Chapter 3
“Heterochromia,” the lovely man repeated, staring, and Jett wasn’t surprised. It was par for the course where her eyes were concerned, and she’d learned a long time ago to roll with the punches.
“Yup,” she answered cheerily. “Born and raised with two different colored eyes.” She forced herself to change to a serious look, impishly enjoying her purposeful juxtaposition. “It barely even shocks me anymore when I look in the mirror.”
Trask seemed taken aback for about one second, before she snickered, and he shook his gorgeous, dark head. “Okay. You got me. I’m sorry for…fixating.”
“No problem. Believe it or not, I’m almost used to the attention by now,” she answered cheekily, because she’d found early on that making jokes about herself put people at ease.
“Don’t do that,” Trask scowled.
It was Jett’s turn to be surprised.
“Do what?” she asked with a tilt of her head, slightly amused that this hunk of a man seemed to take exception to her self-teasing.
“Poke fun at yourself like that. You should have just told me I was being an asshole, and moved on.”
A nice thought, but…
Jett begged to differ. “Nope. I’ve learned the hard way that unless I make light of my differences at the first opportunity and get all the questions out of the way, my orb colors tend to hang like a pall over interactions with most new acquaintances.
And those acquaintances quickly become non-friends.
I find it best to shoot first and disarm the enemy so I might glean new allies. ”
Trask snorted, then his broad shoulders went back a bit and he started looking at her more…intensely.
“Ex-military?” he questioned with authority, as if he always got the answers he was looking for.
Jett grinned. Broadly. She’d been raked over the coals and intimidated by the best. The stud in front of her wasn’t going to cause her any anxiety. No way.
She shrugged. “I was,” she acknowledged. “I actually separated from the Air Force about six weeks ago, after twenty years in.”
To give him his due, Trask didn’t blink. “Right. It shows,” he stated with a succinct dip of his chin. “I’m just a few months shy of getting out, as well. From the Marines,” he clarified, then added, “As to your specialty, don’t tell me. Pilot?” he posited, glancing at her Cessna.
Clearly, he was looking to complete a profile he was building of her in his head.
The answer he’d had to his own question was too easy—and only partially correct—so she wouldn’t give him that right away, instead she’d turn the light interrogation back on him.
“Don’t tell me. Intelligence?” Jett countered.
He blinked.
Yes. Jett was enjoying this interaction way too much.
When she’d first caught sight of this man’s stiff posture, his military haircut, and the way he’d oozed confidence, she’d decided he’d be fun to mess with. But when she’d taken a second, and much longer look, her thoughts had gone more in the direction of “messing around with”.
Trask was seriously handsome in the classical sense; strong chin, direct gaze, straight, white teeth, and built like every woman’s wet-dream.
Add to that, the fact that she hadn’t had anyone warming her sheets for…
crap, nearly three years, and Trask was causing all her body parts to stand up and take notice.
“What makes you say that?” Trask returned, snapping her out of what might have devolved into a serious sex-fantasy.
His too-lush-for-a-guy lips suddenly looked like they’d sucked lemons.
Had she unwittingly riled him up?
“No reason,” she started by placating, but then decided to go with honesty.
Her big mouth generally dropped her right into trouble, but this guy looked like a straight shooter, and a little candor from her might make it so she could either write him off as an asshole, or get him to stick around and star in a few of her X-rated fantasies.
She’d give it a whirl. “Actually, you do have some ‘tells’. It’s your eyes.
Behind those aviators you seem to be constantly analyzing the situation, our location, and the few people wandering around.
You haven’t given anything more than an appearance of relaxation, and even though you asked, you already know I’m more than a pilot. Am I right?”
He nodded wryly. “You are. And to test my intuition, I’m going to say… reconnaissance/surveillance pilot,” he guessed.
Now Jett laughed. “Oh, you are sooo wrong,” she told him. “I, dear sir, am a disaster waiting to happen, and my superiors would never have put me in charge of anything so logistical.”
Trask looked confused, so she kept explaining.
“I’m a walking, talking land-mine, most times,” she clarified, not bothered by it one bit.
Jett knew her own strengths and weaknesses.
“Except when I’m acting under specific orders or working a pre-planned, intelligence driven job.
Then I’m aces. Give me a little leeway, however, to make my own decisions?
Give over a smidgen of control? Watch out.
I can screw up a free cup of coffee.” She ticked off on her fingers.
