not technically a combat officer, he had logged more hours under battle conditions than most officers in the entire Fleet.

Devereux had been surprised when he had been assigned to her ship. She had actually only met him less than a handful of times. His demeanor was mildly gruff, but she had been certain that she could work with him. Certainly, his reputation and service record spoke for itself. She suspected that he might have been seeking an easier posting rather than accept retirement. Now, she had to wonder.

Devereux rubbed at her forehead, disturbed to feel the wrinkles there.

“How long do I have to find a replacement?”

Westin checked this tablet. “A little more than two weeks.”

Devereux scanned the display of her own tablet.

“If that’s your crew manifest,” Westin advised her, “They’re all too green. You need someone who’s logged some real hours in slipstream, not just in the classroom and in simulation.”

Devereux looked toward Westin, frowning. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

Westin responded with a grimace. “That’s the rest of the bad news,” he said. “There’s no one willing to accept the post.” He met Devereux’s eyes. “I’d rather not order them to,” he went on. “You know that rarely works out well—for anyone.”

Devereux nodded grimly.

Orders were orders, but that kind of resentment had a bad habit of exhibiting themselves in nasty ways at the worst possible time.

Westin passed her a tablet. “You’re welcome to try to convince any of them otherwise,” he told her. “But I recommend that you have a Plan B.”

Devereux scanned the list of potential candidates. Most of the names she did not recognize. A small number of them she had either worked with or knew colleagues who had. For some of the others, she was relieved that were unwilling to take the assignment. At least two of them she was certain she would have shoved out an airlock before they even left orbit.

One name caught her eye. He was listed as part of Fleet Security, with experience in diplomacy, on a career path to wanting to be an ambassador. The first name was wrong, but it reminded her of someone else.

“I might have someone in mind,” Devereux said.

“Good!” Westin responded cheerily. “Do you need my help?”

If I’m right, you have no idea . . .

“Probably,” she said. “But I’ll let you know.”

She left the office, leaving a very puzzled-looking Admiral Westin behind her.

#

Devereux walked into the tavern, glad that not only had she changed into civilian clothes, but also that she wore a think coat that hid her figure. There was no doubt from her face and hair that she was a woman, but why possibly invite more trouble than that?

She walked toward the bar. The bartender eyed her as she approached. His (its?) gaze was wary, not appreciative.

“I’m looking for Russell Rayna.”

The bartender just stared at her. His expression was unreadable past the scars and tattoos.

“I’m not with the police,” Devereux explained. “I just need to talk to him. Just talk.”

The bartender still did not respond, but his eyes never left Devereux.

Devereux pulled out a palm-sized pad. She saw the bartender tense slightly until he clearly recognized what the item was.

Jumpy bunch here, Devereux mused without a smile, beginning to wonder whether she had come to the right place, whether any of this really had been a good idea.

She held up the device. On it was projected the image of a square-jawed man with closely-cut blond hair. Despite the rugged lines on his face, his blue eyes sparkled with concealed mischief.

“This man,” Devereux said.

The bartender’s eyes shifted to the image and then to Devereux. After a moment, they moved toward a corner of the bar and then away. He returned to his work, obviously feeling that he had done more than his part since Devereux was not showing him any money for effort.

“Thanks,” Devereux murmured and headed in the direction of the bartender’s gaze.

Several of the overhead lights were out, deliberately or not, Devereux did not know. They left the small booth in corner mostly in shadow. She could make out the dark silhouette of what appeared to be a brawny figure. Its face was masked by the shadows; only its forearms, hands, and one leg was distinguishable in pale, reflected yellow light of the tavern.

Devereux counted four empty glasses on the table and wondered how many more might be hidden deeper in the shadows. She was not even certain that this was the man that she was looking for.

“I know you,” a voice said. It was hoarse, as if some disuse. “I don’t remember the name,” it went on, “but I know you.”

A face moved into to light. The shadows cutting across it gave him the look of madness. His eyes studied her, if not too steadily.

“Wasn’t your hair longer?” he asked. “And . . .” he waved awkwardly at the back of his head.

“Probably,” Devereux responded, now having serious doubts about her idea.

I could just turn and leave, she told herself. She frowned. But I can’t. I need to at least try this.

“Thought so.” The face disappeared back into the darkness.

Devereux fought back an audible sigh. She had known that this might be difficult, but this was not quite what she had expected.

“Russell Rayna?” she ventured.

“Sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“Then I’m just a bit ‘Rusty’.”

This was followed by a snort and what might have been a giggle, had it not sounded as though it was being processed through sandpaper.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Aren’t you at least gonna buy me a drink?”

Devereux surveyed the collection of empty glasses.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“Nope,” the voice returned. “I can still see.”

Devereux pondered that one for a moment.

“Right now,” she said finally. “I really just need you to listen.”

“I can do that while I drink.”

“I’m sure you can,” Devereux agreed, urging herself to just get through this. If she failed, she would have at least tried.

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

Thad awoke and shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his deeply tousled hair. Kirsten had taken off earlier in the morning, claiming that she had to be at work before nine. He had let her out and gone back to bed. He was certain that it was later than nine o’clock by now.

He entered the kitchen and sniffed. Something was wrong, but his still-drowsy brain could not quite pin it down. He reached for the coffee pot and then recoiled from it, surprised to find it cold. Removing it, the peered through the glass carafe and tentatively swirled it contents. They were dark and thick, the remnants of the brew from the previous day.

Scott forget to make coffee? Thad frowned. Is he still asleep?

Thad thought he had seen his brother’s door open as he had moved down the hallway, but that could have been a different memory, so he took a few steps back and checked.

No, Scott’s door was mostly ajar. Thad pulled out his phone and checked its display.

Definitely after nine, he decided.

He surveyed the visible part of the house.

Did he go out for breakfast? Thad wondered. By himself?

It was not unheard of, but extremely rare unless his brother also had an early appointment somewhere and expected to have to wait. It was even a kind of ritual with him for early flights out of the local airport. But, as far as Thad knew, his brother was not going anywhere, nor had he mentioned having any meetings that morning.

Thad placed the carafe on the counter and studied the kitchen.

There were no signs that Scott had prepared anything for breakfast. He peered down the hallway again at Scott’s half-open door and headed back toward the hallway. Taking a quick peek inside it, Thad saw that it was dark. His frown deepening, he pushed the door open further.

“Bro?” he whispered. Seeing that the bed was made and empty, he added, a little louder, “Scott?”

Did he not come home last night? Thad considered that for a moment. Did he just crash at the lab?

Thad reached for his phone, but discovered that he had not placed it back in his pocket. He looked around the room. There was a book by his bedside. Nothing surprising in that, Thad decided. That it was clearly science fiction made it even less worrisome.

It sure looks like he planned to be back.

His computer was there, but his tablet was missing. That was not surprising, as Scott rarely went anywhere without it. He certainly would have taken it with him to the lab at the warehouse, even though there was computer equipment there as well. Everything looked exactly as it should.

A girl? Did he finally give in to Marcela?

Thad dismissed that one immediately. Marcela might be a hot little number, and undoubtedly willing to split her panties (assuming she wore any, Thad mused) for Scott at a moment’s notice, but Thad just could not see his brother caving in like that. Scott was always looked for relationships, not just some casual bouncing sessions on the mattress . . . or floor . . . or table.

Thad grew increasingly concerned. It was unlike Scott to get take off, or stay out, without at least sending him a message.

Had there been one on his phone? Thad could not remember.

Scott had been acting almost normal again—now this. Had it only been that: an act?

Thad considered that thought for a moment and then dismissed it. It did not feel right. There was some other answer to explain this. He returned to the kitchen and retrieved his phone from the counter. Checking it, he saw that there were several messages.

Among them was a very recent one from Kirsten, letting him know that she might have left her underpants behind. Thad smiled at that one—she had not been wearing any when she had arrived. He glanced through the other messages, although most were less provocative than that one, but found nothing from Scott.

Truly puzzled now, Thad moving to the front of the house and peeked quickly out the window.

The car’s gone. Wherever he is, he’s got the car.

That really explained nothing, Thad realized, other than that it increased the range how far his brother might have gone.

Had there been some kind of meeting that morning? Something to do with selling the patents?

Thad did not think so.

