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It’s a regular occasion for men to recognize me from the gaming circuits, mostly because I have a huge online presence on both Youtube and Tiktok. When that happens, they either get weirdly excited because they’ve watched me compete, or they immediately make a joke about me “playing video games for a living,” usually followed by a wink that suggests they think they’re the first person clever enough to say it.

This guy looks like he’s evaluating whether I’m a safety hazard or not. Which, okay, technically I’m standing next to an airplane on four hours of sleep, so the math isn’t unreasonable.

But still.

I put one hand on my hip. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“No.”

“That sounded suspiciously like eavesdropping,” I accuse.

“I was standing here.”

“While listening,” I prod.

“That’s generally how hearing works.”

Rick makes a choking sound beside me.

I glare at him. “Are you laughing?”

“Nope.”

Liar. Absolute traitor. I make a mental note to revoke his coffee privileges. I always stop at Chloe’s coffee shop before coming to my lessons and bring Rick his favorite drink and pastry. We will see if I do that next lesson.

“You’re flying today?” the stranger asks.

“That was the plan.”

“Not anymore,” he says as if he has the authority to make that decision.

My eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

Rick looks like Christmas came early, complete with a bow on top and a personalized card that says finally, someone else can tell her no.

The stranger’s tone doesn’t change. “You’re fatigued.”

“You don’t know me.” I tell him, hands fisting on my hips. Who does he think he is?

“I know you slept four hours.” He counters.

“Four and a half,” I correct.

He gives me a look. That look does something deeply inconvenient to my stomach. Not fear. Not annoyance. More like my nervous system sat up straight, smoothed its metaphorical skirt, and said, hello, sir. That’s the look. The one Daddies give their littles. I’ve seen it live and in person when my friends’ daddies have used it.

No.

Absolutely not.

I have known this man for ninety seconds. My nervous system needs to calm down and remember it has a reputation to protect. I don’t look at a strange man and think Daddy. I’ve never in my life… what the actual heck is going on here?

I narrow my eyes. “Who are you?”

“Christopher Fowler.” He answers.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A tiny shift happens at one corner of his mouth. “Air traffic control.”