“I’m disorganized, opinionated even when I’m wrong, and I’ve been called ‘flighty’ more times than I can count.
I’m easily distracted, but listen up. Here’s the kicker.
If I’m hyper focused on something, like carrying out a mission or flying, good luck pulling my head out of an assignment and getting me to change course. ”
She saw Trask’s lips twitch, and considered that a win. Some people responded positively to her lack of a filter. Others were instantly scared off.
It looked like Trask might be intrigued.
“So, what was your actual job description in the Air Force, then?” he asked.
“I was a PJ,” she told him with pride.
She’d loved her job, and had been very good at it.
“A pararescue specialist?” he said, barely disguising his incredulousness. “That’s…impressive.”
At least he hadn’t said, “impossible”, which is what Jett got a lot of the time.
“Thanks. But you were also partially right with your previous assumption. I flew missions, as well, when the powers-that-be didn’t need me as a jumper and could tell me exactly what needed to be accomplished.”
He responded carefully. “And your…penchants for getting distracted didn’t impede your abilities?”
“Nope,” Jett answered with pride. “I’m only an air-head when I’m not given a specific task.”
He cleared his throat, and she sensed an eyeroll, even though he refrained from following through with the expression. Humor actually tinged his voice when he next spoke. “So, am I to assume that means you’ve forgotten all about whoever, or whatever is moving around in your plane?”
“Oh, crap,” Jett blurted out, turning abruptly. “Langly. Tinker.”
She spun about and jogged to her Cessna, opening the back door to let her two German Shepherd-mix mutts clamber out.
They’d been good boys the entire trip, but they must be crossing their legs right about now.
“Go. Do your business,” she ordered the excited pair who had a little golden retriever in their mix that made their short fur more colorful.
The duo immediately headed for a snowy strip at the edge of the tarmac, where they sniffed for a few seconds before settling in to relieve themselves.
Jett walked back to Trask, shaking her head.
“I did forget about them,” she revealed with a sigh, “because I was focused on you.” Yeah. She’d blame him. “You have this…larger-than-life presence that wiped everything else from my brain.”
Was that too much?
She peeked up at him from under her lashes, and… It seemed like he might be enjoying her truthfulness? She was about to stroke his ego a little more, when her canines finished with their business, and made a beeline straight for Trask.
“Crap!” she yelped. “Watch out!”
If Trask had been any normal individual, he would have been knocked on his ass as he was stormed by the two, four-legged projectiles.
She’d seen it happen too many times to discount.
But as her unruly pups leaped, jumped, and nipped, licking joyously at the mountain of a man, he managed quite nicely to hold his ground.
If she wasn’t mistaken, he even looked a little…pleased?
Her heart beat a smidge harder.
“Tinker. Langly. Down,” she ordered to distract them, but of course they didn’t listen to her.
“Sit.” The single word shot crisply from Trask’s mouth, and…
Two butts hit the pavement.
“Holy crap. How’d you do that?” Jett marveled.
Both of her rambunctious babies were sitting at the man’s feet, tongue’s lolling from their mouths as they stared up at him, adoringly.
Huh. She was beginning to know how that felt.
Trask was pretty over-the-top, alpha, and she might also be seconds away from prostrating herself at his boots.
“Dogs like me,” he said, in a non-explanation before sending her a pointed look. “So, ‘crap’ is your favorite word,” he declared, seemingly unruffled by her calamitous canines, and also not knowing where her brain had gone.
“Uh, yeah,” she admitted a little sheepishly, getting herself together—or as together as she could.
She did tend to overuse the word he mentioned. “I have a severe potty-mouth from being in the military all my adult life, so I’ve been working to curb it around my Dad. He doesn’t appreciate it, and ‘crap’ seems to have evolved as my go-to.”
“Not the worst.” Trask shrugged, then patted each of her dogs on their heads, in turn. “So, Langly and Tinker, huh?”
The dogs didn’t move, but beat their tales against the pavement as Trask stroked their furry scruffs and said their names.
“Yeah.” Jett found herself smiling from ear to ear.
“Named for places I’ve been stationed. Once I got permanent, off-base housing two years ago, I was able to fulfill my lifelong dream of pet ownership, and took in this pair.
” She frowned, remembering. “They were barely two, and had been dropped at a local shelter, where they’d been deemed ‘untrainable’. ”
It still burned her ass.