19. Jack
19
JACK
T hat afternoon, I take an Uber to my second interview at the airport. I’m a bundle of nerves for two reasons. One, the job, obviously. It would be nice not watching my savings dwindle like sand running through an hourglass. But also, I’m going to see Griffin again. In his gray jumpsuit. Oh, that fucking gray jumpsuit. It’s like the jockstrap of uniforms.
I tap my finger against the window as the car drives down the wooded road to the airfield. The driver eyes me through the rearview mirror.
Why is it that I’m more nervous about seeing Griffin than I am about nailing this interview? Is it because I can’t stop thinking about the possibility of getting nailed by him?
Griffin and I had unfinished business…which we finished in that alley the other night. I finally caught the guy who slipped through my fingers. I finally got confirmation that yes, he finds me attractive and yes, he is hung like a rhino. He made me wish I had the ability to unhinge my jaw.
I should do what I always do after I hook up with a guy. Move on dot org. Especially now that Griffin and I are facing off in this big charity game. It’s been less than a day, and already the mayor had a graphic made up and posted about the Sourwood Cup across the town’s social media channels.
A deep breath exhales from my lungs as the woods clear and the airport comes into view. I’m trying a calming breath exercise recommended by Miller. I want Griffin, but I need this job. Or do I want this job but need Griffin?
Single engine planes and a few private jets dot the tarmac. The driver pulls into the parking lot.
I take one more calming breath, for the job and for Griffin. Technically, I don’t have to see him. I can go straight into the office. Yet I know on an instinctual level my body will not allow that the same way it won’t allow me to gingerly walk off a cliff.
The driver clears his throat, my cue to get the fuck out.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I puff out my chest and stroll into the hangar, feeling cool and relaxed. When in doubt, fake it ‘til you make it.
In the center of the hangar is the largest plane at this airport by far, and the most noticeable. I’ve never seen a pink airplane. On the side of it “Penelope Towne” is painted in big, swoopy letters. That sound you hear is every girl I went to high school with screaming in jealousy.
A burly patch of gray on the left wing stands out amid the pink.
A familiar swelling takes place between my legs.
It’s just the jumpsuit , I tell myself.
“Hello up there!” I yell to Griffin. “Better make sure this plane doesn’t crash. It’ll be carrying precious cargo.”
A slight smile curls onto his face revealing a sliver of white teeth, his beard crinkling around his lips. It’s so fucking yummy.
He peers past me to the parking lot. “Did you take an Uber here?”
My driver peels away, a giant Uber sticker visible on his bumper.
“Fancy,” Griffin says.
“I’m saving up to get my car fixed.” I don’t need to delve into that mortifying aspect of my life, a pro athlete who can’t even afford new brakes. I point to the plane. “You a Penelope Towne fan?”
“Can’t say I’m familiar.” Griffin steps back onto the scissor lift and comes down to my level. His uniform pulls across his chest and stomach, and I don’t know which is hotter.
“She’s good. Like Taylor Swift but with a harder edge, but like a corporately appropriate hard edge,” I inform him. “She was a constant presence on my Spotify Wrapped in high school.”
“What’s that?”
I bulge my eyes, wondering if he’s serious. Then I realize that my dad probably doesn’t know what Spotify is either.
“It’s like listening to her CD over and over.”
He nods and wipes his thick, strong hands on a rag, the same hands that moved me around the other night like a puppet on a stage, telling me I was his and his alone in that alley.
I take another deep calming breath in the hopes that it can also keep boners at bay.
“So what do you think about this game?” I ask.
“The Sourwood Cup?” he says as he rolls his eyes.
“Are you sure you guys want to do it? I don’t want to humiliate you in front of all your friends. Though, I will if I have to.” Oddly, talking shit helps level me. It’s how I get in the zone on the ice, bringing the most intimidating players down to size.
“Who says we’re the ones that’ll be losing?” He crosses his arms, making his muscles bulge. I have to admire his confidence, even though it’s ridiculous.