Damn, I need coffee, Thad thought. And he didn’t make any.

#

Thad was lounging across the couch, watching television, when he heard the front door open. He looked up to see his brother enter. Scott regarded him with an even expression, giving Thad little more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“Bro.”

Scott paused, looking at his brother.

“Yeah?”

Thad studied Scott quickly. He looked okay, maybe a little tired, but not like he had been out driving around all night. His hair was brushed; it even looked as if he might have showered. He seemed almost relaxed, but it was something more.

“Where’ve you been?”

Before Scott could answer, Thad noticed something: his brother had not shaved. Wherever he had been, it had definitely not been a business meeting or anything else that formal.

Maybe it was a girl!

“Who is she?” Thad grinned, perching eagerly on the stool.

“We had breakfast,” Scott said, clearly not wanting to discuss it.

“Was she the main course?”

Scott looked at his brother. His expression was barely readable, but the disdain in his tone was less than sincere.

“You’re a pig.”

“So you admit that you were with a girl?”

Scott gave an audible sigh. “Yes.”

“Where’d you meet her?

“Her car broke down,” Scott explained, making it sound almost mundane. “I gave her a ride home.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Thad’s grin widened.

Scott shook his head slightly and headed for the refrigerator.

“Are you seeing her again?”

“I don’t know.” Scott’s voice was muffled as his face was blocked by the refrigerator door.

He reappeared a moment later, holding a clear container that contained only a thin layer of orange juice across its bottom.

Thad shrugged, still grinning, in response to Scott’s silent question.

Scott shook his head again and drained the dregs from the bottle before tossing it into the recycling container.

“I’m heading back to the lab again,” he said. “You going to join me?”

“Is she going to be there?”

Scott’s answer was a curt, “No.”

“Spoilsport,” Thad replied, sliding off the stool. “When do I get to meet her?”

“Why don’t we see if I get to meet her again, okay?”

“That’s not very promising,” Thad said. “Did you get her number?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it’s really hers?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at his brother.

“Hey,” Thad raised his hands in mock protest. “You know that old dodge. For all you know, it could be the number for Stalkers Anonymous.”

“She gave me her phone.”

“What else did she give you?”

Thad grinned. He was enjoying this game. It had been a long time since he had felt like he could tease his brother like this.

“Thad,” Scott said. “Drop it.”

Thad studied his brother’s expression. He did not seem angry and tense, which he took as a good sign. Still, he decided to end his parade of questions. For now.

#

Scott was kneeling on the floor, tightened the fittings, while Thad stood, holding them in place from above. He finished the last one and then pulled the tool free. Thad straightened and started to wander away.

“Hey,” Scott called to his brother. “Where are you going?”

“Bro,” Thad said. His tone carried a mild pleading. “I need to take a leak. We’ve been at this for two hours.”

Scott bought back a chagrined smirk. “Sure.”

“I’m glad I have your permission.” He rolled his eyes and closed the bathroom door.

Scott gave a short laughed and then studied the closed door for a moment. He then reached into pocket and pulled out his phone. To his disappointment, he found no new messages.

Well, he thought. I did ask if I could call her, he reasoned. I didn’t ask her to call me.

He eyed the bathroom door again, knowing that he might only have few minutes before Thad returned. There was not enough time for an actual call, but he might be able to send her a quick message. But what?

Scott stared down at the small screen. He had already told her “Thank you”. To do it again seemed too needy, or something. He wanted to say “I miss you”, which was true, but seemed a little too forward at this stage.

Knowing that he was running out of time, he settled on, “Hope you’re having a good day. Would like to see you again soon.”

He tapped Send just as Thad opened the door and he dropped the phone into his pocket. A few moments later, he felt it buzz against his leg. Now he itched to know whether the message had failed or if that had been her reply. He looked up to find Thad looking at him quizzically.

“Do you two want to be alone?”

Scott’s cheeks began to grow warm.

“You and your phone, I mean,” Thad flashed him a wicked smile. “I know it’s sometimes all the action you get.”

“You’re just jealous because my ‘smart’ phone has a higher IQ than a lot of the girls you date.”

Thad smiled broadly and rested a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “They’re smart enough to know to go out with me, aren’t they?”

“As I said,” Scott replied evenly, trying to not to smile. Rising, he headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Thad just nodded in response and went back to looking over their equipment.

Scott closed the door and removed his phone from his pocket. He hesitated for moment, not certain that he wanted to read what it might say. Bracing himself, he looked down at it’s display.

Hey, lover-boy. Miss me?

Scott smiled.

Yeah. Been thinking about you.

There was a brief pause and Scott wondered whether she would respond again so soon.

I hope so. Naughty thoughts?

Would it be bad if some were?

No! Will send you something to think about at break. ttyl

Scott sighed happily, trying to imagine what she might mean. He flushed the toilet, feeling a little foolish about do so, but it might keep his brother from starting with questions again. Scott slipped the phone back into his pocket and opened the door. Thad glanced up at him for only a moment and then went back to work.

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

Scott headed back out toward the main street, trying to think of where he might find Jenna high-quality pancakes. They were not a particular favorite of his—it was more of an occasional carving for him than something would consume whenever possible—so his knowledge of places where they were praised, outside of the major restaurant chains, was minimal. He realized that he could ask Jenna, for she probably had some suggestions, but he felt that he really should make this decision.

He fought back a yawn and glanced at the clock—and then looked again in surpise.

It’s not even eight. It feels more like ten.

That explained the light traffic, he realized.

Jenna must have seen his expression.

“Are you okay?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Just earlier than I thought it was.”

Jenna smiled and snuggled back into the seat, her arms wrapped across her chest. Scott watched her for only a moment, but decided that she looked like someone he would like to snuggle up with.

He studied the signs as they passed each of the parking lots, seeking a likely candidate for their breakfast. Pancakes would be okay, he decided, but his body was craving protein, something to truly refuel with after all of the previous night’s activity. He then suddenly remembered a small, family-owned diner a few blocks further up. It was owned by a German immigrant family and, if Scott remembered correctly, Mama Günther made the most astonishing apple pancakes. He did not know whether Jenna was a purist in her regard for the breakfast food, but it would be worth taking the chance.

Turning into the parking lot, he found an empty parking space directly in front of the restaurant. Scott took that as a promising sign. When he spied Mama Günther working the front counter and ushering customers to their tables, he was convinced that it was a good omen.

He opened the door for Jenna, who stepped out with an inquisitive smile. That pleased Scott, for he read it as an indication that she had not been here before. Smiling quietly to himself, he walked Jenna to the front door of the restaurant and held it open for her.

Scott entered behind her and waited while Mama Günther finished seating a trio of customers. Her eyes widened and she grinned as she approached Scott and Jenna.

“Scott!” she said, embracing him with a hug that he was certain could have cracked ribs had she not had ample padding. “It’s been very long.” She stepped looked him over. “And you’ve gotten skinny again.”

She clucked with disapproval and then turned her attention to Jenna. After a brief appraisal, she apparently granted Jenna her tentative approval.

“And this is your new girlfriend?” she said. “You bring her here to meet Mama?”

Scott’s cheeks burned. He had not quite been prepared for this. Glancing over at Jenna, he saw that she was looking to him for some cue as to how to respond. Unfortunately, Scott found himself at a loss as well.

“Not yet” sounded a bit too forward and optimistic. “She’s just a friend” felt wrong, as they had crossed that line last night.

What was their relationship? Hell, did they even have a relationship?

“This is Jenna,” Scott finally said, taking Jenna’s arm protectively.

That seemed to suit everyone for the moment.

How does Thad manage this? Scott wondered with amazement. Or does everyone just understand that he always just has a flavor of the month, night, week . . . whatever?

Mama Günther ushered them to a small booth in one of the corners of the dining room where they was a little more privacy. As they walked through, Scott noticed that the place was at least three-quarters filled with customers. That reassured him that business seemed to be going well for the Günthers.

As they were seated, Mama Günther handed them each a menu.

“Coffee?” she asked them both.

“Please,” Scott answered.

“Please,” Jenna almost pleaded.

Scott smiled and tried not to laugh.

The coffee arrived a few minutes later while Scott and Jenna were still poring over their menus. Scott had pretty much decided on the sausage omelet; he was sure that Jenna was still debating over the pancake choices.

