Page 17 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

DALTON

I dropped my bag filled with clean laundry in my dorm room. I was planning on sticking around for the next couple of weeks. My gut was telling me a big fire was going to pop up any day. I wanted to be ready.

And that meant Gilbert better have my damn plane fixed. I put on my aviators and headed out into the heat of the day. I watched one of the spotter planes take off and briefly wondered if it was Janna. And then I wondered why in the hell I cared.

I strolled across the tarmac with my gaze going to the sky. There were a few clouds, but it didn’t look like there would be a storm. That certainly cut down on the risk of a fire.

But when I stepped inside, my focus shifted fast.

She was already there.

Janna.

With the cat. For a brief second, I almost thought my cat. It is not my cat.

“Who are you?” She cooed and scratched the cats ears. “Are you hungry? You look like you’ve been having a rough go.”

She didn’t see me come in and that was good.

I wanted to watch her. She patted the cat and then got to her feet.

Her hair was tied up in a messy knot that was somehow sexier than anything from a runway show.

She had on a T-shirt that hugged her body and scraped along the waistband of her jeans.

When she lifted her arm, the shirt rose and flashed a hint of skin.

And fuck me. She’s so gorgeous.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket. A minute later, some cheesy song filled the quiet hangar. I had to say, I was impressed. She was checking out her plane. That showed dedication. That proved she was serious. I liked it.

I took a few more steps inside. She looked up when she heard the sound of my boots. A smile ghosted her lips. The music was obnoxious.

“What the hell are you listening to?” I asked.

She grinned and turned it down, but not off. “Didn’t expect company,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag.

“Is Gilbert here?”

“He just went to lunch,” she said. “Him and Tyson.”

“Figures,” I muttered. I walked to my plane. “They’re supposed to be fixing my damn plane. Lunch can wait.”

She laughed. “Oh, so they should just not eat? That’s a good plan. The mechanics that are supposed to fix your plane being all lightheaded and confused is definitely a good idea.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think anyone is in danger of passing out.”

“What’s up with the door?” she asked.

“Sticky bolt on the drop latch. If it fails again mid-run, we lose crucial time to stop the fire in its tracks. Little mistakes can have big consequences.”

She nodded with understanding. “I’ve been poking around my plane, getting familiar. You know, in case you decide to lose your temper and shake Tyson again. And now that I know starvation is an option, I think it’s an even better idea that I get familiar with my plane.”

We stood in silence for a few seconds.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked.

“Sure. I’ll decide if I’m going to answer.”

I smirked and shook my head. That was the attitude I was used to. “What got you into this?”

“My dad and both my brothers were Air Force,” she said.

“It was all flying all the time. Every meal, every barbecue, and every holiday was flying talks. When I was little, I was convinced they had wings. And I kept waiting for mine to grow in. I used to ask my mom to look at my back to see if they had sprouted yet.”

I laughed. The sound felt weird, but I could picture little Janna looking for her little wing buds.

“Hey!” She laughed as well. “I was a kid. Maybe a little fantastical.”

“I bet you liked fairies.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, so you were born to fly.”

“We moved from base to base like clockwork growing up. I learned to fly before I learned to drive. Always thought I’d go into the Air Force as well and be a fighter pilot. But…”

I looked her up and down. “Too short?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.” She let out a long sigh. “I’ve got asthma. It’s not bad anymore, but it disqualified me from flying jets. My career as a fighter pilot was over before it started. Just like that.”

“Damn. That sucks.”

She laughed, but it was bitter. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That I could still fly commercial or do search and rescue or something else. But in that moment, it felt like I let everyone down.”

“Why?” I asked with confusion.

Her face crumpled a little, and I could see the pain there, raw and real. “Because it was the family business, you know? It was what we did. What we were. And suddenly I couldn’t be part of it anymore.”

I could tell it really hurt her. I didn’t know why I cared but I stood there and let her talk. It felt like she needed to vent.

“My dad tried to make me feel better,” she said with a shrug.

“Told me there were other ways to serve, other ways to fly. But I could see it in his eyes. I saw the disappointment he tried to hide. Not in me, exactly, but in the situation. In the unfairness of it all. We always talked about all of us being fighter pilots. And then one day, a doctor said my allergies weren’t going to be cured with Claritin. ”

“That’s bullshit,” I said, surprising myself with how angry I felt on her behalf. “You didn’t choose to have asthma.”

