Page 22 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

JANNA

I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun.

I felt like I belonged. These were my people.

Music was drifting over from the hangar where a half-decent band was butchering some rock song in a way that was somehow endearing.

The smell of grilled meat filled the air.

It felt like a nonstop assembly line of food.

People had not stopped eating. I was so full I felt like I might explode.

But the food was so good and I was having so much fun. My eyes drifted to where Dalton and Pickle were talking to a couple of other guys. With the sun setting, he had removed the aviators. His hat was pulled low and he looked relaxed. I took a minute to admire him from afar.

I sipped my beer and let my gaze linger on him, taking in the way his shoulders filled out his shirt, the casual way he stood with one hip cocked.

Even relaxed, there was something coiled about him, like he was always ready to spring into action.

There was stubble along his jaw. I found myself remembering the way it had felt scraping against the skin on my inner thighs.

And I remembered my hands on his thighs.

I had only gotten a brief look at all those tats. I wanted to study them closer.

God, that kiss under the apple blossoms. It had been so different from the desperate hunger in the storage room.

Soft and sweet and devastating in an entirely different way.

The gentle brush of his thumb against my lip, the way he’d looked at me like I was something precious instead of just another conquest.

It made me think there was a chance at something real. But I wasn’t sure that was what I wanted. Workplace romances were a bad idea. And I believed Cheryl when she told me the man was a wrecking ball.

I watched him laugh at something Pickle said, his whole face transforming. It was rare to see him unguarded, genuinely enjoying himself. Part of me was a little jealous he was letting everyone see the other side of him. I liked the idea that it was only me who got to see him like that.

My chest tightened as I watched him. This was dangerous territory.

Cheryl’s warnings echoed in my head, but sitting here watching him in the golden light, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Maybe I was setting myself up for heartbreak.

Maybe he really was just a hit-it-and-quit-it. But that would be okay.

Maybe.

He looked up and saw me. That look in his eyes hit me hard.

I knew what I looked like. I’d actually done my hair for once, swapped my usual jeans for a sundress, and even put on mascara, which in my world was basically a prom look.

And judging by the way Dalton’s mouth twitched around the rim of his beer bottle, I didn’t look half bad.

Pickle elbowed him and said something that made him shake his head and smirk. Dalton and Pickle made their way over to where I was sitting. They both sat down at the picnic table I was occupying.

Cheryl joined us a few minutes later.

“Be good,” Dalton said in a low voice.

I looked up to see what he was talking about.

Then I saw the man who had tried to start a fight with Pickle at the bar. I could feel the tension and decided to be proactive. I did not want drama.

“Hi,” I greeted. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Janna.”

“Wild Bill,” he said.

He looked at Dalton like he was asking for permission. Dalton nodded at the empty spot at the table. I was glad everyone had made peace with one another.

“Wild Bill,” I said conversationally. “I know how they got their callsigns; how did you get yours?”

He groaned as he sat down. “One time I chased a dollar bill down the tarmac. It was the last dollar I had and I wanted something from the vending machine. I have money in the bank, but I didn’t have cash. And it was windy.”

“I love that yours is literally about chasing money,” I said.

“I didn’t pick it!”

“That’s the point,” Dalton said. “No one picks their callsign. It picks you. And it’s never about the thing you want to be known for.”

“I don’t have one yet,” I said. “And don’t you dare call me Princess.”

Dalton smirked and shook his head. He didn’t say anything and that gave me hope. If he wanted to keep that for our private time, I would be okay with that.

“You will,” Cheryl promised. “It’s always when you least expect it.”

“Great.”

Chief walked up with a tray of bowls, wearing an apron that said “God of Heat” with a cartoon of a chili pepper flexing.

“Who wants some of my world-famous chili?” he called, proud as a peacock.

A wave of apprehension swept across our table. Dalton froze. Laser actually paled.

“I’d love some,” I said brightly, raising my hand like an idiot.

Chief beamed like I was his long-lost daughter. “That’s the spirit, rookie! Just a little kick to it. These guys are crybabies.” He handed me a bowl. “When you’re ready for seconds, I’ve got a big pot.”

I was full, but I loved homemade chili. Chief walked off to offer some to the next group.

Dalton leaned over, his voice low in my ear. “Whatever you do, do not eat that chili.”

“Oh, come on,” I said.

“He’s not kidding,” Laser added. “It’s like molten death. We think he’s lost all the taste buds in his mouth from the cigars.”

“Don’t let it touch your skin,” Pickle said solemnly.

