Page 8 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

4

JANNA

Iwas pretty sure I’d just made an enemy. I had been on the job for all of five minutes and I pissed off what was obviously the big shot around these parts. Usually, I knew better but sometimes my mouth got the best of me. It was like something short-circuited when I got pissed. My mouth was detached. It ran while the logical side of my brain shouted at my tongue to stop.

It never worked.

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t going to apologize because he was an asshole. And he was rude. And obnoxious. I followed him across the tarmac, doing my best not to actually jog to keep up. I just had to walk really fast.

Dalton took big strides like the hounds of hell were nipping at his ankles. Long legs. Stiff shoulders. Every step radiated frustration and brute-force testosterone. His jaw looked like it had been carved from granite. Hell, all of him looked like he had been sculpted from stone. And of course, it didn’t help that the man was hotter than asphalt in August.

Great. Just great.

Of all the people Chief could have matched me with, I got stuck with the brooding bad boy of the airfield for my very first training session. The guy I’d literally just called an asshole to his face. And now he got to judge my flying skills.

Perfect start, Janna. Just perfect.

I wasn’t scared of him, not in the “oh no, big scary man” way. I’d flown through sleet storms in northwest Alaska, landed bush planes on ice-crusted gravel strips, and once performed an emergency landing with a tourist in the back who’d been tripping on mushrooms and threatening to open the door mid-flight. I had bounced my way through a blizzard without letting it take my plane down. Compared to that mess, Dalton was just another asshole. I grew up around military men, so I had gotten plenty of experience with puffed-up egos. Those guys could be assholes. Especially the drill sergeants.

While I wasn’t afraid of Dalton, I was tense. Anyone would be. The man was intimidating. And he had been two seconds from beating the crap out of that mechanic. A man. I was just little old me. I had a big bark but I was pretty sure I had a little bite. I wouldn’t know for sure because my mouth was usually enough to drive away any would-be attackers.

Just how far away was the simulator? Would anyone hear me scream? Was it safe to be alone with him? I wasn’t sure. I mean, no one would be stupid enough to kill a woman when they were the obvious suspect, right?

Maybe I should apologize for calling him an asshole.

Nah. He deserved it.

Maybe I should try to make small talk. Start fresh.

Laughter bubbled up. He whipped his head around and shot me a dirty look. I raised my chin and pretended nothing happened.

He thought I was a child. It was insulting. I knew I looked young. Mama always told me to welcome that fact because when I hit forty, I was going to be grateful people thought I looked thirty. Assuming my looks held out. I had a feeling part of my youthful appearance was my size and pale skin. I lived in Alaska. I didn’t get a lot of time in the sun.

But just because I looked young, it didn’t mean I wasn’t capable. I knew how to fly. I’d been doing it since I was nineteen. I had more hours in the air than half the hotshots around here. Maybe even him. But the job of spotting wildfires from the sky was new. I’d done the reading, the training modules, watched every blurry YouTube video I could find, but there was still nothing like doing it for real. And now I had to do it with a man who looked like he might bite someone if they breathed too loud.

Should I have brought the cookies? I might be able to bribe him to be nice. Yeah right. Dalton was definitely more Oscar the Grouch than the furry blue Cookie Monster.

And he did not deserve one of my cookies. Not only that, he’d probably just toss it back at me with a sneer. A man that looked like that probably didn’t eat refined sugar. He’d be all about protein shakes and grilled white meat. I was not making a gluten and sugar-free cookie for him.

I nearly twisted my ankle as I hurried to keep up with his mile-eating stride. It was the stupid ankle boots with the two-inch heel that I liked to wear to make me look a little taller. I wasn’t about to ask him to slow down, though. No chance. I’d rather eat glass than give him the satisfaction of seeing me struggle. I’ve been around men like Dalton before, the kind who mistake kindness for weakness and assume if you’re five-foot-four and have nice tits, you must a permanent sandwich maker.

The silence was excruciating. I loved talking to people, even strangers. “Can you show me where my room is after we’re done?”

Dalton didn’t break stride. “No. I’m not your fucking tour guide.”

Wow. Okay. “Right. That tracks,” I muttered. “I didn’t realize I signed up for a deluxe asshole escort service.”

His head turned just enough for me to see the smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth, even if he didn’t give me the satisfaction of a full grin. I didn’t actually expect him to show me to my room. I thought if I showed a little meekness he might take pity on me. Might realize I was new and he shouldn’t be so mean. But that was not his style. He was full asshole. There was no kindness or understanding.

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who just got here,” he said.

“And you’ve got a lot of anger for someone who gets to fly for a living.”

He snorted. “You try flying into a fire zone with a full payload and no drop. Then we’ll talk about my anger issues.”

I shrugged. “Still doesn’t give you the right to assault a coworker.”

He stopped, spun to face me. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through out there.”