Page 84 of Goode Vibrations
“Just living, I reckon. You have a crazy family, Poppy.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I do.” I moved to sit closer to him. “We, Errol.Wehave a crazy family.”
His face pinched. “I like them. A lot. They make me feel like…like I belong.”
I brushed my fingers into his hair. “So why do you look like you bit into a lemon?”
“Because whatarewe?”
“We’re…we’re going to go find a cabin in the woods and not come back until we know.”
He smirked. “Well. I happen to have found just such a place.”
“Youhave?” I sounded shrill with excitement, but didn’t care to try and tamp it down. Iwasexcited. “Where? When can we go?”
“Brock helped me find a place, way out there, way up in the bush, the wop-wops we’d call it, back in New Zealand. Apparently your sister Cassie’s man Ink owns a place, but it’s a bit more remote and off-grid than I’m in the mood for, so we’re renting this one I found. It’s accessible only by seaplane, but has its own generator and indoor plumbing, which is a plus.”
I grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. “Quit dragging it out, Errol. When do wego?”
“Brock is waiting as we speak. Get your things.”
I packed in record time, and then, instead of driving off in the van, we went to a truck that had been waiting across the parking lot, and in it was Brock Badd, a walking GQ advertisement, and a pilot. We drove across town to the docks, where Brock’s seaplane was tied up. A preflight checklist, and then we were taking off, my stomach dipping as we rose.
The moment we were airborne, Brock sat back and glanced at Errol, who was in the copilot’s seat. “Go for it, bro.”
Errol glanced back at me as he took the copilot’s steering yoke. “You buckled?”
“Yeah?”
“The gear is stowed?”
“You did it yourself, Errol. Do what? What are you doing?”
He just grinned. “Hold on, Pop.”
And then he twisted the yoke and the aircraft rolled, and we were upside down and my hair was drifting down to the ceiling, and then we were upside right, but diving, and he was punching the throttle…
I think I was screaming, but then my scream caught in my throat as we dove and dove—and pulled up abruptly, rising, rising, stomach now falling into my toes as we came up, up, upside down again, and back down again, diving faster than ever as we completed the loop.
“I may have taught your man some stunt flying,” Brock said. “He’s a natural.”
“Of course he is,” I snapped, when I could breathe or speak again. “Don’t do that again.”
Errol laughed. “No? I think it’s fun.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve also been skydiving. And shipwrecked. And in combat. So a little stunt flying is nothing.”
Errol lifted a finger. “Never been shipwrecked. Airplane crash, yes. Kidnapped by pirates? Yes. Shipwrecked, no.”
“Kidnapped by pirates?” Brock said, eying him sidelong. “For real?”
The rest of the trip was occupied mainly by Errol telling stories. Which was honestly fine with me, because I loved hearing his stories. What I loved more was seeing him flying, at ease, Brock occasionally taking over to adjust our heading or whatever. I liked listening to Errol talk. It took my mind off other things.
Like wanting him.
The past several weeks we’d both sort of found a status quo, an uneasy truce whereby we avoided doing anything outright provocative. Sex took a back seat to just getting to know each other. Learning each other.
He hated apples, I found. Hated the noise they made eating them, hated how the skin got between his teeth.