He checked his watch. “We’ve got two hours to burn before family dinner.”
“And if we show up all bloody and sweaty?”
Sergio took off his sunglasses and winked. “It’s family dinner. How else do you think we show up? Holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya?’”
“Valid point.”
“You first.” He gently pushed me forward.
“But—”
“Come on, Andi,” He tugged my body back against his ripped stomach. “Where’s your sense of adventure, oh hippo trainer?”
“I said I wanted to meet a hippo not train one.”
“Chickening out?”
“No.” I kept staring at the entrance to the building. “Okay, fine. But how is this even possible if I’ve never been trained?”
Sergio gripped my hand again. “You haven’t been trained. I have.” With that, he tugged me toward the door.
I tried to dig my heels into the cement. It didn’t work.
Fifteen minutes later, I was signing a consent form that basically said if I died, I couldn’t sue the company.
I felt the need to point out that if I was dead, I wouldn’t be able to sue in the first place.
Sergio coughed up a laugh then slid our papers forward to the old man, who may or may not have been blind. I couldn’t tell on account he refused to take off his sunglasses and hadn’t uttered one word to me other than “Name, date, sign.”
“You taking her?” The old man sniffed loudly. “Or you want me to get one of the guys?”
I wasn’t at all comfortable with the way Sergio grinned in my direction. “I think I’ll take her.”
“Think?” I repeated weakly.
“Come on.” He tugged me back outside.
A guy who looked about my age waltzed toward us. “Been a long time, Sergio.”
“Oh gosh.” I was going to puke. “You’re taking me, and it’s been a long time?”
“Chill.” The guy laughed. “It’s not like you forget how to jump out of a plane. Just make sure to check your equipment so you don’t go splat. Clean up’s a bitch.”
I felt all blood drain from my face.
“We’re on our honeymoon.” Sergio wrapped his arm around me and squeezed tightly. “Aren’t we, sugar pants?”
Oh? Little Italy wanted to play? I could dig that. “Sure are…” I pinched his ass. “…Mr. Big.”
Sergio let out a strangled cough while I placed my hand on his chest. “He’s a huge Sex and the City fan. Refuses to let me call him anything other than that… for…” I looked down at his tight jeans then cupped him with my hand. “…obvious reasons, though it seems just about anything excites him these days, huh, baby?”
Sergio gritted his teeth. “Whatever you say, baby.”
I fought back a laugh, removing my hand.
He squeezed my ass, nearly bruising me in the process.
“Whoa, you guys have one of those… fifty-shades relationships?” The guy took a step back and nodded admiringly.
“What can I say?” I shrugged. “My man likes whips.”
“Okay.” Sergio gripped me by the shoulders and steered me toward the plane. “Get everything ready, Tom. I’m just going to go over the basics with her before we take off.”
“Cool.” He walked off.
I watched him, my brow furrowing the more I watched. “He’s like ten years old.”
“Twenty-three.”
“He’s flying a plane.”
“That’s typically what pilots do.”
I pointed at him. “He can’t even grow facial hair.”
Sergio rolled his eyes. “And you know that how?”
“I bet he still drinks milk before bed.”
“Andi, stop stalling, and follow me. We have to pack the chutes.”
I needed a paper bag or something to breathe into.
“You know…” My knees felt weak, and this time it wasn’t because I was having dizzy spells or my cancer was being a bitch; it was because real live fear was beginning to boil in my chest. “…we don’t have to do this. When I wrote down that I wanted to jump out of something scary, I meant like… a car.”
“A car?” Sergio turned, his smile mocking. “Really?”
“Yeah, like a really old car, one that was perhaps missing an engine and a steering wheel, making it so we had to roll it down a hill and just take our chances by hopping out.”
“You’re doing this.” Sergio grabbed one large, black pack-thing and pulled a chute out of it. “I always fold my own chute. Never trust someone else to keep you safe.”
“Good life lesson.”
“You pack your own chute even if the person swears they did it right because you know you the best. Got it?”
I nodded numbly, watching as he took special care in making sure the chute wasn’t torn. His fingers ran over every part of the material. I shivered.
He had nice hands.
They were soft, strong, not too rough, but really masculine at the same time.
“You cold?” Sergio asked without looking up.
“Um, no.”
“Mm-kay.” My eyes followed his hands as they moved the parachute, folding it, and then shoving it into the pack. “We’re good to go.”
“But I haven’t learned anything.”