Page 87 of Aviatrix

He’s shirtless when I reach the barn, bent over the engine. My heart pounds, each step toward him slow and measured, like I already know what I’m walking into

“Hey,” I call out softly.

He straightens, a smudge of motor oil streaked across his cheek.

I offer him the beer. “Thought you could use this.”

“It was the battery,” he says, taking the bottle from me. “Aunt Lise was right.”

I watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he twists off the cap. I don’t know if it’s the Oklahoma heat or the way his body sets every nerve ending alight, but suddenly I feel light-headed.

I wander over to the workbench, set my beer aside, and push myself up to sit on the edge of it.

“You’re killing me in that dress,” he groans as I take a long sip from my bottle.

“We leave tomorrow morning,” I say, ignoring the comment.

“We do.” He saunters over, the waistband of his dress slacks hanging deliciously low on his hips.

“I’m not sure I want to leave,” I say with a half-smile. “Oklahoma might be growing on me.”

Eli stops in front of me, raising his bottle for another sip. I trace his biceps, his chest, his taut stomach with my eyes.

“Stop checking me out, Quay,” he says, the words dipped in something like amusement and need.

I smirk but stay quiet. For once, I don’t have a reply.

He sets his beer beside me. “No comeback?”

I shake my head. “Not today, Major.”

“Are you sick?” he jokes, but his green eyes deepen. No longer moss or mint. They’re dark emerald. Evergreen.

“I’m fine,” I whisper.

I reach out, trailing my fingers lightly along the warmth of his abdomen. His muscles twitch beneath my touch.

“Quay,” he breathes.

“If you only had one day left,” I ask, fingers slipping to the waistband of his slacks, “how would you spend it?” I look up at him, eyes searching.

“I’d do exactly what I did today,” he says. “I’d have coffee with my aunt. And I’d hold your hand as often as you’d let me.”

My heart aches. “Really?”

“There’s one more thing I’d do,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing my cheek and tangling in my hair. “I’d kiss you.” He pauses, barely audible. “Tell me not to.”

But I don’t. I can’t.

If this is all we have left—one day, one moment—I don’t want to waste another second wondering what could’ve been.

He watches me, waiting for me to change my mind. Like he’s afraid he might lose me again.

But then, he leans in and presses his lips to mine.

I close my eyes, breathing him in, citrus and motor oil. My hands find his chest, sliding up to his shoulders as his tongue slips into my mouth and tangles with mine. Our mouths move like muscle memory, teeth catching once, twice. I nearly explode when he sucks on my bottom lip.

He kisses me like I might break. I want to tell him I won’t, but he’s already pulling away.