Page 21 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

DALTON

T he smell hit me the second I stepped out of the main building. Smoke.

But not the bad kind. Not the kind that meant a lightning strike or a call-out or lives hanging in the balance. It was mesquite and charcoal and somebody’s secret spice rub searing into chicken. And Chief was smoking his famous brisket. I’d recognize the smell anywhere. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

The barbecue was a big get-together Chief hosted every year. It was the Reddington team and some of the local firefighters. The wildland crews usually showed up as well. They’d be stationed in the area soon. It was the official kickoff to the season.

I strolled across the tarmac to the hangar where tables were set up inside. I could hear the many conversations and laughter pouring out. Someone was tuning a guitar.

Grills were set up in a loose semi-circle near the hangars, manned by people who had very strong and very opposing opinions about what constituted proper grilling techniques. I stayed out of those discussions.

I was just hoping whatever they cooked was actually cooked.

Two years ago there had been a run of food poisoning after the barbecue.

Some blamed the potato salad and others blamed the chicken.

But pilots and firefighters dealing with the shits in the middle of a raging wildfire was not a good combination.

The many aromas floating through the air had my mouth watering. I walked over to one of the many coolers and grabbed myself a Coors Light. The first sip went down easily.

To my left, a rough-looking group of wildland firefighters were playing cornhole.

They were a different breed. While the local departments had the clean-cut thing going on, the guys that slept on the ground for weeks at a time were rough.

A lot of them were ex-cons who had turned things around.

Their mustard-colored pants and green shirts made sure everyone knew exactly who they were.

The FD guys wore their blue T-shirts and blue slacks.

The pilots were the jeans and tees guys. Uniforms weren’t necessary in the air.

The local band, consisting of two paramedics, a spotter from our crew, and a fireman, was busy setting up their equipment. They weren’t bad. Not amazing but they didn’t make anyone’s ears bleed. They mostly did classic rock covers, which was always a hit with this crowd.

Pickle appeared at my side, beer already in hand.

“Hell yeah,” he said, surveying the feast preparations. “Brisket, brats, and baked beans. The three Bs of salvation.”

A couple of the wives carrying dishes smiled at us as they walked into the hangar, their kids in tow.

There were three tables already covered with foil dishes.

Another table was dedicated to desserts.

Firefighters could eat and we all knew it might be the last time we got to sit down and really stuff our faces for the next three months.

“Don’t get drunk,” I warned Pickle. “We hear the tones and it’s game time.”

“It’s supposed to rain later. Weatherman said so,” he said and took another drink.

“And the weatherman is never wrong,” I said sourly.

“Don’t worry. Those of us on call will stay sober.” He held up his beer. “This’ll be my only one.”

“Good man.” I scanned the area and dammit, I hated that I was looking for her.

And fuck me. There she was.

Janna.

She walked toward the hangar carrying a plate that I knew was piled with cookies under the foil she covered them with. She was wearing a sundress and her hair in some kind of twist that looked effortless. But the effect? Catastrophic.

“Wow,” I said under my breath.

Pickle followed my gaze, grinned like a bastard. “Yeah, buddy. She’s dressed up for you.”

I scoffed. “Shut the hell up.”

“You shut the hell up. That girl is locked on like a missile, and the target is you.”

My chest tightened. My heart felt like it was trying to jump out of my ribs. There was something weird happening inside my stomach. I hadn’t eaten so I knew it wasn’t food poisoning.

What the hell was happening?

She wants me to notice her and I am. I think my symptoms are that of a panic attack. Do I really like the girl? No, you idiot. You don’t catch feelings. You never catch feelings.

I needed to abort whatever might be happening, the equivalent of hitting the eject button.

Eject. Eject.

I looked around in search of an escape route. But whatever escape plan I had in mind incinerated the moment she looked at me and smiled.

A groan escaped me.

Pickle heard and laughed. “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day Herc fell for someone.”

“Shut up. You still haven’t.”

We both watched as Janna walked into the hangar and dropped off the cookies. She stopped at a cooler, grabbed her own Coors, then made her way to where I was standing and gaping like a fucking idiot.

“Hey, Dalton,” she said, like she didn’t just detonate my brain.

“Hey, Princess,” I replied. Voice steady. Cool. Collected. I could not let her know she was getting under my skin.

I didn’t catch feelings.

If I said it enough, it had to be true. Manifesting that shit.

“This is a good turnout,” she said, looking around. “I brought cookies.”

I already knew. “Chocolate chip?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “And snickerdoodles.”

People were not waiting to eat lunch before digging into the desserts. I noticed a couple of guys walk by with her cookies and they were raving about them.

“Guess everyone likes your baking,” Pickle said. “I’m going to get some before they’re gone.”

And then it was just me and her. I took a long drink of my beer, trying to buy myself some time to think of something to say that wouldn’t reveal how off kilter she made me feel.

Small talk wasn’t exactly my strong suit, especially when the woman standing next to me was making my brain short-circuit just by existing.

And the smell of her. Citrus. And sweet.

She tasted as good as she smelled. I realized I licked my lips at the memory of being between her legs.

Fucking Gilbert. Ten minutes. Hell, five minutes and I would have been buried inside her.

I didn’t know if we’d get the chance again.

And if we did, I wasn’t sure I should take it.

If I was this fucked up after a few kisses and a blowjob, I wasn’t sure I could handle sex.

