And then there was the flirting.
I shake my head, taking another sip of wine. The way he looked at me, all dimples and charm, like he thought I’d be another notch on his belt. He did not know who he was dealing with—and that was the most entertaining part of the whole thing.
But as much as I wanted to roll my eyes at him, I couldn’t deny the way my stomach flipped when he squared those broad shoulders and met my gaze during the debrief. Or how ridiculously good he looked stepping out of that jet.
I groan, setting the glass down and grabbing a throw pillow to hug against my chest. “Get it together, Maddox,” I mutter, glaring at the overly dramatic couples on the screen. “He’s a rookie. Off-limits. End of story.”
The TV blares on, a contestant throwing a drink in someone’s face, and I laugh, shaking my head. Maybe they have the right idea. A little drama could be fun. But in my world? It isn’t worth the fallout.
I’m determined to focus on the ridiculous antics in front of me instead of the rookie pilot, who is definitely going to be trouble.
The wineglass dangles loosely in my hand as I stare at the TV, the chaos on the screen blurring into background noise. My thoughts aren’t on the ridiculous contestants anymore. No,my thoughts are firmly rooted back at the airfield, circling one problem in particular: Ash Carr.
I groan, setting the glass down on the coffee table and grabbing my phone. If anyone can help me make sense of this mess—or at least laugh with me about it—it’s Nesta.
I scroll to her name in my contacts, tapping out a quick message before I can overthink it.
Me: Okay, so what exactly do you do when the hottest man you’ve ever met is also the most infuriating? Asking for a friend.
Nesta’s reply comes almost instantly because, of course, it does.
Nesta: You mean yourself. What happened, Maddox? Spill.
I sigh, leaning back into the couch as I stare at the screen. Where do I even start?
Me: New pilot on the team. Total rookie. He’s cocky, annoyingly good at flying, and has this grin that could probably start wars.
Nesta: Go on…
I laugh, shaking my head. Nesta lives for this kind of drama.
Me: He’s also completely reckless in the air, thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and spent all day driving me up the wall.
Nesta: And let me guess… he’s sexy as hell.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether I want to admit it. Finally, I cave.
Me: Fine. Yes. He looks like the gods carved him. Are you happy?
Nesta: Ecstatic. So, what’s the problem? Sounds like you’ve got yourself a fun distraction.
Me: Problem is, he’s my rookie. My responsibility. Off-limits in every way. And I cannot let him get under my skin.
Nesta’s reply comes after a moment, and I can practically hear her teasing tone through the screen.
Nesta: Oh, sweetie. Sounds like he’s already there.
I groan, tossing the phone onto the couch beside me. She’s not wrong, and that is the worst part. Ash Carr is under my skin, and I don’t know how to keep him in line—not in the air, and definitely not in my head.
The phone buzzes again, and I glance at the screen.
Nesta: Good luck with your little rookie, Maddox. Just remember—control is overrated.
I roll my eyes and snatch up the phone to send back a quick response.
Me: Noted. Now excuse me while I try to regain some control over this situation. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Nesta’s reply is just a winking emoji, and I can’t help but laugh as I set the phone back down.