“Almost ready?” Mama Günther asked.

Scott exchanged a glance with Jenna.

“A few more minutes, please?”

Mama Günther smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Sure, no problem.” She turned and wandered away to check on other of her customers.

‘The apple pancakes are good,” Scott offered.

Jenna nodded, her eyes still scanning the menu. “There’s too many,” she said. A smile curled the edges of her lips. “You might have to bring me back again.”

Scott felt a small knot in his stomach. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” he replied with more sincerity, he hoped, than he truly felt.

What was the next step here?

This was new territory for him here. Never before had he spent the entire night with a woman without first having had some kind of relationship with her: a dinner date or two, a concert . . . something.

Jenna placed the menu aside and reached for her coffee. Before Scott could say anything, she sipped at it and immediately nearly choked.

Scott tried very, very hard not laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, biting down on a smile. “I forgot to warn you about that.”

Jenna wiped at her mouth while staring at Scott.

“Mama Günther thinks,” Scott explained, adopting a truly awful German accent, “real coffee should put hair on the chest.”

“I don’t want any on mine,” Jenna retorted.

Scott passed her the container of sugar and her expression softened.

And you don’t need any . . .

His thoughts flashed to what was hidden beneath the bulky sweatshirt and Scott shoved them away quickly.

Jenna added a copious amount of sugar and some creamer and then seemed satisfied with the quality of her coffee. She sighed contentedly and then looked across at Scott.

Here it comes, he thought. Here’s where we find out what happens next.

“So what are you studying?”

Besides you, you mean?

“Studied,” he corrected her with a small smile, watching for her reaction. “I had a double major in English Literature and Engineering Physics.”

Jenna’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s an . . . interesting combination”

“It was kind of an accident,” Scott chuckled softly.

He was saved from further explanation by the arrival of their breakfast. Jenna’s consisted of three very large pancakes coated with a wide pat of a butter and small pitcher of warmed maple syrup. Scott’s omelet filled the entire plate.

They ate in relative silence for several minutes. Jenna attacked her plate with enthusiasm, expressing her approval after the first bite, and then began to quickly devour the rest. She was not voracious about it, Scott observed, just hungry. Considering the implied contents of her kitchen pantry, he wondered how often she got to eat like this. Certainly, the smooth curves of her body indicated that she was not chronically undernourished, nor did she seem to overindulge in food either.

Maybe she gets free meals at the restaurant . . .

They both slowed down after a while. Scott figured that he probably would not eat all of his omelet; he would take the remainder home at Mama Günther’s insistence, or offer it to Jenna to take with her. Something told him, though, that Jenna was determined to finish off her entire stack of pancakes; she was merely taking a short break before returning to the task. She toyed with a neatly-cut bite on her plate and looked over at him. There was something in her expression that immediately troubled Scott.

Uh oh, he thought. Here it comes.

“So,” she asked began, trying to sound casual, “who’s Christina?”

Scott frowned and then recognition struck him luck a blow to the stomach.

Oh my god. I didn’t . . . Did I?

“Christine,” he whispered hoarsely.

He thought he should reach for Jenna’s hands, but was afraid that she might pull back and refuse.

“Look, Jenna,” he said, trying to meet her eyes. His voice carried every layer of apology that he could find. “I’m sorry.”

She appeared surprised by his sudden earnestness. Realization then seemed to dawn and she smiled, reaching out for his hands.

“No,” she told him, laughing softly. “You didn’t call me that.” Her eyes began to twinkle again. “But you do talk in your sleep.”

Her expression grew slightly more serious.

“It sounded like you were apologizing to her?”

Scott felt his cheeks burn and he looked away. Jenna’s hold on his hands tightened slightly.

“She . . .” Scott began. He hesitated, trying to find the words that might explain, the ones that might not hurt so much. “She . . . was someone I once knew.” An ache thrust its way through his heart. “She’s . . . gone now.”

Jenna’s dark eyes conveyed only sympathy.

Further away than you can imagine.

Jenna squeezed his hands and something in her eyes told Scott that she understood, at least to some degree, what he meant.

“I’m so sorry.”

Scott forced a smile and shrugged. “It was a while ago.”

Jenna nodded and rubbed at his hands.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” she said. There was genuine regret in her voice. “Really.”

Scott sniffed, pushing back his struggling emotions. “It’s okay,” he told her. He managed a more sincere smile. “I guess I need to learn not to talk in my sleep.”

“I don’t know,” Jenna offered impishly, desperately trying to lighten the mood. “I’m okay with it if it’s my name.”

She slid another bite of pancake into her mouth and swallowed it.

Scott found himself unwilling to let it go just yet.

“About that . . .”

Jenna’s eyes were focused solely on him now. Her hands slid away from his and her expression read as if she was preparing to receive some bad news. Scott swallowed and continued.

“I, um,” he started again, “don’t usually do . . . one-night stands.”

The last few words came out in a rush. He had searched for a more subtle way of phrasing it, but had failed utterly.

Jenna smile was almost a grin.

“I know,” she told, reaching for his hands again.

Scott’s eyes widened with surprise. “You did?”

Jenna nodded almost happily. “I did.”

Scott watched as she raised his hands to her lips and kissed them softly.

“Do you want to know how I knew?” she asked. “Or would that embarrass you entirely?”

Scott’s cheeks were already hot.

“I think it’s too late for that.”

Jenna smiled, showing her perfect teeth.

“I knew it this morning,” she said, “after you woke up.”

Scott was puzzled and he was certain that his expression showed it.

“You were terrific the night before,” she went on. “But that was just sex.” she added quickly, her eyes revealing that she was thinking back over the memories. Her smile widened. “Really terrific sex.”

Her expression changed as she caressed his hands.

“But this morning,” she continued, remembering that part too. “I don’t know . . .” She frowned, as if trying to decide how much to say. “Some guys,” she went on, looking down, “see it as one last chance before they leave, to go back off to work . . . or whatever.”

“You didn’t. It was different.” Her eyes went back to Scott’s. “It was like you didn’t want to leave me.”

“I didn’t.”

I still don’t.

She sighed. There was something in it that sounded almost contented. “And you even bought me a real breakfast.” She smiled at him and then attacked another slice of pancake.

Scott sipped at the rest of his coffee. He watched Jenna as she valiantly consumed the rest of her breakfast.

He had not thought of Christine at all that evening. That she would come to his dreams troubled him deeply. It was not as though he was being unfaithful to her, even if some scarred part of his psyche might believe so. Whatever his heart might tell him, they were separated by a span of more than two centuries worth of time and probably nearly that many light-years in space. Jenna was here and now.

Jenna’s voice managed to finally penetrate his reverie.

“Hello?” she said. Her expression was both quizzical and amused. “Were you plotting ways to stick me with the check?”

Scott laughed quietly. “No,” he said, reaching for his wallet as a sign of good faith. “I was just . . . thinking.”

Jenna expression grew serious. “Of her?”

Scott met her eyes squarely. “You, actually.”

A wave of doubt passed over her expression before she believed his sincerity.

“I really do need to get home at some point,” he said. “Would it be okay if I called you?”

Her smile could have brightened a good-sized room. “I’d really like that.”

She reached into a pocket and handed him her phone so that he could record the number. Scott noticed that the image of the two young boys were still there. He decided not to ask; there was had been enough honesty for one morning. After entering her number into his own phone, he passed Jenna’s back to her.

Scott paid the check, gathered the container that held the remainder of his omelet, and escorted Jenna back out to the car under Mama Günther’s approving gaze.

Inside the car, Scott turned to Jenna and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. She turned to look at him, surprised at his touch.

“Thank you,” he told her softly. “Thank you for last night.”

Jenna seemed lost for words, so Scott reacted with a clear message of his own. Leaning toward her, he kissed her warmly. After a moment, she responded in kind.

They parted a few moments later and Scott felt a warm tingle throughout his body. Jenna’s eyes were on him, but appeared just slightly dreamy.

“Scott,” she whispered. “You really do know how to show a girl a good time.”

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

There was something about her eyes, Scott decided. They were dark, yet not black, captivating in some way that he could not find the right words to describe. Not seductive, not piercing, not . . .

