Do you like sushi?”

I flinch. “Yeah, why?”

Thad looks at me with a wide grin and points down the crowded street. “I know a great place just up ahead here. Best damn gyoza in Hollywood.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, holding my breath. I glance around the familiar corner. Oh, god, he’s not taking me to the same place as—

“And we’re here!” he says.

Yep. He is.

I look up at the Kitano’s sign lingering over my head as if it’s about to fall and crush me any second.

“Uhh…”

The door opens as a couple walks out and I see that hostess at the desk. The same one who seated me last night with Max. She’ll definitely remember me…

“Actually, let’s just keep walking,” I say.

Thad furrows his brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s a really nice night tonight. No sense in sitting indoors in a stuffy, fancy place. Let’s hit the street.”

“Hit the street?” he parrots back.

“Yeah, like a…” I search for the right word. “Like a gang.”

He laughs for a second. “Okay. Sure. If you want. That actually sounds pretty nice.”

“I want.” I nod, glancing into the restaurant again. “I really want.”

“Well, if we’re hitting the street, then we’re gonna do it right,” he says, playing along. “There just so happens to be a pretty damn good hot dog cart one corner down. It ain’t fancy or anything but—”

“That’s perfect,” I say, flashing a smile.

In fact, it really is. When I look at Thad, I don’t think fancy, candlelit dining. I see light and casual fun. Romantic, sure. But not the kind that leaves you weak in the knees. The kind that leaves you panting for air after a good laugh.

We reach the cart and I inhale a deep breath. The aromas wafting out of it trigger a rush of saliva beneath my tongue. Thad buys the two of us hot dogs, along with a large soda for us to share. We top them with fixings and condiments and walk off down the street side-by-side.

I take a first bite and let out a groan. “Oh, that’s good.”

“I know, right?” he says, enjoying his own mouthful. “My trips to LA aren’t complete without a stop there.”

“I can taste why…” I lick my lips. “Where else do you stop while you’re in town?”

“Marion’s, obviously,” he says. “Max’s pad, if I need a place to crash. It’s actually a really short list…”

“Dogs, booze, and besties,” I quip.

“That’s right.”

“So… what else do you do, Thad? Tell me about you.”

“What about me?”

“Like… what is it like to be a pilot?”

He shakes his head. “People got places to be and I get them there.”

“Isn’t that scary as hell, though?” I ask. “I mean... you’re flying a giant metal tube that’s magically floating up in the air.”

“No magic necessary.” He smiles. “It’s all very scientific and precise, I assure you.”

I marvel at his tone. Calm, professional. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“How did you end up in any job that could be described as precise and scientific? No offense, I mean...”

He laughs. “None taken. Well, after high school, and I literally mean immediately after graduation, my dad walked up and told me to pack up my shit and get out.”

I blink. “Why?”

“Honestly, he’d been counting down the days until he could do it.”

“He just kicked you out?” I ask. “Where was your mom?”

“She died when I was ten.”

I slink back. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

He waves a hand. “No worries. Long time ago. My dad never really wanted to be a dad but he had me because that’s just what you’re supposed to do to give the old lady something to do all day and leave you alone, or that’s what he used to say anyway...”

“Jeez.” I shake my head. “Kinda sounds like a horrible guy in general…”

“Yeah, he is. Won’t deny that one. There’s a reason why I only talk to him once a year, if that.”

“So, what’d you do?”

“I packed up my shit and got out,” he says. “I crashed with Max for a few weeks that summer while he prepared to go to law school and grow up to be his dad. Then, one night, I had this really vivid dream that I was floating in the air. Not falling or screaming. The ground never got any closer. Just... floating. It was the best dream I ever had. I rolled out of bed that morning,” he tugs on the lapel of his blazer, “put on a clean suit, and enlisted in the Air Force.”

I smile. “You wanted to fly.”

