Page 116 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

“Are we going down?” I shouted the question.

There was no hiding my terror. It was my worst fear coming to life in living color.

Pickle was talking into the headset, letting base know we were going down. I swallowed the fear and just held on for dear life. I decided at that moment I did want to be in my seat if the damn thing went down. I made sure my seatbelt was nice and tight.

It felt like we were a pair of shoes in a dryer being tossed and tumbled. All I could do was hold on. I glanced over at Pickle, who was in the fight of his life. I trusted him. I had to. It wasn’t like I had another option.

Reality tilted. The chopper pitched forward and Main Street came into view. If anyone was still down there, I hoped they saw us coming and got the hell out of the way because there was no choosing our landing spot. We dropped fast.

My heart locked. I shut my eyes, held the belt as Pickle wrestled the craft upright. Metal shrieked. I was certain I was going to die in a blaze of… not glory. Just a blaze.

Then contact. The skids smacked the asphalt with so much force I bit my tongue. My tailbone felt like it was trying to jump out of my throat. My head lurched forward and then back. The seatbelt dug into my body as it held me in the seat. The chopper rattled and bounced twice and started to slide toward a building before it just stopped.

And then it was quiet. The engine died and the rotors slowed.

I shut my eyes and gulped in air. I was alive.

“You okay?” I whispered.

Nothing.

“Pickle?” I shouted his name.

No answer.

I turned to look at him and saw him slumped forward, his seatbelt holding his body up.

“Pickle!”