Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)(7)

“Perfect!” I found the same film title on Frankie’s screen so we could hit play together. “Top Gun. Your favorite movie.”

“Fuck Tom Cruise.” He shook his head. “What an unattainable standard to have as a pilot. And introducing my bedroom to women as ‘my personal cockpit’ never got the reaction I hoped it would.”

Frankie looked genuinely distraught and I tampered a laugh by sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

“You’re laughing at a man’s pain.”

“Oh come on, be my wingman,” I joked, slapping my palm down right above his knee and shaking it. “Watch Top Gun with me.”

His eyes were on my hand until I drew it back into my lap to untangle my earbuds. “Fuck, fine,” he caved. “The things I do for a date.”

I pumped my fist in celebration while Frankie pulled his own earbuds from his pocket and plugged the auxiliary edge into the armrest.

“My favorite movie is Bridesmaids, by the way,” he said before sticking them in his ears and shimmying into the cushion.



It was seventy-eight degrees and blindingly sunny when the plane landed in Fort Lauderdale. Frankie folded the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbows and undid a few buttons over his chest to acclimate, and suddenly it felt about ninety-five.

Of course the baggage claim, like in any other airport, was no less than three miles from the gate, and Frankie and I walked alongside each other with my snow boots hanging by their laces from the handle of my backpack while he guided us across the sparkling linoleum.

Very unfortunately, the man looked even better off the plane. Long legs and a cute ass that I kept sneaking looks at when his height carried him slightly further ahead of me. Up close he looked older, fine lines starting to crease his forehead, but when I saw him in this light, walking happily beside me, pointing out the different tourist attractions I might want to see and which ones he’d been kicked out of as a teenager—he was youthful still. Like a big kid in a very attractive older man’s body.

When we finally hit baggage claim I took the time to check my phone and update my parents. Nat had texted me as soon as the flight landed.



Nat babyyyy: You’re here!!!!! Waiting for you out in pickup. I have to keep circling, this bitch at the door is giving me the side-eye every time I try to park in the fire lane.

Ophelia: Grabbing my bag now. I had the craziest fucking thing happen to me on my flight.

Nat babyyyy: Tell me everything when you get in the car, hurry up!!!

Ophelia: Hurrying!!!





I shoved my phone in my pocket and watched the bags spin, spotting mine speckled in white polka dots coming toward me. I reached out to grab it, but Frankie pulled the handle and hauled it off the belt first.

“Thanks.” I smiled as he stood next to me with his own suitcase. “Looks like the world’s most insane Hook(Up) date has officially ended.”

“It’d be hard to top that, I agree.” He grinned back.

We still remained awkwardly idle as the crowd moved around us. If I could hear my nervous pulse thumping I’m sure he could too.

“Well, my ride’s here waiting outside. So I probably shouldn’t keep her.” I sounded like I was asking for approval to leave more than telling him I was.

“Okay,” he said softly, eyes roaming down my face like he was memorizing it.

“Okay…” I replied, slowly backing toward the rotating glass doors. “You’ve got my, uh…” He had my dating profile, which seemed appropriate. “You know,” I finished sheepishly.

Frankie nodded, pulling his hat off to rake his fingers through his messy locks. “And you’ve got mine.”

The humid Floridian air hit me square in the chest as soon as I stepped outside. It smelled like sand and salt, and the sun was just falling below the horizon, bathing the sky in vibrant purple and neon fire.

I spotted Nat in her car immediately, the nose of her yellow Jeep wedged between two waiting cabs and a barrage of horns beeping behind her. “The night awaits us!” she yelled, leaning over to push the passenger door open for me.

I shook my head, laughing as a smile dimpled my cheeks. Christmas in Coconut Creek wasn’t looking too bad at all.





3





I shoved through the front door of the house with my shoulder, sweating as I pulled my luggage in one hand with the suit bag I’d borrowed from Mateo hanging from the other. It was a temperate enough night, but after spending a week in Colorado I quickly realized the humidity in this state couldn’t be described as anything less than the underside of a ballbag.

The air out West was so fresh. I stood outside the hotel waiting for a cab to drive me to base every day just so I could breathe it in. I’d never known what winter felt like. That was abundantly clear when all I had for a jacket was a thinly-lined windbreaker that I’d only bought for getting caught in those late afternoon Florida thunderstorms.

My entire life had been spent in some sort of undying heat. My childhood in Southern Florida, and then when I joined the military, it was Georgia, North Carolina, Afghanistan, Guam. With Delta, it was Central American jungle.

I’d taught my body to adapt like a fucking lizard. A lizard was supposed to freeze in temperatures below forty-five degrees, but after a few days in Colorado Springs, I just wanted to play in it.