His thoughts evaporated as her hands pushed him backward. It seemed to him that he fell slowly, but the end result was the same: he lay on the bed looking up at her. Her eyes remained fixed on his. She reached down and pulled the sports bra up and then tugged it free over her head. It was dropped to the floor somewhere behind her.

Scott saw that her breasts were the same almond-brown tone as the rest of her. Her nipples were just slightly darker. They were not erect, but Scott could tell that she was aroused. He thought that he really should move his eyes back toward her face, and finally did.

Jenna was smiling, clearly pleased by the silent praise that his eyes had conveyed. She bent down to kiss him. Her lips hovered just short of his. Scott could feel them brush against his own as she whispered.

“Do you want to?”

Scott felt one of her hands caress the front of his jeans again. Whatever he might have wanted to say, his body betrayed him. The touch of her fingers did little to ease the situation.

Looking into her eyes again, Scott found only desire and longing.

Oh god . . .

He did want to. For what seemed like an eternal moment, he struggled with himself, seeking for reasons not to. Not one of them seemed to take hold, so he responded in the only way he thought he should and kissed her.

It was not a long kiss, but one sufficient to seal the promise of what they were about to do.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, watching his eyes.

Scott nodded slowly, with only the barest hesitation. He reached up to caress her cheek with his fingers, tracing the curves of her ear with his fingertip, trickling the few loose strands of hair that hung there. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as he gently explored the soft contours of her face.

He gently pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, but not roughly. Scott felt her hands slid under his shirt, tugging it upward as they moved up along his chest. Her fingers were cool, making his skin tingle. Then she was pressed against him, her bare skin against his, and her mouth betrayed her building desire.

Scott had no clear memories of the time that passed next. There was only a vague, and most probably inaccurate, recall of their sequence. His jacket and shirt were gone, and then she was completely naked. She removed his shoes, socks, and then slid down his pants, even smiling at the state of his arousal, if he remembered correctly. Then she was upon him again, kissing him deeply, her tongue intertwined with his.

Scott held her lightly, slowly running his hands up along her back, caressing the softness of her skin. When his hands reached her shoulders, he pulled her close, answering her kiss with one of his own. Scott thought he heard her moan softly, but might also have been him.

They parted, their eyes locked. She moved above him and then he was within her. Her eyes closed. Scott took a long, shuddering breath.

Jenna’s eyes opened and she began to rock slowly. Each movement was slow and deliberate. This was not something that Scott did often and he now wondered why not. He looked up at her. She glanced down at him and smiled and then looked away, her focus turned inward at the sensations of him inside her.

Scott watched sinuous motions of her neck and head as she moved above him. He usually preferred women who wore their hair long and loose, but the way her ponytail swayed with her motions just seemed so right for the moment.

Her palms rested against his chest, kneading it slowly as she rocked. Scott could hear her breathing coming faster now. He did not mark the rate his own, as all of his awareness was centered on the feelings of her body wrapped around his.

Above him, her mouth was open as she breathed. Her movements had not increased much in speed, but were becoming more deliberate. Scott was certain that more than one quiet moan had escaped him, sounding in cadence with hers.

Jenna’s eyes widened with surprise, as if astonished by her sudden climax. Scott felt her tighten around him and then he too lost all control. The moan that issued from him seemed to come from somewhere deep and distant, but there was no doubt that it had been from him.

Some unmeasured time later, Jenna’s eyes opened and she looked down at Scott. She leaned forward, resting on his chest for support. She managed to find his eyes. There were still unfocused and her breathing still came as shallow gasps.

“Wow,” she breathed. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She managed two more breaths before repeating it. “Wow.”

Scott pulled her to him, unable to speak . . . unwilling to speak. Softly, he caressed her back and the strands of her hair that lay against it. He felt her breath against his neck and the throbbing of her heart. They lay there for a several moments, lost in the mutual afterglow.

Jenna raised her head and kissed him lightly and then smiled. Scott smiled in return, clinging to the last of the fading glow.

“Has it been a while?” she whispered.

Scott tried hard not to blush, but had no idea how much success he had. He nodded twice, slowly.

Jenna smiled at him with reassurance.

“I thought so,” she whispered again. “I think I’m leaking.”

Before Scott’s cheeks could begin to burn with embarrassment, she kissed him, telling him without words that she was more than pleased. As Scott released himself to her kiss, he realized that she had not pulled away.

Scott awoke some time later. The room was too dark and the bed felt wrong beneath him. Memories of the past few hours returned and he closed his eyes again, feeling guilty that he had dozed off.

Bad form, Scott.

Beside him, Jenna breathed softly in sleep. She has nestled against his shoulder with one of her arms resting across his stomach. Scott looked down and saw that her hair now all lie free, the ponytail apparently abandoned. Very softly, he kissed the top of her head and then gently stroked her outer thigh where it rested over his leg. She murmured contentedly, but did not wake.

Scott wondered what time it was, but did not want to move for fear of awakening her fully.

Was Thad be worried about where I am? Or is he already so involved in his own thing that it might be morning before he realizes that I didn’t come home last night?

He could just go home right now, Scott decided, and avoid all that. But I don’t want to.

Another thought nagged almost silently at the back his mind. It was as though there was something else he had forgotten. Weariness overcame him again, and unable to resolve it, Scott closed his eyes and returned to sleep.

The next time he awoke, there were faint hints of daylight coming through the dark curtains. Jenna was propped up on a pillow next to him, reading something on her notebook. She smiled on seeing that he was awake.

“Good morning, lover,” she whispered.

Her eyes held the glowing shine of a deeply satisfied woman. Scott felt as though he had grown two feet taller.

If she’s just using me, I’m so going to hate it.

A silent voice told him that she was not. He wanted to believe it. For the moment, he decided, he would.

“Good morning,” he murmured, managing a weak smile of his own.

He wondered if he looked as rumpled as he felt. Jenna, on the other hand, looked gorgeous and utterly desirable.

She took a sip from a bottle of water and then offered it to him. Scott hesitated for a moment before accepting it. After all of the bodily fluids they had exchanged during the previous night, a little saliva on a water bottle was the least of his worries. He drained nearly half of its contents before guiltily realizing that he had done so. Sheepishly, he held up the bottle.

She laughed. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “It’s not the last one in the world.”

Propped on one elbow, he studied her for a moment. She looked different in the daylight—no less attractive, just different. Her hair still hung loose. It cascaded over both of her shoulders, falling forward to barely cover her breasts, leaving her nipples fully exposed.

Scott found that he was once again staring. He started to look away when he saw that Jenna had already noticed. Her eyes told him that she appreciated his silent admiration of her body.

Closing the notebook, she slid it carefully onto the floor. She turned to Scott and, still meeting his eyes, smiled just a little coyly.

“Didn’t you see enough of it last night?”

“I couldn’t,” he said softly. “It was dark.”

That was not entirely true. There had been just enough light to see by, but having to rely more heavily on touch had certainly not been a problem.

“Oh?” She let the blanket fall away, exposing her entire naked form. “And what do you think now?”

“I think,” Scott said. “That I might need to study it all over again.”

Jenna grinned and reached for him, but it was Scott who took charge this time. He shifted position as she came to him so that she slid onto her back next to him. Staring down at her, he saw her smile and he kissed her. His lips moved to nuzzle the hollow of her throat and she moaned softly, her hands coming up to tangle her fingers into his hair.

They made love again. Scott was caring and gentle, in no hurry for it to end for either of them. Beneath him, Jenna uttered soft moans as small waves of pleasure crested within her. Scott moved slowly on top of her, within her. The tightening grip of her fingers into his back, and the quickening of her breath, told him she was moving close to orgasm. Abruptly, her body shuddered and her breath caught. It seemed to go on and on for her, and then Scott climaxed as well.

They clung together, not moving, neither of them wanting to break the moment. Against his chest, Jenna made soft whimpering noises as her orgasm faded. Her fingers released their grip on Scott, but did not let go. Scott lowered his head, still trying to find breath, resting it against her forehead. Jenna’s hands traced the edges of his body. She tilted her head to meet his eyes. She did not smile, but just looked so . . . content.

After a moment, she leaned up and kissed him.

“You know what?” she whispered.

“What?” Scott smiled, but was worried about what she might say. Please don’t, he pleaded silently. It’s too soon.