“I wanted to fly.” He nods. “Obviously wasn’t getting any help from my dad in that, so I took the only route I could. Bonus points for serving my country. That felt pretty cool.”

“Thank you for your service, Mr. Hemsley,” I say.

“You’re welcome, milady,” he says with a wink. “I really just wanted to take control of my life and if there’s anything you absolutely need while you’re in the cockpit, it’s control.”

“How long were you in?”

“Six years.” He points upward. “Spent every moment I could in the air once I was allowed to. Saved every penny I earned to go toward getting my commercial license. Got out, applied for the job, and the rest is history. I lived and breathed the sky. Still do. Life’s just better up there than down here, for the most part.”

“So, there’s nothing else you do?” I ask. “Just fly?”

He tilts his head. “Not much else I can do.”

“What do you do during downtime?”

“Downtime?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s that?”

“Ahh.” I chuckle. “I see.”

He sucks a little ketchup off his fingertip. “Most of the other pilots have families and kids but I see how hard that is on all of them. Gets rough when you can’t curl up with your wife every night because you’re in hotel rooms across the world for days at a time. I don’t want to put a girl through that. Don’t really want to put me through it, either.”

I nod. “Sounds lonely.”

“I keep myself busy.”

I look at him, sensing something familiar. For a second I ignore it, but I follow my gut. “What are you working on now?” I ask him.

Thad pauses. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

His jaw freezes mid-chew and he stares at me for an extra long second before swallowing. “No, I don’t.”

“Thad…” I smile. “I work with writers every day. I can pick one out of a crowd.”

“I’m not a writer.”

“No one reacts the way you did when they find out I work at Fortnight…” I point a finger, “unless they’re a writer.”

We come to a stop on the sidewalk and he looks up into the sky before letting out a soft groan.

“Okay,” he says.

My lips twitch. “Okay, what?”

He murmurs something under his breath.

I lean forward. “What’s that now?”

“I’m a writer,” he says, barely raising his voice. “Okay? Happy? Let’s move on…”

I lean into his path. “What do you write?” I ask.

“You know, this was such a good idea,” he says, holding up his food. “That dog cart really knows what they’re doing...”

I tap his arm. “Thad, come on. You can tell me about it.”

“There’s not much to tell,” he says, his cheeks turning red.

“Why are you ashamed of it?”

“I’m not ashamed of it. I’m just…” He pauses, glancing around for prying ears. “Okay, yeah. I’m a little ashamed of it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not cool.”

“So?” I shrug. “I’m a writer.”

“Yeah, but you’re not—” He cuts himself off as I raise a brow. “Okay, let me remove my foot from my mouth first...”

We pause by the nearest trash can and toss our wrappers inside.

“I just mean…” he says, slowly walking forward with me again, “it’s not the kind of thing people expect from a guy like me.”

“Do you really think Stephen King sits around lamenting how uncool he looks to other people?” I ask.

“Of course not. Stephen King writes horror novels. That’s cool as fuck.”

“Then, what do you write?”

His eyes flick over at me but he doesn’t answer.

“Science fiction?” I guess.

“No.”

“Romance?”

“Nope.”

“Vampire erotica?”

“I wish.”

I chuckle. “Then, what?”

Thad pauses his stride and turns to me as he inhales a long, deep breath. “Poetry,” he finally says.

My jaw drops slowly. “You write poetry?”

“Yes,” he murmurs.

“Like… what kind are we talking here? Sonnets? Haikus? Dirty limericks?”

“Free form, mostly.”

“Like raps?”

He lets out a laugh. “Not really.”

“Do you keep a notebook on you at all times to write down ideas?”

“Pheebs…”

I bite my lip. “I’m just curious.”

His eyes narrow into amused slits as he reaches into his back pocket and withdraws a small spiral-bound pad, creased and worn from heavy use. “Yes, I do.”

“Can I read some—”

“No.”

I grin, fully expecting that exact answer. “Well, if it makes any difference, I think a guy like you writing free form poetry is really cool.”

