For a moment, the world is quiet. Only the sound of our breathing fills the room. I rest my forehead on her back for a second, trying to catch my breath, my hands still gripping her hips as I finally pull out and head to the bathroom to discard the condom.
Walking back to the bed, I find Amelia lying on her back, her dark hair fanned out over my pillows, skin flushed, and I can’t help but smile, reaching out to brush a strand from her face.
Before I can say anything, she meets my gaze with a look that stops me cold.
“This was fun,” she says, her voice casual, as if she didn’t just rock my world.
“Just fun?”
She smirks, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Ash, you’re good… like great. But that?” She gestures tothe bed. “That was an itch I needed to scratch, and you got to be the lucky participant, flyboy.”
Her words hit harder than I care to admit. But I mask it with a low chuckle. “You sure about that?” I ask, half teasing.
She doesn’t answer, just stands and starts gathering her discarded clothes. Piece by piece, she dresses, her movements efficient and calculated. Just like she has done this a thousand times.
When she bends to grab her panties from the floor, I can’t help but admire the view. But my chest tightens at the realization that she got what she needed and is now leaving.
Fully dressed, she pauses at the door, glancing back at me with the same smirk. “See you at 0600, Dragon. Try not to be late.”
And just like that, she is gone, the door clicking behind her.
I lean back against the pillows, running a hand through my hair and staring at the ceiling.
What the hell just happened? Did she really just use me?
Still tryingto wrap my head around last night, I pull into the airfield the next morning. My mind replays the way Amelia smirked at me before walking out of my apartment, leaving me alone with nothing but the scent of her on my sheets and in my room.
Hell, I am usually the one who leaves, tossing a casual, “That was fun. Let’s do it again.” But this time? I was on the receiving end, and it has thrown me off-balance.
Stepping off my bike, I adjust my flight jacket and try to shake it off. I can’t let her get into my head, especially not here and not in front of the team.
But the second I walk onto the tarmac, Noah is there, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes one look at me.
“What's with the face, man?” he asks, falling into step beside me. “You look like someone kicked your dog.”
I shake my head, trying to muster a grin. “Nothing, just didn't sleep great.”
Noah snorts. “Right. You’ve got that ‘I’m confused as hell about something but won't admit it’ look. Spill it, Carr, what's going on?”
I hesitate, my jaw tightening as I debate how much to tell him. Noah isn’t just my teammate—he’s also becoming a close friend. But this? This isn’t something I’m sure I want to share. Mainly because I am not even sure there is an “us” to share.
He bumps my shoulder. “C’mon, man, you can tell me. I’m like a vault when needed. Is it about Phoenix?”
I freeze for half a second, but it’s enough for Noah to catch on. His brows shoot up, and a slow grin comes across his face.
“Oh, no way. Did something happen between y'all?” he asks, his tone dripping with amusement.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck and wondering how I should proceed with this line of questioning. Last night, she told me it was just an itch she needed to scratch. I’m not ready to talk about what happened between us.
“Let’s just say,” I finally reply, keeping my voice low, “she’s not what I expected.”
Noah laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “Yeah, no kidding. Phoenix isn't like anyone else. Good luck trying to figure that one out.”
As we walk, he does not press me further, and honestly, I am glad for that.
Figure her out? Hell, I’m not even sure I want to. The real question playing over in my head is: Can I stop thinking about her long enough to focus?
By the time I reach the hangar, I’ve wiped every trace of last night off my face. My shoulders are loose, my stride relaxed, and my smirk is firmly in place. No one needs to know what happened, least of all her.
