Page 78 of Cockpit
Jesus, you’re incredible.
After staring at the blinking cursor a bit longer, obsessing, I type none of that and hit send. I’m surprised when he responds immediately.
Grayson: You’ll have to work around my schedule with Luke.
Professionally, this is a good thing. He’s agreeing to the photo shoot without a fight. Personally, I can’t help but feel a little twinge in my gut that there are no niceties, no “how are you,” no nothing.
Then again, I didn’t offer any, either.
Me: Great! We can include Luke in the photos if you want. Some of the other men are including their children in their shoots.
I twist my lips while I wait impatiently.
Grayson: I told you before when I agreed to do this for you—no Luke.
Me: Why not? It might make him feel like he’s a part of the whole contest with you. It’ll be cool for him.
Grayson: I said no Luke. The Hoskins cast him aside without a second thought. There’s no way in hell I’m giving them a glimpse of my son. Non-negotiable.
I sit and stare at the words for longer than I should as I try to understand the kind of hurt that must have caused him. To love someone so much while other family members discarded him without a second thought.
I think of the fight Luke got into and can only imagine the quiet rage he doesn’t quite understand that fueled it.
I think of Grayson and how he pushes his wants and needs aside to make sure his son is okay.
Respect.
That’s what that text conversation just earned him. A respect that overshadowed my own insecurities and made me want to be with the man that much more.
Me: Understood. Send me your schedule, and I’ll set up the photographer for whenever works for you.
I put the phone down, thinking that will be the end of the conversation, and a second later, it vibrates again.
Grayson: We can use the helicopter for pictures if you want.
And just like that, he hands me the little extra Rissa was talking about. I’m still smiling as his next text comes in.
Grayson: The other night was incredible. When can I see you again?
I fight a little yelp of pleasure as well as the beginnings of flutters in my belly.
How about now? I want to ask but know that sounds a little too eager.
I’ll make him wait a bit before I answer. That way, he won’t read into it, and I won’t look so desperate.
I’m being pathetic. The man just wants more sex.
Incredibly good sex, that is.
And, of course, I’m slowly coming to the realization that I’m a bit more involved on my end of the stick.
Slowly? That’s a lie.
I know I want more . . . I’m just not sure what that more exactly is.
More lust? More sex? More friendship? More of a little bit of everything?
I’m leaving in a few months. That’s one thing I know for sure . . . so I guess that’s my answer. More lust and sex, please.
