Page 67 of Cockpit
Is she one of his regulars? One of the women he sleeps with on the side?
The sharp pang of unfounded jealousy hits harder than I expect as I take a few steps back and try to process this all.
I created this scene. The women around him all vying for his attention. The women engaged and wanting more. The women so charmed by him they’ll vote.
The flyers with his image on them that are scattered all over the street are a testament to it.
I just never imagined it would be me standing on the outside wanting the attention from him.
With one last look, I tear my eyes from the sight and head to my car.
“Pain in the ass,” I mutter as I spray the mud off the front of my Range Rover . . . again. The street is nothing but mud due to my neighbor’s landscape project. Broken sprinkler heads and truckloads of dirt don’t make for a pretty road to drive on.
“Hey.”
I yelp at the sound and whirl around to find Grayson standing there, sweaty, out of breath, and looking far more sexy than I want to admit.
“What are you doing here?”
“Running. I was out for a jog.”
“Great.” I try to sound unfazed. Like I haven’t rerun the other night in my head a million times to try to figure out if I read too much into what he said. To try to figure out if I overreacted to the situation on the street.
I don’t get like this about a guy, never have, said I never would, and so it’s driving me absolutely crazy. “Have a good rest of your jog.”
“Sid?” He sounds surprised when he shouldn’t be. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope. I’m fine. Just fine.” I turn my back to him and start spraying my tires again. It’s so much easier focusing on them than the incredibly sexy sight of him that I don’t want to acknowledge. The visual that immediately clouds the way I felt the other night.
“You’re fine? That’s universal woman code for I’m pissed at you.” His chuckle scrapes over my nerves as he reaches out to take the hose from me, and I yank it away.
“Don’t!” I spin around to face him and, of course, he’s way too close. The nozzle I aim at him is the only thing between us, and my car is at my back.
“You care to share what I did wrong?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He draws the word out. “I waited around for you at the festival the other night.”
The side that wants to believe the words he said in the office melts while the skeptical one who saw him with the strawberry-blonde snorts.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
Did I really just snort out loud?
“No, I don’t. I saw you.” I ja
b the hose nozzle in his direction, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, which only serves to infuriate me further. “I saw you and that woman—”
“What woman?” he laughs.
“The pretty one with the strawberry-blonde hair.” He snorts, and I jab the hose in his direction, suddenly on the defensive and more than aware that I think I’m going to look like an ass here. That all my overthinking was for nothing. “Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not mocking shit.” He puts his hands up, but his smile remains. “That was my sister-in-law, Grant’s wife. Her name is Emerson.”
Oh. Shit.
“I was playing the part you want me to play. Chatting up the ladies asking about the contest, urging them to go online.” Embarrassment flushes every ounce of my body. “I was whispering to Emerson how ridiculous it was, and she was there to laugh at it all with me.”