She’d have me wrapped around her finger with me panting after her like a damn dog.

“We do this every year,” I said. “The barbecue.”

She nodded, taking a sip of her beer. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it’s Chief’s thing. He started it about ten years ago when he took over the operation. Said we needed to bond as a team before we spent the next few months trying not to kill each other.”

“Smart man.” She glanced around at the crowd, then back at me. “Does it work?”

I shrugged. “Most of the time. Hard to stay pissed at someone when you’ve eaten their food and have seen them drunk and singing karaoke.”

She laughed, and the sound hit me right in the soul. “Please tell me you have video from years past.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who does the drunk karaoke? Now I really have to find video.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face said it all.” She bumped my shoulder with hers, and even that small contact sent heat shooting through me. “I’ll have to make sure I stick around long enough to witness that.”

“Let’s eat!” Chief’s voice echoed across the tarmac.

The line formed quickly, and I found myself walking beside Janna toward the food tables. The smell of Chief’s brisket got stronger as we approached, and my stomach growled in response. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, knowing I was going to consume enough food to last me a week.

“Ladies first,” I said, gesturing for her to go ahead of me.

She raised an eyebrow. “Such a gentleman.”

“I just like staring at your ass,” I whispered to her. She blushed before she looked away quickly.

I stayed close behind her as we moved through the line. Close enough to catch another whiff of that citrus scent that was driving me crazy. Close enough to notice the way her dress hugged her curves when she bent to examine the side dishes.

“What’s good?” she asked, looking back at me.

“Oh, I’ve got my eye on something good alright.”

She rolled her eyes but looked flattered too. “Stop. I mean the food.”

“Most of it is good. Chief doesn’t mess around.” I reached past her to grab a plate, my arm brushing against hers. “But the brisket is legendary. And Martha brought her famous potato salad.”

Janna loaded her plate with a little of everything, asking questions about each dish like she was conducting a food survey.

I piled brisket, beans, and coleslaw onto mine, keeping it simple.

The guys ahead of us were already deep in conversation about the upcoming season, speculating about when the first big fire would hit.

“You want to sit inside?” I asked when we’d both filled our plates.

She glanced toward the hangar where the tables were filled with people happily eating and talking. She nodded at some chairs in the shade of the building. “There,” she said.

We ate and I had to admit I was pretty impressed with her appetite. She wasn’t trying to be dainty. Not like the princess I often called her.

“Want dessert?” I asked her. “I’ll get you something.”

She smiled. “I’d love some of that pineapple upside down cake if there’s any left.”

I winked. “I’ll fight someone for the last piece for you.”

The moment I said it, I felt ridiculous. But it was true.

I walked over to the dessert table, and sure enough, there was one piece of pineapple upside down cake left. I grabbed it along with a couple of her cookies, ignoring the look Pickle shot me when he saw me playing waiter.

When I got back to our spot, she was talking to a woman about her cookies. The woman was asking for the recipe and heaping praise on her.

“Thank you for the cake,” she said. “You didn’t actually have to fight anyone, did you?”

“Just had to stare down one of those smoke jumpers. He backed down pretty quick.”

She laughed and took a bite of the cake, closing her eyes and making a small sound of pleasure that went straight to my dick. “Oh my God, that’s incredible.”

“Yeah, Carol makes it every year. It always disappears fast and then she magically produces another one out of thin air. I think that’s the hype. Supply and demand. Everyone wants the cake that everyone else wants.”

“I need this recipe.” She took another bite, then held out her fork. “Want some?”

I should have said no. Should have kept that distance. But instead, I leaned forward and let her feed me the cake, my lips brushing against the fork. Her eyes darkened as she watched me chew.

“Good?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.

“Good,” I confirmed, my voice rougher than it should have been.

Someone else drifted over. “Did you make the cookies?” the woman asked.

“I made some,” Janna said.

“These are so good!”

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She looked proud. Quietly so. Like she was trying to act chill but her cheeks were pink. She had to know her cookies were good. But she was humble.

Janna waved someone over and I gratefully turned my attention toward Pickle and Laser.

Pickle raised his bottle to me. “You need another drink? You look like you could use one.”

He said it with a smirk because he knew exactly what was going on.

“Yeah,” I said. “Bring one for Janna.”

“Thanks,” Janna said, settling back into her chair as Pickle wandered off to grab our drinks.

Laser dropped into the empty chair next to us, balancing a plate loaded with enough food to feed a small army. “Shit, Janna, these cookies are insane. I’ve had three already and I’m not even sorry about it. They’re almost gone.”

“Four,” Pickle corrected as he returned with two cold beers. “I saw you sneak that fourth one when you thought nobody was looking.”

“Traitor,” Laser muttered, but she was grinning. “Seriously though, what’s your secret? I’ve been trying to perfect my chocolate chip recipe for years.”

Janna took a sip of her beer, looking pleased. “Real vanilla extract. And I brown the butter first.”

“Brown the butter?”

“Melt it in a pan until it turns golden and smells nutty. Changes everything.”

I found myself watching her as she talked, the way her eyes lit up when she got excited about something. It was the same look she’d had when she was talking about the Night Witches, or when she’d first seen that old crop duster. Passion. Pure, unfiltered passion for the things she cared about.

And I had been on the receiving end of that passion.

The thought hit me straight in the groin.