“It does…” He shoves the notepad back into his pocket. “A little.”

“In fact…” I take a quick step forward, “it might just be a bit of a turn-on.”

His eyes soften as they roam my face. “Oh, yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

My stomach spins, roused out of whack by butterflies. Thad Hemsley. I thought I knew him. Turns out, I knew nothing. His mind isn’t nearly as one-track as I always assumed it was. Unless I’m wrong…

I lick my lips. “So… what is this?”

“What is what?” he asks.

I point between us. “This.”

“Ahh, this.” He grins. “This is fun.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it will be for a few hours,” I say. “Then, you’ll leave on a jet plane for days at a time, like you said. It’s what you love.”

“For now.”

“For now?”

“For now,” he repeats.

“What does that mean?”

“It means for now.”

“Thad, despite a few questionable decisions I made under the influence of vodka, I don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asks.

“Casual flings,” I answer. “I don’t want to get involved in something flippant that’s just going to hurt me.”

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Pheebs, and if I may once again defend myself from yet another vast misunderstanding you’ve made toward my character this evening…” I laugh and he smiles. “Do I occasionally engage in casual sex with women I have no intention of ever seeing again? Yes. Did I plan on doing that with you? No.”

“No?” I repeat.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He smirks. “You sound disappointed.”

I exhale. “Explain for now.”

“All right…” He rubs his chin in thought. “When I say I don’t want to put a girl through all of that stuff my colleagues put their wives through, I mean it… and I won’t. If I ever fall for someone, it’ll be right out of the sky, too… and that metaphor took a really dark turn.”

I cringe. “Yes, it did.”

“Moving on. Phoebe, you’re right. I love flying. It’s been the love of my life for my entire adult life but if something — or someone — were to come along you can be damn sure they’d come first. That’s what I mean when I say for now.”

Warmth rushes through me, passing by quickly with the rest of the world. “Okay,” I say with a nod.

He tilts his head. “Now, that’s some really heavy shit for a Friday night out, but I admire your instinct to protect yourself, so if this is really the end of this,” he gestures between us, “I respect that. I just wanted to hang out and get to know a really cool girl that was right in front of me for a long time and I missed it. I’m kind of kicking myself for not noticing her until now but that’s my fault, not yours.”

Everything quivers. Everything. “Wow…” I sigh.

“What?” he asks.

“You talk too much.”

He gawks at me. “I thought I’d already blown my free kiss for the evening.”

“The secret poet thing kind of earned you a second one,” I quip.

“Well, in that case…”

Thad cups my face, tilting me up to steal another kiss. I part my lips, feeling the soft flick of his tongue begging to be let inside. It’s a firm kiss like the one at the bar and just as difficult to ignore. Hard, demanding. Like he’s the only one who’s ever allowed to do it again.

I grip his jacket, holding on as he leans over me. “Thad…” I whisper.

“Yes, milady?”

I bite my tongue, torn between wanting to laugh and needing to stop this. This isn’t me. I don’t make-out with men on the sidewalk in the middle of Hollywood. I sure as hell don’t consider bringing men home on the first date but I just might be two-for-two on that this week. I guess Jackie was right.

I’m a boss-ass bitch.

“Would you like to come back to my place for a drink?” I ask.

Thad shifts back a step and stands up tall. “Phoebe, if we go back to your place, I’m going to fuck you.” He stares even harder at me as my toes curl in my shoes. “Now… stop and think about what you really want—”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“Pheebs…” He leans forward. “Take a minute—”

“I want it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He smirks. “Sure sure?”

I push up onto my toes to kiss him again and he laughs against my lips as he pulls me closer. “I’m very sure,” I say.

Thad releases me and reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Cool,” he says, swiping it on. “I’ll call an Uber. You stand there and look pretty.”

I nod. “I can handle that.”

He winks at me and turns away to make the call.