“I’m really glad my car didn’t start last night.”

She smiled. So did Scott, relief filling him, hoping it did not show. A moment later, his empty stomach voiced a protest, shattering what was left of the mood.

“Breakfast?” he asked, not really sure at first what he meant by it. “Want me to make you something?”

It was Jenna’s turn to look sheepish.

“Um,” she hesitated. “Maybe you can take me out?” she asked tentatively. “There might be some instant oatmeal here,” she went on. “But I don’t know what else.”

Scott smiled and stroked a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sure,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

Jenna brightened. “Do you know a good place for pancakes?”

Scott laughed. “I’m sure we can find one.”

For a moment, Scott thought that she looked almost like a little girl promised a trip to the toy store. Her expression then grew more serious, almost fearful.

“Do you want to go home first?” she asked. “To change?” Before Scott could answer, she quickly added, “You can use the shower here if you want.”

Scott studied her, wondering over the sudden change in tone. The thought of heading home first had crossed his mind. Given another choice, though, he was not ready to introduce Jenna to his brother and then leave them alone while he cleaned up.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s fine.”

Jenna’s smile returned immediately. Scott reached over and caressed her cheek again. This was something about the softness of her skin. He kissed her again, softly. Jenna gave a little sigh as they parted. Scott opened his mouth . . .

. . . and his stomach gurgled, loudly. They both broke into laughter.

“Okay,” he said, looking down sternly at his naked belly. “I can take a hint.”

Jenna’s fingers lingered on his arm as he rose from the bed. Scott understood the feeling, but his body’s other physical needs were now also making their demands known.

“There’s towels you can use under the sink,” she called after him. “Mine are the green ones.”

Scott nodded, although it took him a moment to process that statement. He then understood that she and her housemates must have separate supplies of some items. He could understand that. Scott was not certain that he would be willing to trust a towel that someone else had washed—and that was why he did most of the laundry . . . and the dishes.

Once inside the bathroom, he located the towels she had indicated, although to term them as “green” was a generous description at best. They might have been a desirable shade of green when purchased new, but their hue now more closely resembled that of the surface of an ancient pond. Scott checked and they smelled clean enough, and it was not as though he had a lot of options.

He showered quickly, as much in response to the prodding from his stomach as to not wanting to leave Jenna alone any longer than he had to. As he toweled himself dry, he found himself surprised that she had not appeared with the pretense that he might need someone to wash his back.

When he returned to Jenna’s room, he found her at her desk working at her computer, already dressed in a pair of jeans and dark-colored hooded sweatshirt. There appeared to be a college name printed across its front, but she was turned away just enough that Scott could not make out its letters. She turned when she saw him enter and smiled.

Rising from the chair, she kissed him quickly and grabbed her backpack and slid the computer into it.

“I’ll grab one later before work,” she explained. “If you can stand me smelling like you for the rest of the day.” Her eyes sparkled as she said it and headed for the door.

Jenna locked the door behind them and they walked down the hallway together. If anyone else had come in during the night, there were no immediate signs of it. Jenna said nothing, so Scott did not comment. It really was none of his business.

As they stepped out the front door, which Jenna also locked, Scott was relieved to see that his car appeared to have been untouched during the night. He could not remember actually locking it the night before, as he had intended to do nothing more than escort Jenna to the front door, see her safely inside, and then head home.

When they approached it, Scott saw that it was, probably due to his automatic habits. One advantage to this was that it allowed him to hold the door for Jenna. She smiled graciously and slid into the passenger seat. Scott closed the door firmly, but carefully, and headed around the car. As he walked, he inspected the exterior and tires, but spied no indications that it had been tampered with. Relieved further, he climbed inside and closed the door.

“Pancakes, huh?”

Jenna nodded at him, smiling with almost child-like enthusiasm. “Please?”

Scott smiled back. “You’ve been a good girl,” he said with mock seriousness. “You’ve earned it.”

“Only ‘good’?” Her lips formed an exaggerated pout.

Scott met her eyes squarely. “Would you settle for ‘astonishing’?”

Jenna studied Scott for a long moment before recognizing that he was being entirely sincere.

She then glowed with the praise and Scott started the car.

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

He waited until he was standing next to her to unlock the car. He reached past Jenna and opened the door for her. A small smile danced across her lips as she climbed inside. Scott swallowed, feeling her physical presence uncomfortably close as she slid past him into the car. After making absolutely certain that she was safely inside, he closed the door. The last thing he needed was to gift her with a bruise that matched the one on that had finally managed to mostly fade on his left leg.

As Scott dropped into the driver’s seat and closed his door, he saw that Jenna had pulled off her coat. It was not particularly warm inside the car, but warmer than it was outside.

Probably trying to get away from the wet, sticky soda, Scott guessed.

He turned away and slid the key into the ignition slot. Before continuing, he paused, catching some additional movement in the edge of his vision. He turned to look and froze, completely unprepared for what he witnessed next.

Jenna was peeling her uniform shirt up over her head. Scott thought that he should probably look away, but breathed a little easier when he saw that she was not completely naked underneath it, nor was she wearing only a scanty bra beneath.

I really should stop looking, he thought, but the suggestion did not take hold.

Jenna rolled up the shirt and placed it on her lap. She looked up at Scott. Her smile was not exactly demure, but neither did it carry any hint of embarrassment.

“You’ve never seen a girl in a sports bra before?”

Scott nodded, still unable to take his eyes away. The smooth fabric conformed wonderfully to the curves of her breasts.

“Why?” he managed to get out in a hoarse whisper.

“Because you wouldn’t have told me to,” she told him. Her eyes watched his. “And I was getting cold.”

Scott nodded very slightly in understanding.

“Want me to take it off too?”

Yes! “No.”

She was smiling playfully, but Scott had no doubt that she might have done it readily if he had agreed.

What is it with her?

Scott swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and forced himself to turn away before opening them again. Beside him, Jenna had pulled the coat back up, but had not closed it entirely. Little bits of the light-colored fabric and her dark skin where visible in the swashes of light. It took considerable effort for Scott to ignore the feeling of his jeans tightening across the front.

“Turn right when you leave the parking lot,” she told him. “And then five lights down to Mulligan, and then a left there.”

Scott nodded; and started the car. He knew that area. She lived, probably renting or still living at home, in a lower middle class area of town. It was an older section of the neighborhood, originally built about four decades earlier. It was not the best part of town, but neither was it the worst. Scott probably would not have walked alone in it at night, and he was definitely going to make certain that Jenna made it safely inside with the door locked before he left her there.

She had settled back in the seat and was taking a tentative sip from her bottle. When its contents did not erupt all over her again, she took a deeper swallow. Glanced toward Scott, she gave him a warm smile and offered him the bottle. Scott shook his head in genial refusal and shifted the car into gear.

Jenna remained quiet during their brief voyage back down the main street. She appeared completely relaxed with him, Scott noted, and wondered if she was always so daring. He knew that he was a good and decent guy, but there were a lot of ones out there who were not, particularly if given such an opportunity. Scott suspected that Jenna could hold her own if accosted, but she was only one girl and most guys, like him, would likely have both several pounds and inches on her.

None of this seemed to be going through her mind at the moment, from what he could tell. Sipping occasionally from the soda bottle, she looked out at the road ahead. She was about to indicate to Scott where the turn was when him flipped on the turn signal and pulled into the turn lane to wait for the light to change

Jenna leaned forward, peering through the harshly illuminated darkness to take a better look at the street signs. As she leaned forward, part of the coat slid away, again revealing the fabric of the sports bra and the skin along her belly. Scott knew he was staring, and that she had not done it deliberately, and looked away quickly, focused on the seemingly unchanging hue of the traffic light. Fortunately, it switched to green before he could say something that might prove to be embarrassing.

He turned left and pulled on the street that Jenna had indicated and slowed, awaiting her directions. This section of the neighborhood was darker than he had remembered, with many of the overhead street lights not working. Scott was glad now that he had been there and she had not been forced to walk this alone.

“Thirty-nine forty-seven,” she told him. “Almost at the end on the right. There’s usually a big green pickup parked at the curb next door.”

Scott nodded and tried to read the address numbers as they rolled past. Most of those painted on the curb were faded or badly eroded, making it difficult to judge their progress. Almost none of the houses themselves had visible address signs.

