Matchmaker 09: September

"Look at the buildings," Roger said softly.

"What's wrong?" I gasped as I clung to him and stared at the hangars in the distance.

He smiled. "Nothing. It's normal. It's motion sickness in reverse because your inner ear is all messed up. It'll pass in a moment."

He was right, and as a group of people approached to help with the plane, I felt confident enough to release him. I followed Roger and the ground crew as they pushed the plane back to the apron and into his rented hangar, every step I took making me feel less shaky. After the plane was secured, Roger was mobbed by the people who'd followed the plane, wanting to talk to him about the Peregrine. He spent an hour or so answering questions and gave an interview for the cameras. I even had my moment in the spotlight as the reporter asked me for my thoughts. I mumbled and stumbled through a rambling statement about how exciting and thrilling the ride had been, leaving out the part that I nearly upchucked my breakfast.

"Thank you, that's all," Roger said after answering a few more questions. He glanced at me. "Tomorrow morning, from ten until noon, here in the hangar, I'll take more questions, but that's all for now. Thank you."

There was a collective rumble of disappointment, but Roger put his arm around my waist and steered me away from the crowd. "Are you going to leave the door open?" I asked.

He shook his head. I could sense the walls going up, but he looked at me and smiled. "No. We'll hang around a few minutes and then I'll chase everyone out," he said as he guided me to the small glass office tucked into the back corner of the hangar.

"What are we going to do until then?" I asked as he opened the door and stepped aside, allowing me to enter first.

He shut the door and closed the blinds before turning to me and pulling me close. "I have a couple of ideas," he murmured before his lips took mine.

I smiled at Azumi as we walked away from the hangar that housed the Peregrine, her arm tucked through mine as she leaned into my side. It had been a full week since I'd spent three hours in the hangar answering questions after my demonstration flight. The Peregrine was the belle of the ball and everyone wanted to have a look at her. She'd been featured prominently on the local news and even rated a mention on a national cable news channel's technology segment for a day. Azumi and I were flying her every day, and we always collected admirers, people that clustered around as we prepared to fly or after we returned. We spoke to them, but the chats were informal, short lived, and fun. I wasn't flying the Peregrine to demonstrate or test her abilities, I was flying her for the joy of it, and for the joy being with Azumi.

Azumi was exactly what I wanted, what I needed. The first few days after she arrived were rough. I didn't blame her for being disappointed in me. Her reaction was no different than all the other women in my past, women who couldn't or wouldn't accept that I was obsessed with work. The difference was, rather than storming off in a fit of rage, Azumi had patiently but firmly guided me away from work while drawing me out. I occasionally started to return to my old habits, but she wouldn't tolerate me slipping back into my world of worry and stress. She allowed me to do what I needed to, but when the task was complete, she insisted that I focus my attention on her. Every time doubt and worry began to overcome me, she'd haul me back into her world before I became lost. Sometimes she did it with a word or a touch, sometimes by forcing my attention to something else, and sometimes by dragging me into the bedroom and fucking the shit out of me. I especially liked it when she distracted me that way.

I'd had several requests for interviews, but seeing the annoyance, disappointment, and hope in her eyes had prevented me from accepting any of them. It was difficult at first to decline the requests and doing so often left me struggling with guilt. She'd had to work hard to keep my attention focused on her and convince me that I was doing the right thing. Now, an interesting thing was happening. It was getting easier to say no. It no longer bothered me to hand over a business card and ask someone to contact me in October when I'd be happy to grant them an interview. A surprise to me was the fact that my rejection of an immediate interview didn't seem to upset anyone. Nobody cared that I had something else to do and accepted my polite but firm rejection with a smile and a promise to call me.

Now, two weeks into my holiday, I was starting to feel like I was actually on holiday. I was flying because I wanted to, not because I was evaluating the Peregrine. I was eating, not because I needed fuel for my body, but because I enjoyed it. Most importantly, I was making love to Azumi, not as a way to relieve stress when working out wasn't enough anymore or I was overwhelmed with urges, but because I wanted to. I looked down at her and smiled to myself as I felt a warmth flow through me. Actually, I was overwhelmed with urges... urges to hold her, to kiss her, to caress her, to make her smile or laugh, and to make mad passionate love to her. The difference was I no longer considered those urges an annoyance, distraction, or bother, but a pleasure.

