Page 40 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

She looked around like she would be able to see her when I couldn’t. “No. I don’t know. Probably in the bathroom or the hall getting something to drink. Red Bull if she’s anything like me. Chamomile if she’s anything like Pickle.”

I smirked. “Yeah. Let’s hope she doesn’t become a caffeine junkie like you.”

I walked away, making my way to the refreshment table along the back wall and grabbed a bottle of water. I was downing it when I heard a noise. I frowned and started moving in the direction of the noise. Was it the cat? If it was, which I didn’t even know if it was a boy or girl, I was going to have a conversation with it and let it know it needed to get lost.

I heard the noise again. And it wasn’t a cat.

Crying.

I froze in the hallway. It was a woman crying and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who it was. It was my missing pilot.

And she was crying. Fuck.

I backed away, immediately regretting my choice to go looking for her. Emotions. Why did it always have to be emotions? I could fly through fire, outmaneuver a storm, but a woman crying behind a locked door? That was some straight-up horror movie shit to me. A physical shudder ran over my body. Why couldn’t it have been the cat? I’d prefer to cuddle with that damn thing, fleas and all.

I had two choices: walk away and pretend I hadn’t heard a thing or not be a complete cyborg and give her the reassurance she obviously needed.

“Fuck me,” I groaned.

I went with option two. Mostly because I didn’t know what else to do, I walked back to the refreshment area and snagged a cold bottle of water from the fridge. I sent up a prayer for strength and walked to the bathroom door. I knocked once.

“Occupied,” she called out in a shaky voice.

“It’s me,” I said. “Dalton.”

Silence for a second. Then I heard the lock click. The door opened just enough for me to see her red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. She looked like she’d just left a funeral. There was a part of me that had hoped she was laughing in the bathroom and not crying.

But I was not so lucky.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I thrust out the bottle of water. She took it with a trembling hand, and then to my horror, she started crying again.

Okay. Definitely not good.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Uh. I can leave. You look like you might want some privacy.”

She shook her head. That was exactly what I didn’t want to happen. But once again, I was faced with a decision. I could walk away and let her continue crying alone or I could do the normal human thing and sit with her.

Dammit.

I stepped into the ladies’ room, closed the door, and sat my ass down on the cool tile floor beside her. We didn’t talk. Not for a long while. She cried and I stared at the scuffed baseboard and tried not to feel like my skin was inside out. Was I supposed to rub her shoulders?

The cat!

Dammit, if only I had the cat. Women liked petting animals. It was comforting. But the cat wasn’t exactly the comforting type.

Eventually, her breathing slowed. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her flight suit and sniffled. “Sorry.”

I shrugged. “No reason to be.”

“I don’t usually... I mean, I do, I just… not in front of people. And not like this.”

“I invaded your space,” I said with a shrug.

She blew out a breath. “Well this is embarrassing.”

“Can I do anything?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Can you help me bake cookies?”