Thirty-eight twenty-one . . . Close.

Scott slowed, not wanting to miss the house when he located found it. In the headlights ahead, he saw what appeared to be an large avocado-green pickup truck. He slowed the car almost to a stop as they passed it and managed to make out the address of the house next to it.

That could be thirty-nine forty-seven . . . or forty-one.

He took a chance and eased to the curb in front of the house. That Jenna began unbuckling her seatbelt, and did not question him why he was stopping there, told him that he guessed correctly.

Scott unfastened his own seatbelt and was on her side of the car as she tucked her coat closed around her. He grabbed her backpack from the floor before she could reach for it. She smiled at him in return and led him up the walkway, staying close to his side.

“I think everyone else is out tonight,” she told him in a loud whisper. “At least they remembered to leave the light on.”

Scott eyed the low-wattage porch light and wondered how much protection it really offered. She fumbled with her keys for a moment and then worked both locks open. The door opened into a dark entryway.

Jenna turned and looked at Scott, seeming less self-assured that he had ever seen her.

“Do you want to come inside for a minute?” she asked. “Just until I check things out?”

Scott nodded his agreement, despite a small knot forming in the region of his stomach. Jenna made no move to take the backpack from him, so he carried it inside.

She closed the door behind them and paused, appearing to listen for sounds in other parts of the house. Scott could hear nothing unusual, other for what sounded like an aging refrigerator being overworked. Jenna stood alert, but did not seem particularly alarmed. She stepped forward and switched on some of the lights and Scott could see her relax considerably.

As he quickly surveyed the main room off the foyer, he guessed that magnitude of disorder he saw was typical for the occupants of the house and not the results of it having been recently ransacked.

“Roommates,” Jenna shrugged, grimacing apologetically.

She seemed almost as displeased as Scott would have been had he arrived home to find that Thad had left an equivalent disaster area in his wake—and he had made those discoveries on more than a handful of occasions after some of his brother’s more boisterous gatherings.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly, looking over toward him. “Thanks.”

She stepped to him and reached for the backpack. She was pressed up against him, her dark eyes searching for his.

“Thank you,” she repeated. Her voice had fallen to a faint whisper. Scott had nearly released his hold on the backpack when she kissed him, pressing her lips lightly against his.

She moved away, but still close. Scott stared down at her, suddenly breathless. Even his thoughts seemed lost.

“I will take it off for you, you know,” she said. Her eyes never released their hold on his.

Scott opened his mouth, but no words came forth—not even a sound, just a single breath.

Jenna did not hesitate. She closed her mouth with his again. Within moments, her tongue probed for his. Scott considered resisting, of answering to all of the reasons why this was a really bad idea. Before he could react, though, he felt her hand caress the front of his jeans. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, knowing exactly what her fingers were learning there.

She pulled her mouth away slowly and smiled happily at him. Her hand might have been removed too, but Scott was not certain.

“That’s good,” she said, in a soft tone that both satisfied and victorious. “I thought I’d lost my touch.”

“You haven’t,” Scott breathed. “Trust me.”

She let her coat fall from her shoulders. Catching it with one hand, she tossed it over the back of a nearby chair.

“Stay with me for a little while,” she asked him. “We don’t have to do anything. But just stay?”

Scott looked down at her. Her dark eyes were shining, half-pleading and half . . . something else?

Passionate? he wondered.

Surprised to discover that he was still holding the backpack, he held it out to her. He intended to decline, to wish her a good night, and then leave.

“Okay,” was what he said. “For a little while.”

Her smile brightened and she led him down the hallway.

She stopped at the first door on the left and used a key to open it.

Must have real trustworthy housemates . . .

She switched on a single light, casting a faint yellowish glow over the room. It would not be enough to read or study by, Scott decided, guessing that there were other lighting sources available.

“I’ll be right back,” Jenna told him with a quick smile, and disappeared back down the hall.

Scott looked around the room without stepping further inside. It was disorderly, but not nearly in the state if chaos that the living room had been. This room looked more like someone had been in a rush to leave and had not had quite enough time to tidy up first.

There was a worn, inexpensive desk with a small stack of papers and books. From what he can discern from their covers, Scott guessed them to be textbooks from her college courses. There was also a large empty area where he guessed her laptop rested when she was working. Perpendicular to the desk, wedged into the corner of the room, was what Scott judged to be a twin–sized mattress and box spring, stacked directly on the floor. The covers were pulled up, but not neatly tucked.

Next to the desk, within reach of the bed as well, was a short bookcase filled with books of assorted sizes and colors. Scott was just about to step in for a closer look when he heard Jenna’s soft footfalls behind him.

“Sorry,” she said, as if reading his assessment of her room. “It’s been a week. Mid-terms.”

Scott nodded. He completely understood. During exam weeks, things had sometimes gotten so intense that there were days when he had not shaved—but never for more than two days in a row, though.

She was carrying two bottles of water and handed him one.

“I thought you could use it after two beers.”

Scott nodded and smiled his gratitude.

“And I never drink if I’m going to try to study,” she went on. “Otherwise . . .” she made an exaggerated expression of falling into sleep.

Scott grinned, laughing softly.

“Sorry,” she added, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bed. “There’s nowhere else to sit,” she said. “I don’t usually have a lot of people over.”

She dropped down into the lightweight folding chair in the front of the desk, dropping the backpack lightly beside it. Scott perched carefully on the edge of the mattress, balancing the water bottle on the carpet in front of his feet.

Jenna twisted open her bottle and drained about a third of it, before sighing in satisfaction. “Better,” she said, giving Scott another smile.

He realized then that she was still wearing the same clothing—sports bra and dark work pants—while untying and kicking off her shoes. She wiggled her toes, clad in matching dark socks, and sighed again. Scott considered offering to massage them for her, judging that should be a safe enough suggestion without overt overtones toward anything else.

The idea never made it to his lips, though. Jenna stood and approached him, standing directly in front on him see that his eyes squarely met her exposed navel. He felt her hands land lightly on each of his shoulder and he looked upward to find Jenna studying him. For a moment, he awkwardly wondered if she was finding him an interesting psychological specimen for her studies.

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

He lingered over the remainder of the sandwich, chiefly because he really had nowhere else to be except for home—and because Jenna had made no motions of leaving him the check. At some point, a fresh glass of beer appeared before him almost before he realized that the first one was empty. Jenna just smiled at him as she exchanged the glasses, but said nothing.

That’s it, Scott decided with amusement. She’s trying to get me drunk. He took a small sip from the new glass. I’d better keep an eye on my kidneys and other transplantable organs.

As it was, the large portion of the meatball sandwich seemed to do a commendable job of soaking up the alcohol. Scott considered for a moment that maybe the Hefen-whatever was not as potent as other brews. He knew, though, what a slippery slope that was. There had been that incident during college when he and his brother had found that bottle of authentic Romanian vodka . . .

His plate eventually became empty, except for a few scattered crumbs of bread crust. Leaning back against the cushioned booth, Scott decided that the less-than-sensible choice had been the right one. It did not always work out that way for him, unlike for his brother—who somehow always managed to dodge his way out of the consequences of unwise decisions, usually with Scott’s help—but this one definitely seemed to.

His stomach was happily content and he had a very slight buzz on from the beer, and a cute waitress was taking care of his every need.

As if that thought had summoned her, Jenna appeared and slid a cappuccino in front of him. She gathered his plate and silverware and then gave him another one of those smiles.

“I’ll be back in a minute with your check,” she said. “I get off in a few minutes.”

Scott nodded. “Thank you.”

Her smile brightened and she departed.

Scott sipped at the cappuccino, finding it still too hot to drink comfortably. He leaned back again, trying to remember the last time that he had truly allowed himself to relax. Not to just not care about what was going on, but relax into it and not worry?

A while, I think, he considered. Dr. Bohl did say the meds would mess me up if I didn’t ease off of them properly.

In retrospect, he realized with only mild glumness, dumping the bottle down the sink had probably not been the best move. Was he suddenly going to crash again tomorrow? Or the next day? How long did the aftereffects last anyway? He would have to check again when he got home, he decided. He remembered researching it once, but none of that knowledge came back to him immediately.

Jenna returned and slipped the check next to saucer where his coffee rested.