I was decompressing, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I could breathe. It was as if a great weight was being lifted from my shoulders, weight I'd carried for so long that I accepted it as normal, but no more. I was beginning to see that there was more to life than work. I opened the passenger door to the Range Rover, but before she could climb into the vehicle, I pulled her to a stop, turned her to me, and took her lips.

The kiss energized me, as all her kisses did. She was so full of life that it flowed through the touch of our lips and lifted me, driving away the darkness of doubt, guilt, and fear with blinding brightness. She was like a great battery, recharging my desire for life with every kiss.

"What should we do now?" I whispered as our lips slowly parted.

I might be starting to enjoy life, but I hadn't yet mastered the art of occupying time with things other than work.

"Mmmm, I know what I'd like to do, but we can't spend all our time in bed."

I caressed her lips with mine again. "Why not?"

She snickered. "Because we wouldn't get anything done."

"Isn't that the point of holiday, to do nothing except what we want to do?"

"You're learning," she replied softly, her smile gentle. "Why don't you pick something this time?"

I felt that moment of panic I always felt when I was faced with a dilemma I didn't know how to address, but I relaxed. It didn't matter what I did, as long as I did it with her.

"How about more cooking lessons?"

She smiled. "I thought you hated cooking."

I smiled. I didn't cook, or hadn't, until I met Azumi. It seemed like such a waste when I could throw a prepackaged meal into a microwave or grab something in passing. I once believed that eating was to fuel the body and nothing more, but that had changed with Azumi. One night, as I was struggling to not 'put my walls up,' as she called it, she'd insisted that I join her in the kitchen and talk to her. She'd discovered taro at the local market and had bought several so that I could try poi.

As she'd worked at mashing the tuber, I was fascinated, listening to her as she prattled on about the history of poi and the significance of it to the Hawaiian people, her impromptu lecture prevented me from getting lost in my thoughts. While the education had been interesting, I was less thrilled with the look of the poi when she'd finished, the purple color and paste-like consistency putting me off. I also didn't care for the fact she insisted that we had to eat it by holding the first two fingers together and using them like a spoon. I changed my mind, however, when she fed some to me. After I'd sucked her fingers clean, she'd smeared a small amount of the bland goop on her lips. After I'd cleaned her lips, she'd then soiled the hollow of her neck and her upper breasts, and then we'd made a hell of a mess. We'd undressed, smearing ourselves with poi and licking it off as we went, before we ravaged each other in the kitchen, the poi forgotten.

Since then I'd started helping her prepare meals. If I was alone with my thoughts for too long, I still sometimes began the downward spiral into my former world, and I didn't want to go back there. We'd not had a repeat of the poi incident, but I still enjoyed her company and helping her as she prepared Chinese Hawaiian fusion dishes that were as interesting as they were varied.

"I do, did, but I find the teacher irresistible."

"Oh, that's smooth," she murmured. "Okay, how about manapua?"

"Sounds good."

"Do you even know what manapua is?"

"Not a clue."

She snickered. "Then you're in for a treat. They're meat-stuffed steamed buns. I love them." She smiled at me in that way she had that made my cock twitch. "You eat them with your fingers."

"I like them already."

"I thought you might," she purred.

I kissed her again, briefly, before she crawled into the Range Rover. We were motoring along when my phone rang. My heart sank when Phillip Bentley appeared on the screen.

"Shit," I muttered as I touched the screen to accept the call. "Afternoon, Dad."

"How'd the demonstration go?"

Dad wasn't much for pleasantries or idle chit-chat. "It went fine. There's a lot of interest in the wing, but nothing firm yet."

"I guess that's understandable. Where are you? I haven't heard anything from you, so I thought I'd follow up."

"I'm still in Boulder."

"Why are you still there?"

"What do you mean?"

"The show's over, right? You said it was a week. If the show's over, why aren't you back home or out knocking on people's doors?"

