Read Crush for Free Online

silently confessed. I am afraid of Lucas Fletcher.

Chapter 2
    Feast squirmed in the leather seat opposite Lucas. “Two hours we’ve been sitting on this bloody jet,” he complained. “I’m no expert, but even I know a plane can’t take off when it’s raining sideways.”
    Lucas peered over a thick pile of documents spread over the table separating him from Feast. He looked out of the window just as a blinding, jagged bolt of lightening electrified the sky above Rome. “The weather will clear.” His brow furrowed, as if he could will the rain to stop through desire alone.
    Thunder rattled the small luxury jet, and Feast would have leaped from his seat if not for his seatbelt.
    “That’s it, Fletch.” Feast unbuckled himself. “I’m not getting blasted out of the sky all because you want to hook up with your señorita in distress.”
    Lucas didn’t move, though his gaze shifted from his papers to his high-strung lead guitarist. In that moment Feast seemed to realize that the storm couldn’t hurt him nearly as quickly or thoroughly as Lucas could. And that his twenty-year friendship with Lucas was the only thing protecting him from what typically followed one of Lucas’s dark looks.
    “You know, Fletch,” Feast began carefully. “You don’t really own a life you save. You’re not obligated to keep tabs on that chippy.”
    Lucas shuffled through his array of papers. “She’s not a chippy, and I’m not keeping tabs on her.”
    The storm lessened in intensity, and Feast relaxed enough to dart forth and steal a sheaf of Lucas’s papers. Lucas grabbed at it, but Feast easily danced out of reach. Lucas sat back, his arms crossed over his chest, as Feast’s devilish eyes danced over his pilfered treasure. “ ‘Lou Holtz: Miracle Maker, ’ ” Feast read. He turned to Lucas. “Who the dickens is Lou Holtz?”
    “American college football coach.” Lucas hunched over his the rest of his papers. “Known for his ability to transform problematic teams into winners.”
    “ ‘Sox ace kills Yanks, ’ ” Feast read from another page. “Ace? Like in cards?”
    “Like in Pedro Martinez, a star pitcher formerly of the Red Sox of Boston.”
    “That’s baseball?”
    “That’s baseball.” Lucas reached forward to snatch his pages from Feast, who shuffled through them.
    “Some of these stories go back years. Why the sudden interest in American sports?” Feast asked, unable to suppress the tease in his voice. The answer dawned on him as Lucas snatched back the articles and gathered them close. “Those are her stories,” he said knowingly. “Miranda Penney’s.”
    “The storm is clearing. We’ll be taking off any minute now. You’d best strap yourself in.”
    Feast leisurely did so, a wry grin stuck between his nose and chin. “I don’t quite know what’s going on with you, Lucas, but you’ve not been yourself since we left Boston.”
    Lucas secured his documents in a pocket on the aisle side of his seat. “Your deductive powers rival those of the great Sherlock Holmes. Tell me, Feast, are all English as sharp as you?”
    “Do all Welsh fall in love as easily as you?” Feast countered.
    “Shut your head before you find yourself eating fist.” Lucas leaned into the aisle to check for signs of activity in the cockpit of the small craft. “The storm has all but ended,” he complained. “Why aren’t we leaving? I could fly this bucket myself in this spray.”
    “I’ve never seen you this anxious to return home. You usually dread it. Of course, I’d hate going back to a big, empty, rambling—”
    “Feast.” Lucas made the name the equivalent to “Shut up.”
    Feast boldly continued. “This is the most trouble I’ve ever seen you go through for a date.”
    “It’s not a date, and would you please, kindly, shut up?” Lucas rang for the flight attendant. She appeared before Feast could jab him with another pointed inquiry.
    “Hello, Isabella,” Lucas greeted. “Will we be taking