Boldly by Elise Faber

Chapter Twenty-One

Oliver

He satin the back of the limo next to Hazel and watched her absolutely demolish a large fries.

And then pound two apple pies.

And then drain a large Diet Coke.

He’d nearly lost a finger trying to snag a fry, upon which she’d smacked his hand away, snatched the paper bag closer to her, and huddled in the corner, a la Gollum with his precious.

His woman was a force when she was hungry.

That was good to have confirmed. Not just when she was with Pru.

He also made sure to go back through their conversation, commit to memory the tension in her face, the lines next to her mouth and eyes. He’d thought she’d had another headache and was going to see if he couldn’t offer her a massage (oh, such a tough job to put his hands on his woman—yes, he got referring to her as his woman was possessive and caveman, but he was as much her man as she was his woman).

But then the limo had pulled up, and her shoulders had drooped, and—

She’d admitted to being hungry.

So, he’d signaled to the limo driver to wait, brought her inside and paid for her food (food he’d thought she might be sharing at the time, clearly that had been wrong, and if he’d wanted fries, he should have ordered some for himself).

A couple of minutes later they were in the limo, she was chowing down, and they were on the way to their date.

“So, this scene is telling me that I should bring fries and pies instead of flowers to our dates.”

She shoved the empty soda cup in the bag and crumpled the top, shoving it into the corner of the backseat. “That would be amazing,” she said, and he was glad to see all the tension had left her face, and his relaxed and settled Hazel was back.

“Babe.”

A shrug, her lips twitching. “I guess I revealed on our first date that I can’t skip meals, otherwise I end up as Hangry Hazel, and no one likes that.”

“I like Hangry Hazel.” The lights from the streetlights flashed on her skin as they drove to the airport. “Next time, I’ll just bring snacks.”

That made her smile.

Which made him feel about ten feet tall.

“Snacks would be good.”

Mouth still tilted up, she turned to glance out the windows, at the streetlights flashing by, the houses and buildings spreading out, more open space between them. “Where are we going?”

“On Date One.”

She slanted a glance at him. “Hilarious.”

“So now, are you going to tell me about Pru?” He liked the other woman. A lot. But Pru was a lot. And seemed like she didn’t fit with Hazel, who was definitely outgoing and confident, but Pru crossed the line from outgoing and confident into outgoing and confident.

The italics were warranted.

“We met while I was working on my PhD. She was one of the athletes I studied for my thesis, and we hit it off. Pru makes it almost impossible to not like her, and her enthusiasm for life is contagious.” A shrug. “We hit it off, stayed in touch, and now we’re going to be coworkers.” A wink. “You’d better watch out. You’ve just brought one half of the terrible twos into your department, and considering the other half is me, your life is about to get really interesting.”

“If it involves you, then I’ll take interesting any day of the week.”

She smiled. “You say that now. But”—she leaned close and trailed a hand down his chest—“you haven’t dealt with us together for an extended period of time.”

Fuck, she was cute.

“Don’t make me mess up your lipstick, babe. I know you went to a lot of trouble.”

Her head tilted to the side, eyes warm as she studied him. “I already messed it up with the soda.”

“Yeah?” he asked, dropping a hand to her waist and drawing her close.

“Yeah,” she murmured, winding her arms around his neck.

The car slowed, turning into the airport lot. They had mere moments before they had to get out of the car, but…fuck it.

He lowered his head and kissed her.

She smelled like cinnamon and tasted like apples, and he knew he was messing up any lipstick she still had on. But he didn’t give a damn, didn’t give a fuck that what was left was probably smeared all over his mouth.

The car stopped.

He couldn’t tear himself away, not when her soft curves were under his hands, when her body was pressed to his, her tongue in his mouth, her quiet moans rumbling up through her throat. The woman could kiss in a way that made him unable to see sense. So instead of pulling away, he pressed closer, drew her tighter against him, and he kissed the fuck out of the woman who’d stolen his heart.

The door opened. A throat was cleared.

Oliver couldn’t summon a fuck to care.

The throat was cleared again.

“Sorry, sir,” the driver said, her voice regretful, “but you’ll miss your takeoff time if you don’t get out now.”

That was, perhaps, the one thing that could pull him out of the downward spiral of desire, to not tear his lips away and demand that she haul her ass back into the driver’s seat and circle the block a hundred times so he could continue kissing and holding Hazel.

But…romance.