"I'm taking a little time to—"

"Taking a little time?" Dad barked, cutting me off. "You think people are going to come crawling on their hands and knees, begging to use your design? You've got to push this, Roger! Nobody is going to give you shit unless you make it happen."

"Yes, I know, but it's going to take some time—"

"Which is exactly why you need to get in front of this! If you sit on your ass, you're giving the naysayers a chance to get a toehold. Why do I have to keep telling you that people don't like change and will find every excuse to try to hold you back?"

"Yes, but—"

"No buts! Do you think I got where I am by sitting around on my ass?"

"No," I said softly.

"You're damn right! I worked my ass off and didn't let anyone stand in my way. Now, get off your lazy ass, stop fucking around, and get in front of this!"

"Yes sir," I mumbled.

Dad was right. I needed to get in front of the inevitable resistance. Established industry didn't like radical, disruptive change. They'd bury any new idea that threatened them if they could, and if they couldn't bury it, they'd resist it as long as possible. My wing design, if it could be fully developed for commercial and military use, was radical and disruptive. It was going to shake up the world of aircraft design in a big way and was a threat to the business models of large companies.

"Mr. Bentley! Azumi Mah! How are you, sir!" Azumi called loud enough that the hands-free in the Range Rover would hear her.

"Who's that?" Dad asked.

"Azumi Mah. I'm a friend of Roger's. He's told me so much about you. I'm glad to finally have a chance to speak to you."

I glared at Azumi. Her voice was friendly and full of life, but her face told a different story. Her eyes were hard as she matched my glare with one of her own.

"Roger?" Dad asked, his voice hard and full of puzzlement.

"Phillip Bentley, Azumi Mah. Azumi, my father, Phillip Bentley." I didn't know what else to say.

"How are you, sir?"

"I'm fine, Ms. Mah, if a little puzzled. Roger hasn't mentioned you."

"Not surprising. I've only known him for a couple of weeks. We met here in Boulder." A heavy weight settled into my stomach. Azumi might be trying to help, but there was going to be hell to pay after this. "I just wanted to tell you how wonderful I think Roger is. You must be very proud of him."

"Yes, yes I am."

I could tell Dad was completely rocked back on his heels. Despite the fact that I was going to have to deal with the fallout of this conversation later, I derived some satisfaction from his hesitancy. Azumi might be tiny, but her personality filled a room, and she clearly wouldn't be intimidated by anyone.

"He's shown me his airplane, and from what I've seen, people are very impressed."

"Are you involved in aircraft design?"

Azumi giggled, but it was clearly faked as her hard expression never changed. "Oh heavens no. I'm a fashion designer."

I rolled my eyes. This was getting worse and worse.

"A fashion designer?" Dad said, his voice flat. Azumi might as well have said she was a stripper. "Yes. Well. It's been nice talking to you Ms. Mah."

"You too, Phillip."

The call dropped as I was turning into the driveway of the cabin. I said nothing until I switched the SUV off in the garage. "Are you happy?" I growled.

"No, I'm not happy," she snapped. "Why do you let him browbeat you like that?"

"Well, he's right. Nobody—"

"Fuck right!" she snarled. "I don't give a shit if he is right! You shouldn't let him talk to you like that! Everyone has a right to enjoy life. Just because he's all fucked up doesn't mean you have to be."

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"But... I don't know. This was a mistake."

"What?"

"Thinking I should take some time off."

"Meeting me was a mistake?"

"No!"

"Enjoying yourself a little? Was that a mistake?"

I stared at the wall in front of the car. "Maybe."

"Then you're just as fucked up as your dad is."

"Yes, maybe."

She glared at me and shook her head, her lips thin and her eyes hard. "It's time for you to make a decision. I like you. I like you a lot. Over the last few days I've seen the man you can be, and I like what I see. You were starting to claw your way out of the twisted, fucked up world you were living in. I'll help you, but all I can do is hold out my hand. It's up to you to take it. So it's time for you to decide. Are you going to take my hand, or are you going to let your dad browbeat you into going back to how you were?"

I looked at her, watching her eyes. She had such beautiful, expressive eyes, eyes that were begging me to reach out, to grasp her hand and not let go. I held my hand out and she took it, gripping it firmly.