“Anything else?” Her dark eyes seemed to search his.

“That depends,” Scott said, only half of his own volition. “Is there anything else6 you think I should have?”

Her smile almost glowed now. “Not this time.”

Scott felt himself smile widely, but felt incredibly unselfconscious about it.

“Be back in a minute,” she said, and wandered off again.

Scott picked up the check, finally wondering if he had enough cash with him to cover it.

The sandwich couldn’t have been that much . . .

He checked the receipt and performed some quick mental calculations. There was enough cash in his wallet to cover the check, but not enough to include the tip that he felt that Jenna deserved. Biting anxiously at his lower lip, he placed his credit card down with the check and prayed that his brother had not managed, once again, to run it over its limit.

Jenna glided by a moment later and gathered them both, flashing Scott a quick smile. Scott waited nervously, testing out possible excuses in his mind for when she returned to inform him that his card had been declined.

That’ll definitely make a good impression . . .

He tried to remain impassive as she approached, but she just smiled at him and placed his card and the charge down for his signature. Again, it bore a hand-drawn smiley-face and her first initial.

At least now I know what it stands for . . .

He signed the slip, returned the card to his wallet, and removed a ten-dollar bill. It was a bit more than was necessary, but she had earned it.

Scott drained the last of his coffee and rose from the table. He looked toward the kitchen area, hoping to get one last glance at her, but she was engaged in conversation with someone out of his view and did not turn his way. He gave a disappointed mental shrug and headed toward the door.

Once outside, he paused, considering whether or not to stop at the supermarket a short walk away. He knew that they were out of a few items, and it might keep him from having to make a separate trip tomorrow. Although he was starting to fill the chill again, he decided to anyway. It would only take a few minutes and also allow him to walk off a few of the calories he had just consumed.

Exiting the store a few minutes later, the handle of a bag gripped in each hand, he headed for his car. He was just working to unlock it when a voice sounded from behind him. His keys clattered to the ground and he felt more embarrassed than angry when he recognized the owner of the voice.

“Are you stalking me now?”

Scott looked up from where he knelt after scrabbling to retrieve his keys. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

Her face took on an expression of mock disappointment, but her eyes sparkled merrily. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Scott straightened. “It’s not really my style.”

He looked down at her, feeling suddenly very warm. She was dressed in a long dark coat, with a darkly pattern backpack dangling from one hand and a plastic bottle in the other one.

“Too bad,” she grinned mischievously.

“However,” Scott said, placing his two bags on the floor behind the driver’s seat. “It is dark out here and I’d be happy to walk you to your car.”

Jenna shrugged. “It’s not big deal. I do it almost every night,” she said, looking around. “And it’s not that dark out here.”

Scott followed her eyes. It really was not all that dark in this area of the parking.

“But if you insist,” she added playfully, and handed him her backpack.

Scott stared down at it, surprised at its weight.

“Dead bodies?”

Her eyebrows rose in mock deviousness before she answered more seriously.

“School books,” she explained. “I’m studying Psych.”

Scott nodded, his estimation of her rising by several notches.

She led him to a car parked just a few spaces further away from where his own was parked. It was a darkly-painted, older-model coupe that looked as if it had seen better days, but had been lovingly cared for. The car chirped twice as she unlocked it.

“You can just toss that on the other seat,” she said, nodding toward the passenger side of the car.

Scott told as he was told and then waited after closing the door.

“Anything else?” he asked with genuine bemusement.

“Nah,” she said, grinning back at him as she worked open the top from the bottle. “I’m good.”

Her statement was rendered untrue a moment later when the liquid inside suddenly sprayed across her, dousing her coat and the shirt underneath. Her subsequent outburst of profanity was colorful, but nothing Scott had not heard before. In fact, he had heard other women use terms much more vulgar—often in descriptions of his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Scott offered sincerely, while trying hard at the same time not to laugh.

Jenna stood there somewhat forlornly, holding out the bottle at arm’s length while it continued to dribble its contents to the ground.

“I think I have a towel in my car,” Scott said, hoping that it was true.

“Thanks,” she sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly.

Scott found the towel in the gym bag left in trunk. He sniffed it tentatively before removing it from the trunk, but it did not smell as if it had been used. He returned to Jenna with it a few moments and handed it over to her.

She gave him a grateful smile and handed him the bottle while she took the towel and began dabbing at her clothing. Scott held the bottle away from him as she had done, feeling its sticky contents begin to congeal under his fingers.

At least I know she wasn’t drinking and driving, he thought, although that really had not been his primary concern.

Jenna gave a loud sigh and passed him back the towel.

“Thanks,” she said again, brushing at her jacket. “That’ll have to do for now.” She then stared at the bottle that Scott still held in his outstretched hand. “I don’t think it’s going to explode,” she suggested hollowly.

“I think it already did.”

Jenna stared at him.

Shut up, Scott, he warned himself. Now.

He wiped the bottle off on the towel and handed it back to her. She held it up into the light and examined it. From what Scott could see, it still appeared to be more than three-quarters full.

“I wasn’t planning on doing laundry tonight,” she muttered grumpily.

She looked back toward and smiled, although it now carried much less wattage than it had earlier in the evening. Scott tried very hard not to take it personally.

“Thanks again,” she said, and slid into the car.

She closed the door and rolled down the window, which Scott that was odd, considering the cool weather.

Maybe she’s one of those girls who like to drive with the windows open and the music blaring, he considered. I could see that.

The sound he heard next, though, did not come from the vehicle’s stereo system.

“Shit.”

It was not loud, but it was definitely a heartfelt exclamation.

Scott looked down at Jenna, who was glaring at the still dark dashboard of her car.

“It won’t start,” she reported, each word enunciated as a complete statement.

Oh great, now I’ve become a curse on automobiles in this parking lot.

“Uh,” Scott began. “Do you need a jump start?”

“No,” she replied with an emphatic sigh, smacking her hand against the steering wheel. “It needs a whole new freakin’ electrical system.”

Scott tried not to look helpless. Cars were just not in his area of expertise.

“Can I call a tow truck for you?” he offered. “I can wait with you until it gets here.”

Jenna looked up at from the dark interior of the car. He could not completely read the expression in her eyes, but he could tell that she was far from being happy.

‘Look,” she said with a renewed sigh. “Could you give me a ride home? It’s just a few blocks from here.”

“Sure,” Scott agreed quickly. “But what about your car?”

“I’ll deal with it in the morning,” she told him. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Eduardo will keep an eye on it.”

She answered Scott’s questioning look.

“He’s on the night patrol here.”

Scott nodded his understanding. He found himself feeling surprisingly relieved by that explanation, and not solely, he discovered, because it sounded as if Jenna might be safe when she left the restaurant late at night.

“That’s assuming your car will start,” Jenna jibed at him playfully.

Scott shook his head and snatched her backpack off the passenger seat. As he closed the door and watched her lock it again, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Why?” she asked him. Her dark eyes shone with reflected light. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t I trust you?”

I can think of a few . . . but Scott managed to shove most of them from his thoughts.

“I was talking about your car,” he explained. He smiled despite his best efforts and laughed quietly.

“It’ll be fine,” she insisted, and headed off in the direction of his car.

Scott gave one more look at Jenna’s car, shrugged, and then followed her.

Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

Scott placed the tool down and sighed. It was a sound of satisfaction for a change, not one of seemingly never-ending frustration. He had successfully reassembled the power system and, if all of the diagnostics were reporting correctly, it appeared to be working as he expected.

It’s about time something worked the way it’s supposed to.

He looked around to share the good news with his brother, but found work area otherwise empty. Scott glanced at the clock and then realized why.

He must have cut out of here for dinner.

Scott frowned, having no memory of his brother saying anything to him about leaving. He probably had, Scott guessed.

It wouldn’t be the first time I was too wrapped up to notice.

Scott rose, feeling the stiffness in his knees and lower back. He stretched them both gently, trying to restore circulation.

How long was I at it anyway? He performed a quick mental calculation, trying to remember the last time he had checked the clock. That would explain why I’m starving.

His stomach gurgled loudly in agreement.

Scott chuckled and shut off the power to the power assembly and the test equipment. He returned the tool to its cabinet and locked it. As he made his way to the door and turned off the lights, he was grateful that he had brought the car. The nights were getting a little too chilly for riding the scooter.

