Page 31 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

DALTON

I watched those two assholes position themselves around her like vultures circling prey. Something dark and possessive clawed at my chest. My hands clenched into fists as the tall one leaned in closer to Janna, hanging on her every word like she was reciting the fucking gospel.

She was eating it up. Laughing at their jokes, tucking her hair behind her ear in that way that drove me insane and touching his arm in a way that made my cock twitch.

“Easy there, killer,” Pickle said beside me. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”

I forced myself to unclench my jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you look like you want to murder those hotshots with your bare hands.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He was right and we both knew it. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to march over there and tell those dickheads to find somewhere else to be. To make it clear that Janna was off limits.

But she wasn’t off limits. That was the whole fucking point of keeping things casual, wasn’t it? No strings. No claims. No jealousy.

So why did I feel like I was about to lose my goddamn mind?

How dare they—two hose jockeys, shirtless and swaggering, flirting with her? My girl. Well, it might not be official, but in every way that mattered. I gritted my teeth. Someone needed to stop things. I couldn’t do it. Then she would know I cared.

I was pretty certain she was purposely trying to make me jealous. I wasn’t about to let her know it was working.

I glanced back at Pickle, who was trying his best to get Max to stop hissing at him. The cat was particular about who he showed affection to. It seemed to take right to me and Janna.

The cat. That was a good distraction.

I crouched down and held out my hand to Max, who immediately abandoned his standoff with Pickle to come rub against my palm. The purring was so loud it sounded like a damn motor.

“We should probably find this thing a real home,” I said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Can’t have it living in the hangar forever.”

Pickle snorted. “Right. Because you’re so concerned about the cat’s welfare.”

“I am concerned,” I said defensively. “It needs proper food, shelter, veterinary care. Someone who can actually take care of it.”

“Uh-huh.” Pickle was grinning. “And I suppose you’ve got some ideas about where this mysterious someone might be found?”

I shrugged, still focused on Max. “I don’t know. Maybe we could put up flyers in town. Ask around. Someone’s bound to want a cat.”

“Or,” Pickle said, with a big goofy grin on his face, “you could just take him home yourself. You know, to that nice little cabin. The one with the big yard and the porch. A fireplace for the cat to get all cozy in the winter.”

“I’m not taking the cat home.”

“Why not? You’re already halfway to adopting it anyway. You feed it, you named it?—”

“I didn’t name it.”

“It follows you around. Face it, Dalton. You’re a cat guy.”

I didn’t know why, but the idea terrified me.

I stood up abruptly. Max protested with a soft meow as I pulled my hand away. “I’m not a cat guy. I’m not any kind of guy. I don’t need anything depending on me.”

“Yeah, about that,” Pickle said, crossing his arms. “For someone who doesn’t do attachments, you sure seem to be collecting them. First the cat, now?—”

“Drop it.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. In the background, I could hear Janna’s laughter again.

“Look, all I’m saying is maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to admit you care about something. Or someone.” Pickle’s voice was gentler now, less teasing. “The cat clearly thinks you’re his person.”

I glanced down at Max, who was weaving between my legs like he owned me. “Cats don’t think. They just follow whoever feeds them.”

“Is that what you tell yourself about everything?” Pickle asked. “That it’s just about convenience? That nothing actually matters?”

Another burst of laughter came from across the tarmac.

I couldn’t help myself. I looked over. Tyler was demonstrating something with his hands, probably some heroic story about battling flames, and Janna was watching him with rapt attention.

Her tank top had ridden up even higher, showing off her flat tummy that my mouth had been on yesterday.

I should have left a big ass hickey on her. All over her. Inside her thighs. That belly. Her neck. Her boobs.

“Hey, Pickle, see those two firefighters hitting on Janna?”

Pickle shrugged, looking casually amused. “Tyler and Marcus? Yeah, so what?”

Fury flickered in my chest. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Pickle smirked. “Nah.”

Was he purposely trying to make me look like an idiot?

Doubtful.

My feelings weren’t rational.

I’d never felt this before. This clawing, gnawing thing in my chest that made me want to punch something. Or someone. Preferably the tall asshole who was currently making Janna laugh like he was the funniest man alive.

Was this what jealousy felt like? This irrational need to claim something that wasn’t mine? Because technically, she wasn’t mine. We’d agreed on that. No strings, no complications. Just sex when we could manage it without the whole crew finding out.

But watching her smile at those hotshots, seeing the way she leaned in when she talked to them, made me understand why people did stupid shit in the name of love.

Or whatever the hell this was. I’d never been in a relationship long enough to experience this kind of territorial bullshit. Had never wanted to.

The women I’d been with before were temporary. Convenient. I could take them or leave them, and I usually chose to leave them before things got messy. Clean exits were my specialty. No drama, no tears, no begging me to stay.

But Janna? Fuck. Janna was different. She’d gotten under my skin in a way that scared the hell out of me. And now I was standing here like some lovesick teenager, ready to start a fight over a woman I basically called my fuck buddy.