"I'm willing to share you with your work, but I won't be placed second, not behind another woman and damn sure not to your job. I'll fight for you, but you have to help me."

"How?"

"By being the man I know you can be. By doing what you know is right and not letting anyone change your mind. Most importantly, you need to tell your family to fuck off, that you're a grown man, and you're going to do what you think is right, regardless of what they think."

"I'll try."

"I'll take that... for now." She placed her other hand on mine. "Your dad is wrong, dead wrong. You're not sitting around on your lazy ass, and you're not fucking around. You're doing very important work. You're recharging your batteries. Just like you can't drive this car forever without filling it with gas, you can't always work. You were running on empty. I could see it in you. You need this time, time to recharge your batteries and clear your mind." She continued to hold my hand, her gaze unwavering. "If your dad is right and the naysayers are going to try to shut you down, then you need to be ready to meet them on their turf and crush them. You can't do that if you're emotionally exhausted. I want you to succeed. I want you to make your billions and show the world that you're the next Orville or Wilbur Wright." She held my gaze for a moment. "And most of all, I want you to prove to that fucking Phillip Bentley that you're better than him. I want you to show him that you're so good you can be hugely successful without having to work all the time."

I squeezed her hand. "I'll try."

"You're going to do more than try. You're going to do." She continued watching me for a moment and then smiled. "Now, you're going to take me into this beautiful cabin, take me to your room, and you're going to fuck me until I can't walk."

I couldn't help but smile. "I am?"

"You are," she confirmed. "You're going to do that because you are, without question, the best lover I've ever had."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "At least I'm good at something."

She smiled before she opened her door. "Babe, you're not just good at it, you're the fucking best!"

I was so mad I couldn't see straight. I was annoyed with Roger for letting his father talk to him as he had, but more than that, I was furious with Phillip Bentley. I might occasionally have a fight with my parents over my lifestyle, but they never, ever, spoke to me with the disdain I heard in Phillip's voice when he was tearing into Roger for taking a few days off. If that was what Roger had listened to his entire life, no wonder he was fucked up. The fact he was battling his way out of that world spoke of his strength and determination.

I'd seen the annoyance in Roger's face when I spoke up, but I didn't care. I'd been serious when I said I'd fight for him, but now I was more determined than ever to drag him out of the world he'd lived in for so long. He was like a caged animal, confined and miserable as the world passed just beyond his reach. I was determined to set him free, and I wouldn't let Phillip Bentley or anyone else stand in my way.

I stormed into the house and stomped up the steps. I needed a target for the anger that was seething inside me. I couldn't, wouldn't yell at Roger. It wasn't fair to blame him for how he was, not after being raised with such fucked up expectations as a child. What I wanted to do was rage at his father, to release my anger by telling Phillip fucking Bentley in no uncertain terms exactly what I thought of him, of his parenting skills, and how he treated Roger. Unfortunately, Phillip wasn't here, so I was going to do the next best thing and fuck my anger out with Roger.

I turned into his room and glared at the door, waiting for him to appear, and waited, and waited some more. With a soft snarl, I stomped out of his bedroom and down the steps before pausing halfway down. Roger was sitting on the red leather sofa in front of the fireplace, staring at the wall. Even from across the room I could tell the walls he built around himself were up and firmly in place.

Goddamn you Phillip Bentley! I bounded down the rest of the steps, strode across the room, and stopped in front of Roger. "So, this is it?" I demanded.

"What?" he asked, his gaze returning from far away.

I was losing him. "You're giving up? You're going to go back to how you were and let your dad dictate to you the rest of your life?" He shrugged. "Goddamn you, Roger Bentley!" I yelled as my hands clinched into fists. "Don't you do it! Don't you fucking push me away!" He stared at the fireplace, his stoicism pissing me off even more, my anger breaking against his emotional walls like the ocean against cliffs.

"I need time to think."

"No!" I cried, my voice almost a scream. "That's your fucking problem! You think too much!" I glared at him. "Do you want me to leave? You want me to go away so you can do nothing but work?" I demanded.

"No. Please stay."

"Then give me a reason!"