Page 34 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

13

DALTON

She handled the controls like she’d been born in the cockpit. Smooth, confident, no wasted movements. I’d seen seasoned pilots with less finesse. Her hands were steady on the yoke, her posture relaxed but alert. She didn’t overcorrect or second-guess herself. If there had been a cupholder, I could see her with a fancy latte, some girly music and her singing along.

She flew like she was cruising in a convertible. I didn’t feel like she was overly cocky. I was cocky, but I was also pretty chill when I was in the cockpit because I knew what I was doing. She flew like I did.

I couldn’t tell if that impressed me or terrified me. Maybe a little bit of both.

I kept my mouth shut, watching her work. I wanted more time to observe. She had that rare ability to read the plane, to feel it beneath her hands and know exactly what it needed. I’d seen it before in a handful of pilots over the years, but never in someone so young. She was a natural. Maybe I was a little jealous. When I was her age, I was not quite so good. I was cocky, but I didn’t have all the skills to back it up. I did now but that was after years of flying.

She banked us into a gentle turn, following the heading Laser had given us. She leveled us off smoothly. I almost smiled. I wasn’t used to being the passenger princess. When I did get stuck training or observing new pilots, I wasn’t quite so confident in their skills. I never just sat back and appreciated the scenery.

But with her at the helm, it was easy to relax. I didn’t feel like I needed to plan my jump from the backseat. Not that I ever would, but I often had that internal debate with myself. Would I rather go down in a fiery crash or jump and take my chances? As if jumping was an option. But it was just one of those morbid thoughts that pilots had in the air.

“Not bad,” I said finally, breaking the silence.

“Thanks,” she replied.

It was rare for me to have no corrections to suggest, no notes to give. The last thing she needed was to get a big head. As good of a pilot as she was, things were different in a real fire. Overconfidence was a killer. I needed her to stay alert, which was why I was so quick to nitpick.

There would be something to mention eventually. I knew the route like the back of my hand. I had flown it hundreds of times. I knew how I did it and was surprised to see she basically mimicked my same patterns. And that was weird considering we had never actually flown together before.

I shuddered at the idea we were somehow connected. Like we were on the same wavelength. I didn’t believe in soulmates or shit like that but something about her was different. Could we have been lovers in a past life?

The second the thought crossed my mind, I inwardly groaned. That was probably one of the dumbest thoughts I had ever had. When the hell did I think about soulmates and past lives? The woman was fucking with my head.

“Veer ten degrees east,” I said into the comms.

“Copy,” she said.

She didn’t do it. I could see her smile in the reflection of the windows that surrounded us. I was glad she was enjoying herself. And her smile did make my dick twitch.

I leaned forward slightly. “Janna. Ten degrees. That ridge up ahead is closer than it looks.”

“Relax, I got it,” she said, adjusting by maybe five degrees at best.

And just like that, all those things I had been thinking vanished. There was the overconfidence I had been worried about.

I tried again. “We’re flying low in unfamiliar terrain, in a plane you’ve never operated in a live mission. Follow the damn instructions.”

She let out a breath, more amused than anything. “I am. You said ten degrees; I gave you eight. Compromise.”

“Compromise gets you dead,” I snapped.

That got her attention.

The grin faded, but not entirely. Her lips stayed tilted up like she was fighting a smirk. “You’re tense,” she said. “You always like this on flights?”

“No.”

“I bet you’re one of those nervous fliers,” she said, her voice full of laughter. “A white-knuckle guy.”

“I fly more than I fucking drive,” I snapped.

“You don’t ever fly as a passenger?” she asked.

“Not if I can help it.”