Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)

by Karissa Kinword

I loved my parents, I absolutely did. Although, maybe now I saw them more as the slightly older friends I grew up with. But at twenty-six I had a real job, a real apartment, real friends in Florida that invited me to stay with them for extended periods of time.

As much as I could make fun of it by myself and with my other single coworkers, part of me couldn’t help but long for that type of fulfillment too. To be the one to make my son or daughter light up with joy on December twenty-fifth when they came crashing down the stairs in candy-cane print pajamas. The excitement on their faces to find a brand-new bike or a Barbie Dreamhouse. But for that I would need to have a kid, which means I would need to be pregnant, which means I would need to have sex, and to have sex there would need to be a man in my life. One that was not only willing to have sex with me—which wasn’t the issue—but he would also have to be willing to have a child.

“It’s A Match!” Hmm. I unlocked my phone and watched my own blue-eyed, brown-haired profile photo do a dance right alongside baseball-hat-inside man and a prompt to send a message. My timing was obviously impeccable; I was currently in a metal tube, about to be two thousand miles away for the next month, and this guy probably just caught a rideshare out of the airport. Frankie, 35—Guaranteed admittance to the Mile High Club.

Scrolling to the last picture, my nostrils flared and I groaned. Frankie was standing in front of a helicopter wearing a tactical vest with a gun belt slung across his waist, cargo pants and shirt in muted shades of gray and beige. The stoic hard-jawed look on his face would have admittedly been ridiculously attractive if he wasn’t⁠— “In the fucking military,” I scoffed under my breath.

I shifted the focus until the zoom landed directly over the crotch of his pants and tilted my head. A second later, someone cleared their throat from above me. “Shit.” I slammed my phone facedown in my lap and looked up at the person who undoubtedly just watched me analyze a dude’s bulge. Only, it was much, much worse than that. “Oh—fuck.” “It’s better in person.” Frankie stood above me, smirking.

“And what’s the problem with the military?” He shoved his bag into the open storage and immediately dodged a snow boot cascading toward his head and into the aisle. “—the fuck?”

“How long were you standing there?” “Long enough to be both insulted and then eye-fucked—so approximately five seconds.” “I did not eye-fuck you,” I argued weakly, holding the lone boot out to him and nodding up toward the storage container. His thick eyebrows knitted together but he took it anyway, stuffing it back in the compartment. “What exactly would you call it then?” “I don’t know, the female gaze.” “Poetic.” He looked unimpressed. “Thank you.” “You could just say you were looking at my dick.”

“I should let you know, then, that I keep the reading light on the whole flight.” “Perfect.” He nodded. “Because I play Candy Crush with the volume on. Helps keep me focused.” Well fuck—it was going to be a long three-and-a-half hours.

“I have a one-photo rule on dating apps. If I don’t like the first picture you get next-ed.” “What is this, MTV?” He snorted. “How old were you when that aired? Forty?” His tongue plunged into his cheek and he looked up at the ceiling. “You’ve got a smart little mouth.” Oh. Something about that unfortunately and unexpectedly pinched me where it shouldn’t have.

“And here I was, thinking women were looking for good humor and commitment. You just want me for my body.” “Says the man who’s opening line is”—I unlocked my phone and made my way back to his dating profile to read it verbatim—“‘Guaranteed admittance to the Mile High Club’. I mean, how much more forward could you be?” “Okay, two things.” Both palms lifted in surrender. “One: that was one hundred percent my friend’s doing. He’s much more crass than I am, and under any other circumstance, I would have vetoed it.” “And you didn’t because…?” I hung the last syllable in the air. “Because, two: I’m a pilot, and it’s actually pretty witty when I’m in any other place besides an airport.” He cringed. “Noted.”

“So, let me get this straight—you’re a thirty-five-year-old pilot with commitment issues, who’s lived with his roommate so long you two could jointly file your taxes?” “Sweetheart, if I’m your dream guy just say it.”

“I think the bathroom door says vacant. We could make this thing official right now.” As if by divine intervention, the flight attendant stopped next to our seats and leaned over the cart. “Hi folks, any snacks or drinks?” “How’s it going?” Frankie smiled at her. “I’ll do a Coke and”—he took a second to look at all his options—“the white cheddar popcorn. Please.” Before I could tell the attendant my own choices Frankie spoke up again. “And the same for my fiancée.” “Not his fiancée,” I quickly corrected, shooting him a glare with a playful shove to the shoulder. “Just proposed,” he added. “Still waiting on an answer.” Oh, game absolutely on. “I recently found out that I’m the other, other woman,” I explained to the confused and slightly horrified stewardess. “He has me, and then a boyfriend back home, and then his boyfriend has a girlfriend—I don’t know if polyamory is for me.”

