Page 45 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

17

DALTON

Idropped my bag filled with clean laundry in my dorm room. I was planning on sticking around for the next couple of weeks. My gut was telling me a big fire was going to pop up any day. I wanted to be ready.

And that meant Gilbert better have my damn plane fixed. I put on my aviators and headed out into the heat of the day. I watched one of the spotter planes take off and briefly wondered if it was Janna. And then I wondered why in the hell I cared.

I strolled across the tarmac with my gaze going to the sky. There were a few clouds, but it didn’t look like there would be a storm. That certainly cut down on the risk of a fire.

But when I stepped inside, my focus shifted fast.

She was already there.

Janna.

With the cat. For a brief second, I almost thought my cat. It is not my cat.

“Who are you?” She cooed and scratched the cats ears. “Are you hungry? You look like you’ve been having a rough go.”

She didn’t see me come in and that was good. I wanted to watch her. She patted the cat and then got to her feet. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot that was somehow sexier than anything from a runway show. She had on a T-shirt that hugged her body and scraped along the waistband of her jeans. When she lifted her arm, the shirt rose and flashed a hint of skin.

And fuck me. She’s so gorgeous.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket. A minute later, some cheesy song filled the quiet hangar. I had to say, I was impressed. She was checking out her plane. That showed dedication. That proved she was serious. I liked it.

I took a few more steps inside. She looked up when she heard the sound of my boots. A smile ghosted her lips. The music was obnoxious.

“What the hell are you listening to?” I asked.

She grinned and turned it down, but not off. “Didn’t expect company,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag.

“Is Gilbert here?”

“He just went to lunch,” she said. “Him and Tyson.”

“Figures,” I muttered. I walked to my plane. “They’re supposed to be fixing my damn plane. Lunch can wait.”

She laughed. “Oh, so they should just not eat? That’s a good plan. The mechanics that are supposed to fix your plane being all lightheaded and confused is definitely a good idea.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think anyone is in danger of passing out.”

“What’s up with the door?” she asked.

“Sticky bolt on the drop latch. If it fails again mid-run, we lose crucial time to stop the fire in its tracks. Little mistakes can have big consequences.”

She nodded with understanding. “I’ve been poking around my plane, getting familiar. You know, in case you decide to lose your temper and shake Tyson again. And now that I know starvation is an option, I think it’s an even better idea that I get familiar with my plane.”

We stood in silence for a few seconds.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked.

“Sure. I’ll decide if I’m going to answer.”

I smirked and shook my head. That was the attitude I was used to. “What got you into this?”

“My dad and both my brothers were Air Force,” she said. “It was all flying all the time. Every meal, every barbecue, and every holiday was flying talks. When I was little, I was convinced they had wings. And I kept waiting for mine to grow in. I used to ask my mom to look at my back to see if they had sprouted yet.”

I laughed. The sound felt weird, but I could picture little Janna looking for her little wing buds.