Page 140 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

“We didn’t die,” I protested. “I had everything under control.”

“You were fading in and out of consciousness,” Dalton reminded me.

“I stayed awake long enough to get us on the ground,” I snapped.

Pickle held up his hands. “Okay, okay, before you two start making out again, can we please talk about something else? I’m still recovering from the trauma of witnessing that reunion.”

My cheeks heated. “We weren’t that bad.”

“You were worse,” Laser said dryly. “Chief looked like he wanted to hose you down.”

That was yesterday. We got busted after the debrief. To be fair, we had slipped into the hallway. We thought everyone had gone to work.

“Speaking of making out,” I said, changing the subject and looking pointedly at the way Laser’s hand was still resting on Pickle’s shoulder. “When did this happen?”

Yes, I was that girl. I was deflecting. I could embarrass them just like they were trying to do to us. Although Dalton looked like the cat that got the canary. He didn’t care. Yesterday when it happened, I wanted to melt into the floor but he had slapped my ass and said it was good that everyone knew. He’d hate to break hands and heads if anyone tried to move in on me.

It did feel nice to be claimed.

Laser’s eyes widened. “What? This? There’s no this.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, not buying it for a second. “And I suppose you’ve been holding his hand all night for medical reasons?”

Pickle looked down at their intertwined fingers like he was just noticing them. “Oh. Yeah. That.”

“That?” Laser smacked his arm. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I mean, it’s not like we planned it,” Pickle said, but he was grinning. “It just sort of happened when I woke up in the hospital and she was there.”

“I was worried,” Laser said defensively. “He could have had a serious head injury.”

“I do have a serious head injury,” Pickle said solemnly. “I’m probably going to need round-the-clock care.”

“You’re an idiot,” Laser said, but she was smiling.

“Your idiot, apparently,” Pickle said, bringing her hand to his lips.

I felt my heart squeeze. “It’s about time, you two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laser asked.

“Please,” I said. “You’ve been dancing around each other for months, according to Dalton. It took almost losing Pickle for you to realize what you were missing out on.”

Laser’s expression softened. “Yeah, well. Life’s too short to waste time being scared.”

I glanced at Dalton, who was watching me with those whiskey-brown eyes of his.

“Damn right it is,” I said quietly.

“Okay, enough with the mushy stuff,” Pickle said, raising his bottle. “I propose a toast. To surviving another day, to friends who risk everything for each other, and to finally getting our heads out of our asses.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dalton said, clinking his bottle against mine.

“To not being idiots,” I added.

“To not being idiots,” they all echoed.

“So, Herc,” Pickle said. “Is Chief going to dock your pay after you crashed his plane?”