“I love when you get territorial with me, honey.” He turned his attention back to the attendant. “I always make sure she’s well satisfied.” “I’ve never had an orgasm in my life,” I announced, smiling at her and then mentally patting myself on the back when Frankie’s eyes shuttered closed. “I’ll have a Coke too, and the barbeque chips, thanks.”

“You’ve really never had an orgasm?”

“Of course I have.” I wasn’t about to have him thinking that I’d never been in a sexual situation in my life. “Not that a man’s ever gotten the job done.”

“What was in Colorado Springs? Don’t tell me—an exorcist?” “I wish.” He took a sip of his drink. “A job, actually. An interview. I’m retired from the Army, by the way,” he said pointedly. “But a flight school out there is looking for seasoned pilots to train their incoming classes. I know a guy who knows a guy.” “So this Hook(Up) thing—you were just trying to get lucky. No strings attached, hopping on a flight home the next day.” “Ugh, I know. And with my luck, she followed me right onto the plane.” I scrunched my nose playfully. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Doesn’t everyone have that sort of forbidden fantasy? Go out on a business trip and get swept up. Fall in lust.”

I reached out to grab it, but Frankie pulled the handle and hauled it off the belt first. “Thanks.” I smiled as he stood next to me with his own suitcase. “Looks like the world’s most insane Hook(Up) date has officially ended.” “It’d be hard to top that, I agree.” He grinned back.

“Okay,” he said softly, eyes roaming down my face like he was memorizing it. “Okay…” I replied, slowly backing toward the rotating glass doors. “You’ve got my, uh…” He had my dating profile, which seemed appropriate. “You know,” I finished sheepishly. Frankie nodded, pulling his hat off to rake his fingers through his messy locks. “And you’ve got mine.”

It was my luck that some higher power would put a little spitfire brunette on the same flight as me. I’d seen her sipping a mimosa with her nose stuck to her phone screen all the way across the terminal. Partly because she was so gorgeous—long limbs and soft angles, the cutest fucking pout to her lips. But also because I happened to be looking directly at her photo on my own phone, scrolling one of those dating apps Mateo had made me download before I flew out for my interview.

“Don’t tell me that,” Mateo complained. “Not one fuck? The whole week?” “You say that like I can just go around collecting women to have sex with like fruit in the produce section.”

You get orders, you deploy, you make your fucking bed with the sheets so tight to the mattress you can bounce a quarter off of it, and then you get a girl naked in them. Rinse, repeat. Then my buddies started getting married to the women they were sleeping with, and it felt like I was all of a sudden playing the game wrong. I wanted what they were having. Those sappy fucking military homecomings where wives came whipping down the airport terminal and jumping into their husband’s arms. Showing up unexpectedly at a Little League game in my camo. A newborn baby meeting Dad for the first time. I jumped into the first relationship to present itself, and seven years was a lot of time to spend with someone for it not to work out. “Don’t make me say it, Pike,” Mateo mumbled. “It’s not about her.” “It’s been three years, and Vanessa is a fucking bitch for what she did. I’m sorry, but that’s the only way to say it. You gotta shove it to the side, get back on the field. It’s time.”

I’d had the same conversation so many times the answers all started to blur. Until Ophelia.

My chest panged. Ophelia was a hundred percent the kind of woman I would want to pursue—not just have a one-night stand with. It wasn’t my fault she was also the first woman since Vanessa that I actually liked enough to explore something physical.

Ophelia wasn’t the kind of girl you rebounded with. She was the kind you took out to the pier after dinner and kissed in the mid-day monsoon instead of running from it for cover.

A crack of lightning turned the gray sky white as I stood for the door, my clothes covered in a thin sheet of rain. I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened Ophelia’s profile again, swiping through the pictures one after the other. My thumb hovered over the message for a second too long before I sighed, and then deactivated my account altogether.

He had really lost my contact the minute we walked out of baggage claim. I tried to act unbothered, but it was harder than expected. Fuck yes, I was embarrassed, and a lot insulted, but more so than I wanted to admit, I was sad. Sad, when I should have been relieved that the trash took itself out before my trip really started.