“Nature. Science. We’re younger and faster.”
“We have decades more experience than you.”
“Not all things get better with age.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, his voice low and deep. It sends a bolt of heat to my dick that no calming breath could abate. I can’t stop thinking about the feel of his body under my fingers. It wasn’t hairless and tight like guys my age, all muscle and no personality. There was an added heft, a slight sag around his pecs and stomach, mature creases in his forehead. Yes to all of it.
I take a step back, away from this fine specimen of man. “Okay, then. It’s not too late to back out. I have to warn you, I’m good.”
Sure, I say this to brag, but after this morning’s practice, it’s also true. I was on fire today. My passes were sharper. I was faster on the ice. Cleaner shots. Miller and Fuentes both commented on the improvement in my game and that I was finally shaking the rust off. It’s why I was so confident to accept the mayor’s challenge.
Griffin laughs to himself. He tosses the rag on top of his tool chest. “Who are you meeting with today?”
“Alan something and Allison Lembeck?” I’m amazed I remembered their names since I haven’t done any research on them.
“Alan Tudor and Allison Levitt?” he asks.
“That’s it!”
“Alan is Darlene’s boss. He loves airplanes. Ask him about his plane and flying to Nantucket. He’ll chew your ear off about it all day. And Allison loves hockey. Her sons play in the peewee league. She’ll probably spend the whole interview asking for pointers.” I nod and take mental notes. “My guess is this interview is a personality check. Do we want to spend five days a week around this guy? All you have to do is charm them.”
“I can do that. I charmed the pants off you.”
“I recommend you keep their pants on.” Griffin squats down and pulls a drill from the bottom drawer. My comment rolled right off his broad back.
“Thanks again for putting in a good word for me.”
“You didn’t seem grateful. You, uh, pissed on my truck.”
I smack my hand on my forehead. Oh, right, the part of the night before we kissed. I’d blocked it out.
“I’m young and stupid?” I offer.
“You only have a few more years to use that excuse.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m going to crush this interview.” I find myself mustering fake enthusiasm, saying words my heart won’t back up. But Griffin went out on a limb to keep my name in the conversation. I don’t want to embarrass him.
“Yeah.”
Apparently, I’m not the only one mustering fake enthusiasm. I follow Griffin to the opposite side of the plane where he takes another scissor lift to the right wing. He uses the drill to tighten some bolts.
“What does that mean?” I ask over the drilling.
“Huh?”
I wait until he stops, the drilling sound carving right into my head. “I said I’m going to crush this interview, and you were just like whatever. You’ve doubted the Blades can kick your ass, and now you’re doubting I can kick this interview’s ass?”
“I think you can crush it. But I don’t think you want to.”
I toss my head back to look up at him and scowl my objection. “Of course I do. You don’t know shit.”
Griffin is unfazed. In fact, he seems to find joy in my indignation.
“Can you come down? This is hurting my neck.”
The scissor lift lowers to the ground. Griffin gets out and puts the drill away. “It doesn’t seem like you want this job, to be honest. You don’t even know who you’re meeting with.”
“I knew their first names.”
When people lose a sense, their other senses are heightened. Did losing half his eyesight make Griffin able to read my thoughts? I’m quickly learning it doesn’t pay to lie to Griffin. He makes me want to spill the beans.
“I really appreciate you helping me get this second interview. Look, this isn’t my dream job, but I don’t know what is. It was supposed to be hockey. I’m grasping at straws here. I just want to make enough money to pay my bills and fix my car, then I can take it from there. I promise if I get this job, I won’t fuck it up and make you look bad.”
I reach for his hand, his calloused fingers sending a charge up my arm. Griffin keeps studying me, but something behind his eye softens, like whatever stoic grip he has on himself loosens a tad.
“You’re a fan of Penelope Towne?” He scratches at his beard. “You want to go on her plane?”