I grinned. “You’re all being dramatic.”

I dipped the tip of my spoon in, like I was testing a lava pit, and tapped a single drop to my tongue. I was pretty sure lava wouldn’t be as hot.

My entire body jolted. My eyes watered instantly. My tongue felt like it had caught fire and invited friends over for a bonfire. I coughed, I gasped, and I dove for my beer like a woman possessed.

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD.”

Everyone burst out laughing as I grabbed Pickle’s beer next. I didn’t care that I was swapping spit with the guy. My mouth was aflame. Burning through my very soul. I could feel the heat sliding down my throat, leaving a trail of char in its wake.

“That’s not helping!” I wailed, coughing and hiccupping and sweating.

Cheryl was doubled over. “We warned you!”

Chief, now happily dispensing more chili to unsuspecting fools, didn’t even notice. Dalton, on the other hand, stood up and said, “Come on. I know how to fix this.”

“You’re going to cut my tongue out?” I asked.

He laughed. “Milk. Ice cream. It’s the only cure.”

“Is there milk here?” I managed to gasp the words.

“Nah, but I know where to find some ice cream. Come on.”

I was in such a state, I couldn’t get up on my own. Dalton’s strong arms were there, lifting me from the bench and steadying me on my feet.

He guided me toward the dessert table, where he grabbed two ice cream cones from a couple serving them and handed one to me.

I took a big bite. The cool sweetness was heaven, even if I could still feel smoke seeping from my pores.

“That was a trap,” I said. “Do people actually eat that stuff?”

Dalton grinned. “It’s tradition. You’re officially one of us now.”

“Can that be my callsign? Chili?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the name you want.”

We wandered away from the crowd and the music faded a bit. We made our way into the hangar with his plane.

“Did they get it fixed?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m giving Gabriel the chance to take care of it before I start riding his ass again.”

“Oh! There’s Max.”

“Who?” Dalton asked.

I dropped to my knees, ice cream cone still in one hand, and held out my other hand toward the tabby cat I’d spotted the other day. “Max! Come here, baby.”

The cat’s ears perked up and he started trotting over, tail high in the air.

“Don’t touch it,” Dalton groaned behind me. “It’s feral. Probably has fleas and God knows what else.”

But Max had other ideas. He completely bypassed me and went straight to Dalton, weaving between his legs and purring loud enough to hear over the distant music.

I burst out laughing. Dalton looked like he’d been betrayed by his own body as he squatted down. His hand automatically reached down to scratch behind Max’s ears.

“Oh my God, you already know this cat,” I said, grinning up at him. “Look at you trying to act all tough.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dalton said, but his voice had gone soft and he was definitely petting Max.

“Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.” I stood up, brushing dust off my knees. “How long have you been feeding him?”

“I haven’t—” Dalton started, then stopped as Max headbutted his leg affectionately. “Fine. Maybe I’ve given him some scraps. But just so he doesn’t starve.”

“Does he have a name?”

“ You named him Max.”

“The cat needed a name,” I said.

“Why?”

“Stop. Don’t act like you don’t like him. Clearly, you’re buddies.”

I knelt to get a closer look at Max, who was still purring and rubbing against Dalton’s legs like they were old friends. The cat turned his head toward me, and that’s when I spotted it.

“Wait,” I said, pointing at Max’s left ear. “Look at that little clip. See how the tip is cut off in a straight line?”

Dalton crouched down beside me, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, so?”

“That means he’s been trapped, neutered, and released. It’s how they mark feral cats that have been fixed.” I gently scratched under Max’s chin, and he leaned into my touch. “He’s probably not as feral as you think. TNR cats can be pretty social once they get used to people.”

“TNR?”

“Trap, neuter, return. It’s a program to help control feral cat populations.

” I looked up at Dalton, who was watching Max with something softer in his expression than I’d seen before.

“Someone’s been taking care of him. Getting him fixed, making sure he’s healthy.

He’s probably been around people enough to know we’re not all bad. ”

Max chose that moment to flop down on his side right between us, exposing his belly in the ultimate sign of trust. I couldn’t help but smile.

“See? He trusts you. You must have been feeding him for a while.” I tilted my head, studying Dalton’s face. “How long have you been pretending you don’t care about this cat?”

“It’s not like that. I just didn’t want him to starve, okay? He showed up about a week ago, skinny as hell.”

“So you’ve been his guardian angel,” I said, grinning.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

But the way he was looking at Max, with genuine affection he couldn’t quite hide, told a different story entirely. The big, gruff guy had a soft spot for a kitty.