“Don’t make it obvious, but there’s a guy right behind you checking out your ass.” My eyes darted to the mirror behind the bar to try to catch a glimpse of him without turning around. Strobe lights flashed off the reflection and kept me from seeing more than a cluster of bodies in red and green. “Is he hot or is he creepy? Do we need to move?” “No, no, he’s cute. I think. He’s wearing a hat.” I scratched the side of my neck and slowly rotated so my torso was flush to the curved bar top. “Is he still looking?” I asked out of the corner of my mouth. “Oh yeah.” Inhaling a deep breath, I cleared my throat, then tilted my head to the side flirtatiously as I turned toward the stranger and caught his eye for the first time. “Love the outfit,” he greeted me, tipping his lowball rocks glass toward my coconut in cheers. Okay, he was cute.

“Ah! Come on, come on!” “Where are we going!” I shouted as she pulled me by the elbow to the complete opposite side of the bar. “Natalia!” “He’s here!” “Who?” We pressed through the crowd of partiers with Lucas trailing slowly behind. Nat looked down at her phone again and then pushed up onto her tiptoes to case the rows of people standing against the bar. “Just…someone I want you to meet.”

She tapped on his shoulder twice before the handsome, sun-kissed man turned around to face the both of us with a disarming smile. His dark eyes roamed Nat’s velvet-covered body hungrily, then he grabbed her face with two big hands and crushed their lips together. What the fuck?

“Phee, this is my boyfriend. Mateo Duran.”

Before the conversation could go any further, the guy standing next to Mateo with his back to our little crew turned from the bar with two beers, nudging Nat’s boyfriend with his elbow. “Here, Cap.” No. “Oh, fuck off,” I blurted. My filter had apparently dissipated along with all the liquor in my cup. As if Nat introducing me to her secret boyfriend wasn’t enough adjustment for one night, the secret boyfriend’s roommate happened to be the exact reason I was six Oriental Trading coconuts of vodka deep in my pity-feels. Frankie looked up at Nat and me at the sound of my voice and his mouth dropped open. “Fuck me.”

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart, this is my friend, Francesco. Despite whatever the fuck that was, he doesn’t usually speak his thoughts out loud.” Frankie squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “So nice to meet you, Francesco,” I offered sarcastically, also noticing the handwritten sign hanging around his neck that read, Trying to get lei’d completely unironically in black Sharpie.

I made a point of hanging onto Lucas’s bicep as I pointed at the sign and said, “You should try an airport.” Frankie stuck his tongue in his cheek and then let it sweep out across his teeth and top lip, eyes darting between me and the man on my arm.

I watched Tally drag my Hook(Up) date through the crowded club and disappear. The tiny pair of shorts Ophelia was wearing had apparently cut off circulation to my brain, because it wasn’t until Cap shoved me and sent a cascade of cold beer onto my hand that I realized my jaw was still hanging open. Holy shit.

The odds of meeting her on that plane were low, even more so when we ended up sharing leg room. But this? This was like hitting the lottery on your first try. It would be impossible to avoid her if she was visiting Tally, and a disproportionate amount of excitement shook through me at that.

“That’s Tally’s best friend who’s visiting for Christmas.” “Yeah, and you just fucking terrified her. Forget what I said earlier about hooking up, you need to go back to square one and learn how to converse first. It’s like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before.” “That’s the girl I met on the plane.” Mateo’s eyes widened. “You gotta be shitting me.” “No, I’m not. You didn’t tell me Tally’s fucking college roommate was from Colorado and coming in on the same flight as me.” “To be fair, I didn’t even know what day you were coming home.”

“You could have warned me that she looked like that,” I said to Mateo. “Did you know she looked like that?” “If you think I’ve noticed anyone except that girl in the bathroom for the last twelve months, you must not be paying attention.” “This changes things,” I decided thoughtfully. “This changes nothing,” Mateo quickly added. “In fact, this makes her more off-limits, Pike. I can’t have you fucking up so bad that Tally’s best friend hates you. I’m trying to keep this one.” I felt for Cap in that moment about as much as an amputee felt a lost limb. I wasn’t going to make her hate me, that was ridiculous. If anything, I’d do the opposite. Ophelia and I had an undeniable chemistry that, while grounded in sexual innuendo and competitive banter, was the most natural thing I’d felt with a woman in years. “Your relationship is safe,” I assured Mateo. “It’s not like I can steer clear of her now. Unless you’re telling me you’re not gonna see Tally for three weeks?”

“She’s going back to Colorado, Pike. The rules still apply. Attachment—bad.” “What else do you know about her?” He threw his hands in the air. “It’s like I’m talking to a fucking brick wall.” “You’re talking to your best friend who hasn’t gotten laid since Bush Sr. was in office. I promise I won’t propose to the girl, Cap. Give me a little bit of slack.”

“All I know, because I’m dating one, is that women in their twenties are talking about husbands and babies at all hours of the fucking day. You want to stick your dick in something wet first thing in the morning, she wants to open a HomeGoods credit card.”

