Free A Great Kisser by Donna Kauffman Page B

heart-pounding racing…that was enough. And, for all that, he wanted to win, dammit. He knew she could do it. And now, he finally had a chance to put Betty Sue at the front of the pack. With a little—okay, a lot—of help from Roger and his investment banker–stockbroker frat buddies.
    “I miss you, Paddy McKenna,” he grumbled. “I hope I do you proud. But enough already with this crap.” He understood now more than ever why his grandfather had balked at allowing others to dictate anything having to do with Betty Sue ’s upkeep. Before he’d begun sticking with the show circuit as his only funding, Paddy had organized fund-raisers and even taken on one of the local banks as a partner for a short, ill-fated time way back when Jake was in grade school and the annual race had just been created in Reno. Paddy had naturally wanted to show off his baby, and Jake couldn’t blame him. He’d bought the beat-up World War II fighter in 1955 and had spent almost every second of his spare time, along with all of his spare money, restoring it. Taking on his two grandchildren hadn’t helped his hobby, but he made up for it by instilling the same love he had for flying, and old planes, in his grandson.
    It had been his grandfather’s dream to win the Gold Medallion race in Reno pretty much from the year they’d introduced the event, and given the dreams he’d made come true for Jake, it was the very least Jake could do to see it through. But after five long years spent just getting back in the race, and another five trying to do it Paddy’s way, and failing, Jake had caved and finally looked to outside sponsorship as the only way to put Betty Sue in real contention. “And goddamn, Paddy, you’re right. They’re a major pain in my ass, but I’m trying.” He shoved away from the small desk crammed into the makeshift office in the corner of the secondary McKenna Flight School hangar, the one Paddy had built to house only one plane, and walked back over to Betty Sue .
    “You are a pretty, pretty lady,” he said, still just as in awe of her now as he’d been at age six, when he’d gotten his first close-up look at her. “And every bit as high maintenance as one, too,” he added as he bent over to start throwing tools back into his tool chest.
    “Well, on principle alone, I should argue that, or the Secret Society of Women Who Can Take Care of Themselves might revoke my membership.”
    Jake was fighting a smile, even as he tossed the last wrench into the drawer and turned around. “If I said present company excepted, would that keep me from having to register for the Misogynists of America Club?”
    She braced her hands on the handlebars of the pinkest bike he’d ever seen and tilted her head, as if giving serious assessment to the question. “I’d have to get to know you better before I can make a judgment like that.”
    “Well, at least only one of us is making sweeping generalizations.”
    She smiled, and suddenly the frustration over the phone call with Roger was forgotten. “True,” she said. “Someone needs to keep things grounded in reality.” She glanced at the plane as she slipped her helmet off. “Clearly, that wouldn’t be you.”
    “Probably not.”
    “I’m sorry to barge in. Or roll in, as the case may be. I rented a bike.”
    “Yes. I can see that. Hope you got a really good deal on it.”
    “Now, why do you say that? And, be careful, your membership application might ride on your answer.”
    “It’s just…not surprising that it was available.”
    “Nicely done,” she said with a wry smile. “The people I work with would be impressed with your…mediation skills. Do you want a job? I hear one is available.”
    “I’ll pass. Actively involving myself in politics of any kind gives me the hives. My apologies.”
    “Apology accepted. I understand the reaction.”
    “How did you get interested in politics?”
    Her smile spread. “You mean, for a girl?”
    “No. I actually adore