The rational part of my brain—the part that had kept me alive through countless dangerous situations—was telling me to walk away.

To stick to the plan. When the season was over, everyone would go back to their lives.

I was here full-time but I didn’t know what her deal was.

Janna and I had not talked about anything beyond tomorrow.

I didn’t know shit about her and vice versa.

One of the guys flirting with Janna pulled her arm. She was giggling and it was all very G-rated, but I didn’t like it. It wasn’t rational to feel like I wanted to rip the man’s arms off and beat him with them, but fuck it.

When Janna landed in his lap, it was over. I saw red. Before I could stop myself, I walked out of the hangar and strode toward the group.

“Herc!” I heard Pickle’s warning tone, but I ignored him.

I had locked on my target. Testosterone radiated from those guys like a heat wave. I could tell they thought they were going to take our women home.

As I neared, one firefighter gave me a smile that said exactly what he had in mind. It was guy code. He was casually letting me know he had staked a claim on her for the day. Dumbass. I staked a claim on her long before his ass showed up.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked.

The laughter died on Janna’s lips as she scrambled out of Tyler’s lap, her face flushing red. Both hotshots looked up at me with expressions that shifted from confusion to challenge in about two seconds flat.

In our line of work, it was easily a five to one ratio. Five guys for every woman. Things tended to get a little tense. Usually, it didn’t happen until much later in the season, but I was pissed.

“Just having a conversation,” Tyler said, standing up slowly. He was tall, I’d give him that, but I had at least twenty pounds of muscle on him. “Problem with that?”

“Yeah, actually, there is.” I kept my voice level, but every muscle in my body was coiled tight. “The lady’s not interested.”

Janna’s eyes flashed with anger. “Excuse me? I can speak for myself.”

“Can you?” I shot back, not taking my eyes off the two assholes. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re being hassled by a couple of tourists.”

Marcus stepped forward, his chest puffed out like some peacock. “Tourists? We’re hotshots, asshole. We fight fires while you flyboys play around in the sky.”

That did it. The rational part of my brain shut down completely.

“Is that right?” I took a step closer, close enough that I could smell the cocky confidence radiating off him. “Well, this flyboy is telling you to back the fuck off.”

“Dalton, stop,” Janna hissed, but I was beyond hearing her.

Tyler moved to stand beside his buddy, both of them squaring their shoulders like they were ready for a fight. “Listen, man, we’re just being friendly. No need to get all worked up.”

“Friendly?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That what you call putting your hands on her?”

“She fell into my lap,” Tyler said with a shrug. “Accident. Maybe you should ask her what she wants instead of acting like some caveman.”

The word “caveman” was a match to gasoline. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us until we were nearly chest to chest. “Maybe you should learn to keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

“Dalton!” Janna’s voice cut through the testosterone-fueled standoff. She pushed between us, her small hands pressed against my chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I said, my voice rough. “Just don’t like seeing you get hassled.”

“I wasn’t being hassled,” she shot back. “I was having a conversation. You know that thing normal people do?”

We shoved each other before he threw the first punch. I dodged a sloppy right and grabbed him in a clinch—took him down with an elbow to the chest. His buddy lunged; I sidestepped. Two swift blows each, and both men hit the concrete, winded and shaken.

“What the fuck!” Janna screamed, her voice cutting through the sudden silence that had fallen over the tarmac.

I stood over the two hotshots, my chest heaving, knuckles already starting to swell. Tyler was clutching his ribs, trying to catch his breath, while Marcus had a hand pressed to his split lip. Blood trickled between his fingers.

“Dammit, Dalton!” Chief’s voice boomed across the concrete as he came running from the main building. “What the hell is going on here?”

I couldn’t answer. The rage was still coursing through me, making my hands shake. I’d lost control completely, and the worst part was, I didn’t even regret it. Not when I’d seen Tyler’s hands on her. Not when they’d looked at her like she was something they could just take.

“Get up,” I growled at the two men on the ground. “Both of you.”

Tyler struggled to his feet, his face twisted with pain and fury. “You’re fucking insane, man.”

“Dalton, back off!” Chief commanded, stepping between us. “Get out of here! Go cool off!”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I was already headed for my truck.

As soon as I got home, I went straight for the bottle of whiskey.

My knuckles were red and swollen, and they stung like a son of a bitch.

I grabbed a glass with my good hand and quickly filled it halfway.

I knocked it back in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to ease the fire in my chest. My knuckles were split and angry.

I should ice the hand, but first I needed another drink.

My hands were steadier now, but the rage was still there, simmering just below the surface. I’d lost my shit completely. In front of everyone. In front of Chief. In front of her.

I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and pressed it against my knuckles, hissing at the cold.

The pain was sharp, but it helped focus my thoughts.

What the hell had I been thinking? Those hotshots hadn’t done anything I wouldn’t have done in their position.

They’d seen a beautiful woman and shot their shot.

But when Tyler had pulled her into his lap, something primal had taken over. Something that didn’t give a damn about our casual arrangement or my carefully constructed walls. I’d seen another man’s hands on her and I’d snapped.