He pulled out of the parking lot without a destination in mind. The sensible thing, he told himself, would be to go home and prepare something there. He was hungry now and had worked hard, he decided, and did not feel like being particularly sensible. It was not often that he ate alone, that meal at the Italian restaurant had been an exception, but his brother had gone off and might already be busy for the evening.

As he pulled off the main street, he was not entirely surprised to find himself in the same parking lot as that Italian restaurant again. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard display, relieved to find that he would not once more be arriving right before closing time. It was late for dinner, but not unreasonably so. He had always wondered how the Europeans did it, not dining until eight, nine, or even ten o’clock at night.

He found an empty spot in the aisle perpendicular to the entrance. After making certain that he not left the lights on, or locked his keys inside the car, he made his way across the parking lot lane, darting ahead at one point to avoid a driver that seemed to be aiming for him. (He really was not, Scott realized. It was just young kid with his stereo blaring and otherwise oblivious to the rest of the world.)

As he stepped inside the restaurant, and his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he quickly surveyed the interior to see if that same waitress was there. Disappointed not to see her, he turned to go, deciding that the sensible choice might really be the better one. A voice came from immediately behind him.

“There’s no chowder tonight,” she said, her eyes twinkling in the reflected light at having startled him. “That’s only on Fridays.”

Scott waited a moment for his heart to stop racing. He tried hard not to glare at her, discovering that it required very little effort not to do so.

She was dressed the same way that she had been on that earlier night. Her hair was pulled back in the same straight pony tail. All of the same curves were still there.

She smiled. “Decided it might be nice to try us out a little earlier than closing time?”

Scott nodded, not daring to speak. Although he was convinced that he wore a completely idiotic grin on his face, he could not find the volition to banish it. If it was true, and she saw it, the waitress gave no indication of it.

Probably gets that kind of reaction a lot, Scott offered up an excuse to himself.

She gestured him toward the main section of the restaurant.

“There’s a booth over there you can have,” she said, and led him to it.

After making sure he was seated, she departed without leaving him a menu. Scott stared after her, but did not want to call out in the mostly-filled restaurant. So he waited, unwrapping his silverware from the napkin and toying with the knife until he was interrupted by one of the other servers placing water and a basket of sliced sourdough bread in front of him. He exchanged the knife for a piece of bread and looked around the restaurant to find no sign again of the waitress.

Must be back in the kitchen, Scott considered and slowly began to chew on the bread.

She appeared a few moments later and placed a glass of light-colored beer in front of him.

“I didn’t order this,” Scott said, more confused than angry.

“Hefeweizen,” the waitress told him, as if not hearing his protest. “And don’t leave the lemon in it; it will get bitter.”

She smiled and headed away.

Maybe she is just a little bit nuts . . . Scott considered.

He looked up from the glistening glass for a moment and watched her leave, shaking his head slowly. He then eyed the beverage carefully.

She wouldn’t try to poison me, he thought. It would be bad for business. He studied the pale amber liquid. I did tip her enough last time, didn’t I?

He was thirsty, he reasoned. And it was sitting there in front of him. If it had been an accidental order, he’d be willing to pay for it—unless it was completely nasty. His eyes followed the dewdrops of condensation as they rolled down the outside of the glass.

It doesn’t look nasty . . .

Following her instructions, he squeezed the contents from two lemon wedges into the glass and did not, as she told him, drop them into the beer. He sampled it tentatively and then took a deeper sip with approval.

We have a winner, he decided. Better than Corona and lime.

Scott sipped slowly at the beer, recognizing that he was drinking it on a very empty stomach, and looked around for waitress.

She is planning to bring me a menu, right?

A few minutes later, she reappeared from the kitchen bearing a large plate. He attempted to get her attention, until he realized that she was heading right for him.

She placed the plate down in front of him. He eyed it suspiciously, looked up at the waitress, and then back at the contents of the plate.

“It’s what you wanted,” she said, very matter-of-factly. She remained standing at the table while Scott examined the meal.

It took him a moment to determine what it was, but then realized that it was a meatball sandwich. The bread had been lightly grilled to the point of just being crunchy. The meatballs, generously sized about the dimension of golf balls, were covered with a thick red sauce. Scott did not know what spices were in the sauce, but his nose informed him of its approval. Stacked next to the sandwich was a generous portion of golden-crisp French fries.

Scott surveyed the platter for several moments. It might have been what he would have ordered. Having not seen a menu, he was not certain. He knew that he was not in mood for pizza, or a heavy meal of pasta, so something like this might definitely been in the running. Still, it would have been nice to have been able to make his own choice.

Using a fork to take a cautious sample, Scott tasted it carefully, checking to see if it was as hot it as seemed. It was. After searing the tip of his tongue, what he tasted was amazing. He nodded his approval and picked out another bite. Whoever had added spices to the sauce and seasoned the beef had done a fantastic job.

“It is a sandwich, you know,” the young woman said, smiling. “You’re supposed to eat it with your hands.”

Scott looked up at her and laughed, placing the fork back down on the plate. She nodded with approval.

“I’ll be right back,” she told him, and moved away.

Scott watched her leave, noticing that she moved nothing at all like Marcela. It was provocative in an entirely different, and much more subtle, way. He felt mildly guilty for watching, but only slightly, and looked away in case she turned back in his direction.

What’s she up to now? Dessert?

He took a small bite from the sandwich, wanting to savor it. His stomach protested his restraint, but he ignored it.

The waitress returned only a few moments later with a bottle of ketchup and placed it on the table next to Scott’s plate. She then surprised him by taking the seat in the booth across from him. She squirted out some of the ketchup into a neat pile on a bare section of the plate and then helped herself to a French fry, dipping it into the ketchup before placing half of it between her lips.

At Scott’s shocked expression, she grinned impishly. “It’s okay,” she told him. “I’m on break.” She then helped herself to another French fry.

Scott tried not to stare, although not very successfully. She really did not seem to be particularly crazy—at least not in any obvious way that he could see from her eyes or expression. She actually seemed kind of nice, in a quirky, playful sort of way.

He really felt as though he should say something, to start some kind of conversation with her that went beyond his appreciation of the food. It might work, but might lead to anything interesting.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them.

“Do what?” she asked with a sense of feigned innocence that reminded Scott vaguely of his brother.

Scott waved his hand over his plate and toward the French fry that she still held in her hand.

“Oh that,” she replied. “No.”

“Good to know,” Scott said and tried to expertly take another bite from his sandwich.

He mostly failed, he knew, as he felt warm sauce flow down his chin. He wanted to close his eyes in embarrassment and then was surprised when she picked up his napkin and dabbed it away for him.

“They’re messy that way,” she shrugged. “Which is why I’m only stealing the fries.” With a mischievous smile, she reached down and helped herself to another one.

“J,” Scott said, watching her eyes. They were dark and yet sparkled from the reflected lighting from the restaurant décor.

She watched Scott in return, waiting.

“Your name starts with a ‘J’,” he went on.

The sparkle in her eyes seemed to brighten. “So it does.”

Uh huh. So that’s how it is.

“Mine’s Scott,” he said offering his hand to her across the table. “Scott Raynes.”

She stared at it for a moment as if it were something unclean and Scott realized that he probably should have checked it first for any stray sauce. After a moment, though, she accepted it and shook it lightly.

“Jenna.”

Scott nodded; it seemed to fit her.

“Raynes,” she repeated. “Do you have a brother?”

Scott’s stomach sank. He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I do. Thad.”

Scott fought back a sigh. Don’t tell me he beat me to this one too . . .

“That’s him,” she brightened slightly and Scott’s stomach fell further. “He sounds like a bit of a jerk.”

Hope returned to Scott. “You’ve never met him?”

Jenna frowned. “Should I have?”

Every other girl this side of the Mississippi has . . .

“No,” Scott answered quickly. “It just sounded like you might have.”

“Nope.” She snatched another French fry slid it through the rapidly diminishing puddle of ketchup. She started to rise. “I need to get back to work. Feel free to hang out as long as you want.”

She gave him a quick, but definitely warm, smile and walked away. Scott watched her leave again, admiring the smooth curves of her hips in her black pants.

Scott . . . he warned himself silently. Behave.