“That’s not the fucking point.” Mateo took an aggressive gulp of his beer. “Ophelia and Natalia are best friends, which means their brains are full of the same twisted, nonsensical DIY projects and seasonal candle scents. Ophelia is looking for someone to settle down with, the same way Tally is ‘accidentally’ leaving her laptop open to all-inclusive honeymoon destinations.” “That doesn’t mean she’s ruled out having a little bit of fun.” I shrugged. “She was on a dating app in an airport.”

The warning was written in glaring red letters and wrapped in Christmas lights. I, on the other hand, was blind—and

“That’s fucking him!” I shouted as soon as the bathroom door closed, hushing the loud music beyond it to a hum. “Frankie—Francesco, whatever the fuck his name is—he’s the Hook(Up) guy from the plane!” “No.” She gasped, clapping a palm over her mouth. “Yes,” I confirmed, pacing back and forth with my hands on my hips. “Holy shit, what are the fucking odds of that?”

“You move on fast.” Fuck. My eyes rolled involuntarily. I’d never forget the cocky drawl of that man’s voice for as long as I lived. “Is that your type? Skater boy?” I scoffed and took another long gulp, watching the way Frankie’s eyes roamed over my body head to toe as I did. Fine, let him look. It was satisfying to know he might lie awake at night kicking himself over the loss. “He’s a little young, though,” Frankie commented, leaning his hip against the ledge of the bar. “Probably not a lot in his retirement fund.” “And what’s your type, exactly?” I flicked the sign on his chest. “Walks and has a pussy?” “There’s that smart mouth.” His gaze shifted down to my lips for a fraction of a second while he toyed with the string of yarn that held his booty-call sign. “Cap’s idea.” “I’m starting to think you need ‘Cap’ to wipe your ass too,” I jabbed. “Maybe you should stop taking his advice on finding a woman to fuck you, because holy shit are you zero for two in one day.”

“All I’m hearing is that I still have an hour.” “Good luck, soldier.” I saluted him and began to walk away, but he grabbed me tenderly under the arm and pulled me back. “Hey—wait, wait, wait.”

“I know your game Frankie, don’t play cute.” I batted his hand away half-heartedly. “You look surreal.” “Oh, you like?” I played with the hem of my top. “This is my ‘get over the asshole from the airplane that unmatched me’ outfit.” He averted his eyes, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “You noticed that?” “Of course I fucking noticed that! I’m telling Nat about the guy I met on my flight, only to see you unmatched me thirty seconds after I walked out of the airport. I guess it wasn’t too much of a loss though. You probably wouldn’t even last that long in bed.” “We could test it?” He shrugged. “You could go fuck yourself.” “I’m really trying to stop doing that so often. That’s kind of how we got into this mess in the first place.”

“And what you said about Natalia,” I whispered accusingly, pointing at Frankie and narrowing my eyes. “How was I supposed to know that Casper the Friendly Ghost was your college girlfriend?” “I’m walking away now.” I grabbed my drink off the bar top for the second time in as many minutes and made my way back in the direction of the dance floor. “I’m an asshole, okay?” Frankie admitted, catching up to me in one long stride. “You don’t say?” “But not for the reasons you think.”

“Are you married?” “What?” He recoiled. “No, I’m not fucking married. I told you I live with Mateo.” “You could have a girlfriend.” “I can hardly handle you.” I snorted, pleased with that answer. “So I’m going to go find a guy who can.” “Suspenders Santa doesn’t even know what a clit is.” “Maybe I should introduce you then and you guys can swap notes.”

“Come dance with me?” Lucas asked. “It’s rude to interrupt a conversation, man.” Surprise sparked through me at the hint of possession in Frankie’s tone. He didn’t like anyone else playing with his toys. Good to know. But I also wasn't his to claim as much as my traitorous body didn’t hate the idea. Too many drinks into a night out with two hot men playing tug o’ war over my snowball tassels was the beginning of a bad idea. Lucas redirected his attention. “I think she was having more fun before you got here.” “I think she can speak for herself.” Frankie took a step forward. “You know what?” I chimed in. “This is a party, isn’t it? I actually would love to dance.”

I’d been in Florida less than eight hours and I was already two grown men deep in drama when all the drunk and frisky part of my brain could think about was two grown men deep in me.

“I can’t decide if I’m destructive drunk or DTF drunk.” “I know you.” She grinned. “You’re borderline fuck-my-ass drunk but Frankie is on your shit list.” “He’s on my do-not-fuck-ever list.” “Make him grovel, it's good for your skin.” “He’s too much of a proud asshole to grovel.”