Fly With Me (Wild Aces #1)(40)

“It’s March, babe.”

That was his explanation? I stared at him like he was delusional—no, scratch that—I stared at that thing on his face. It was like a hairy caterpillar had crawled up and taken residence over his lip.

Ugh.

Tell me the mustache wasn’t a permanent thing and I’d just met him on a brief hiatus. We’d met in February. Last time I’d been out here had been the last weekend in February. And our video sex chat had been a few days after that and the quality hadn’t been all that great. Sure, I’d seen some stubble, but not this.

“You don’t shave in March?”

He gave me a look like I’d just said “f*ck” in church. “It’s Mustache March.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Mustache March.”

“What the f*ck is Mustache March?” I asked, my foot tapping now. Meg was getting married next weekend. No way I was taking him to my sister’s wedding with that thing on his face. No f*cking way. A whole month? Those pictures would last forever. How could he not mention this? I didn’t mean to be superficial, but he looked like a total perv.

He just stared back at me like we spoke a different language. Maybe we did. He was clearly speaking Fighter Pilot and I was speaking Girl Who Is a Bridesmaid in Her Younger Sister and Ex-Boyfriend’s Wedding.

“We grow mustaches.”

He said this proudly, as if mustaches were something to be glorified. His lips curved. The caterpillar twitched.

Was this normal behavior? Had I somehow time warped back to college and fraternity rush week or something?

“We?” I asked, my voice weak. It was like a car crash I couldn’t look away from.

“Everyone. The squadron. Fighter pilots. Pilots. The Air Force.”

“Everyone grows a mustache,” I repeated.

What the f*ck?

He checked his watch. “Babe, I gotta brief soon.” His voice became impatient now, and my annoyance grew. I got that in the grand scheme of life, it wasn’t a big deal, but right now, it felt like a big deal.

I’d flown across the country to see him. Multiple times. My friends and family thought I was crazy. I was beginning to think I was crazy. He hadn’t been able to pick me up, now he couldn’t even stay, and then to top it off, he’d said he wanted me to meet his friends, and now he was going to miss out on most of that. I didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep or what, but the mustache, stupid as it was, felt like the tipping point.

“Can we talk about this later?” he asked, his voice growing even more impatient.

Oh, yeah, I was getting pissed.

“No. No, we can’t talk about this later. My sister’s wedding is in eight days. Are you telling me that thing is going to be on your face in all of the family photos?”

He grinned, and I swore he almost puffed out his chest with pride. I couldn’t.

“Yeah, it’s awesome, right?”

Oh my God.

“No.”

“Babe.”

“No.”

The smile slid off his face as my tone changed, my foot tapping even faster. We hadn’t been together long enough for him to see my temper, but I had a temper. A big one. And it was about to blow. I didn’t like feeling like I was an afterthought or an inconvenience, and I definitely felt like both now.

“Everyone grows a mustache,” he repeated.

“Even the women?”

“No.”

“So not everyone grows a mustache.”

Noah’s eyes darkened, and I got the feeling he was getting pissed. If I’d been a little more together, I would have registered that he was probably not the kind of guy who handled being told what to do very well, but I was in the middle of losing my shit, so that didn’t register.

“I don’t have a *, so yeah, everyone in my world grows a f*cking mustache in March.” He glanced at his watch again, the gesture spiking my temper. “I don’t have time for this. I need to go.”

I glared at him. Asshole. “Well, you definitely won’t have my * if you don’t shave that thing off your f*cking face.”

I hated saying the P-word—did any girl actually like it?—but desperate times called for desperate measures. If I had to speak Fighter Pilot to get that shit off his face, I’d do it. Not to mention, I wasn’t feeling too into him right now anyway.

Noah closed the distance between us, the expression in his eyes changing from slightly annoyed to supremely pissed off. Good, now we were even.

“You’re saying you won’t have sex with me for all of March if I have a mustache?”

I mean there was like a week left in the month, but I had to draw a line somewhere, flimsy though that line may be. It was my own Lysistrata. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Arrogance flashed in those beautiful dark eyes and I felt a fluttering in my lady parts. Shit.

Since he’d never seen my temper, and we’d never actually had a fight, we’d also never had angry sex. Which when done well, could be really freaking hot. And considering Noah did everything well, I didn’t doubt he’d deliver there, too.

“Bullshit. You can’t go the whole weekend without my cock, babe.”

Possibly true, but right now this was the best play I had.

I leaned in closer, letting him get a whiff of my perfume and a chance to look down my shirt at the not-insubstantial cleavage there barely contained by the red lacy bra.