“I know that. Logically, I know that.” She looked at me and I could see the sadness in her eyes.

She was trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was.

“But it didn’t stop me from feeling like I’d failed them.

Like I’d broken some sacred family tradition.

My brothers got to carry on the legacy, and I got to watch from the sidelines. ”

I wanted to say something, anything, to make that look disappear from her face. But I wasn’t good with words. So, I did what I always did. I ran from my feelings.

Technically, not my feelings and we weren’t running.

“Walk with me?” I asked.

She blinked, surprised, then shrugged. “Sure.”

We stepped outside into the afternoon heat, but there was a decent breeze cutting through the warmth. I found myself walking slower than usual, matching her shorter stride.

“So that’s why you ended up here,” I said, more statement than question.

“Part of it.” She kicked at a loose piece of gravel.

“I spent a few years doing charter flights in Alaska. Good money, beautiful scenery. But it felt empty. I was just moving people from point A to point B. Rich tourists who wanted to see glaciers, businessmen who were too important to drive. Nothing wrong with that work or anything. I mean, someone needs to do it. But it wasn’t what I wanted for the long term. ”

We walked past the fuel depot, the smell of it sharp in the air. I could hear the distant hum of a plane engine being tested in one of the hangars.

“Does that mean you don’t want to go into the commercial field?”

She snorted. “No. Definitely not.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said.

“I want to fly for a purpose,” she continued.

The hint of sadness I heard earlier was gone.

She was back. I liked her saucy and defiant.

“When I’m up there, I want to know that what I’m doing matters.

That maybe I’m helping save someone’s home, or their life, or their livelihood.

I wanted to be in the Air Force so I could be a part of something bigger.

Fighting fires feels like the next best thing. ”

I laughed, and she stopped walking.

“What’s your fucking problem?” she snapped, her blue eyes flashing with irritation.

“No, I’m not laughing at you,” I said quickly, holding up a hand.

“It’s just funny because I remember feeling exactly like that when I got into this.

It started as a summer gig. A change of pace.

Maybe a little excitement. The last thing you want when flying commercial is an interesting flight.

But once I got started it was like things clicked into place.

This was where I belonged. Then summers weren’t enough.

It felt like I spent all year waiting to get back to it. ”

Her defensive posture softened slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you get it,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“I get it.” I looked at her then, really looked at her. “Your family might not understand the path you took to get here, but you’re doing exactly what you were meant to do.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then gave me a small smile. “Thanks. That actually helps.”

I couldn’t explain what was happening inside my body. She was different than I thought. She wasn’t just cocky and quick with a comeback. She felt the same things I did. And more than that, she understood.

I caught myself staring too long.

“What?” she asked.

I cleared my throat. “Your cookies.”

She blinked. “My what?”

“The ones from the other night. They were good.”

She grinned. “Baking is my therapy. It centers me.”

My lips twitched. “I guess if that’s what does it for you.”

“What do you do for therapy?” she asked.

“Fuck.”

She stopped walking once again. Her eyes were wide and horror was all over her face as she stared at me.

I shrugged. “You asked.”

She stared at me for a beat, her cheeks flushing pink, and then she burst out laughing. “Of course that’s your therapy.”

I smirked, shoving my hands into my pockets. “What can I say? It works.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure that counts as therapy,” she shot back, still grinning. “More like a distraction.”

“Same difference,” I said with a shrug. “You bake cookies, I distract myself. We all have our coping mechanisms.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned and started walking again. I fell into step beside her.

We made our way back toward the hangar. Tyson and Gilbert were still missing. We were alone and dammit if I couldn’t stop thinking about our discussion. I shouldn’t have said it because now that the idea was in my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about sex. Not just sex, but sex with her.

“All alone,” she whispered.

“We were alone before,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was before we started talking about… therapy.”

“Janna.” It was a warning.

“Yeah, Dalton?” It was said in a seductive tone.

“Don’t tempt me,” I warned again.

We were standing close now. It was too close.

We were on the other side of the plane, hidden from view of the open hangar doors.

I weighed my options. I tried to convince myself it would be a really bad idea to act on my desires.

But the way she was looking at me was like the angel on my shoulder getting her ass kicked by the devil that sat on my other shoulder.

The devil usually won in these situations.

She took another step closer, positioning herself inches from me. One kiss wouldn’t hurt.