And not the kind that began at McDonald’s because his girl was two seconds away from losing her shit.

Romance that his woman deserved because he wanted to show her what she meant to him, because he wanted to give her some happy. Because he could give her some happy. That was what he’d learned from Hannah, from bringing her down into the arena. He wasn’t someone who had to put walls up and only give. He also wasn’t someone who, when the walls were down, only took and took until the well went dry.

He could do both.

He could accept the happy, the love that Hazel gave.

And he could give it back just as powerfully.

Wanting to give it back was what finally had him pulling away and stifling a groan. He’d planned this night for her, wanted to make it special. That couldn’t happen if he fucked her in the back seat of the limo and they missed their takeoff.

“Now your lipstick is messed up, babe.”

She grinned up at him, wiped the corner of his mouth. “So is yours, honey.”

Laughing, Hazel took the driver’s hand, accepting the assistance to get out of the car, and giving him a fantastic start to the date—namely a view of her ass in that slinky black dress. He followed and they both hit the tarmac.

Her eyes went wide, surveying the various vehicles on the airstrip. Lots of small planes, some old, most modern, several jets that probably belonged to some of the bigwigs in town, and their destination—a hanger off in the corner that ran night time tours of the city.

“Are we going in one of the planes?” Her eyes were wide. So wide.

“I know it’s not shark diving,” he teased, amusement blipping through him, “and it’s not a kitchen sink full of ice cream.” He shook his head. “But we are going in a helicopter.”

Her eyes went somehow wider. Shit. Was she afraid of flying? He hadn’t thought to ask.

Before he could, she did a little dance. “That is so cool!” She clapped her hands together. “I’ve always wanted to ride in a helicopter!

Phew.

Her with the food thing.

Him with the copter thing

Oliver made a mental note to make sure they talked about this stuff. Because it was important…and also because he needed to know when to make a pitstop at McDonald’s so he could get his woman some fries.

“This is incredible,”she whispered through the microphone attached to the headset both of them had been given.

A quick safety talk.

Signing their lives away on some waivers.

And then they’d been in the air, a light snack—for Hazel’s sake—set in a container between them, and the lights of Baltimore glimmering around them.

They’d been flying for about forty minutes, having flown around the city, the pilot pointing out the sights, and now they were circling the airport and getting ready to land again. Where the limo would be waiting for the next part of their date.

Dinner on the waterfront.

In a place with candles and music and soft lighting.

“You have any room in that stomach of yours?”

“Why?” she asked. “We hitting up the Ice Creamery for dessert?”

He grinned. “Maybe later. We have a reservation at Lana’s.”

“Lana’s?” she gasped, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“I know,” he said.

“How?” she began to ask before clarity dawned and she shrugged ruefully. “Pru.”

He nodded. “Pru might have dished on a few things. Though,” he said, teasing entering his tone, “she didn’t tell me that her best friend is a nervous flier.”

“I am not!” she gasped.

“Babe, you’re clutching my hand as we go down, and you practically broke my fingers when we went up.”

Katie, their pilot, laughed quietly. “You did look a little gray when we first went up.”

“Rude,” Hazel muttered, but her lips were twitching and her tone said that she found them anything but rude. “Just because I’m not a helicopter pilot and super chill while I’m wielding a death machine.”

Katie laughed a little louder. Oliver joined in.

“I like the going straight and smooth part,” Hazel went on, “and I like the lights. Those are beautiful. But the going up and down freaks me out a bit.” Her eyes hit Oliver’s. “For the record, I’m the same way on planes, so if that’s an issue, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

He flexed his fingers against her grip. “I don’t mind you holding my hand, babe.”

She grinned up at him.

“Even if you tried to break it.”

That grin turned glare and she huffed. “Because I was excited,” she grumbled, reaching up with her free hand like she was going to twist her earring, but since it was covered by the headphones, she dropped it back into her lap, her lips pressing flat. “And a little nervous, okay? Is that a crime?”

His knuckles on her cheek, because he loved the feel of her skin, because he loved what her eyes did when he touched her like that. “No.” He kissed the tip of her nose, bumping both of their mics together in a way that probably wasn’t smooth in the least, but since it involved his mouth on her body, he couldn’t be too hard on himself. “So long as you keep holding my hand.”

Her mouth twitched. “That I can do.”

Their eyes locked. “Even if the ride gets bumpy, babe.”

Now her smile softened, and her hand found his thigh, squeezed lightly.

“That I can do.”