Page 3 of Stuck with my Brother's Firefighter Besties

“Well,” I said after a beat, “I guess I owe you one smile so far. Maybe two.”

He grinned, leaning back with a triumphant air. “I’ll take it. Though I think I can do better than that before we land.”

“Confident, aren’t you?”

“Always,” he said, without missing a beat.

I tried to play it cool, but the way his gaze lingered on me made my pulse stutter. It wasn’t just his looks—though, let’s be honest, they weren’t exactly working against him. It was the way he gave me his full attention, like I was the most interesting thing on this plane.

After days of feeling invisible and used, it was unsettling.

And a little intoxicating.

“All right, Jaxon,” I said, crossing my arms and tilting my head. “If you’re so confident, let’s see what you’ve got. Two hours to impress me before we land.”

His grin turned wicked, the kind of smile that hinted he’d never backed down from a challenge in his life. “Two hours? Plenty of time. But fair warning, I’m aiming for more than just a couple of smiles now.”

“That’s ambitious.”

“What can I say? I like to set the bar high,” he said, his tone light but his eyes locked on mine.

He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance just enough to make my breath hitch. “So, Lila, tell me. What’s your drink of choice when you’re imagining that beach?”

“Is this part of the entertainment?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely. Think of it as character building. I need to know who I’m working with here.”

I fought a smirk, leaning back in my seat. “Fine. A mojito. Preferably with extra mint.”

“Mojito,” he repeated, as if committing it to memory. “Classic, refreshing, a little sweet but with a kick. I can see that.”

“And you?” I countered, trying to regain some footing. “What’s your imaginary beach drink?”

“Oh, I’m a simple guy. Cold beer in a bottle, preferably one I can crack open with my teeth.”

I gave him a skeptical look, and he laughed.

“Okay, maybe not the teeth thing. But the rest stands.”

“Let me guess,” I said, leaning in a little despite myself. “You’re also the kind of guy who says he ‘just wants to feel the sand between his toes’ but secretly books the room with the best air conditioning.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, eyes crinkling at the corners. “And here I thought I was mysterious.”

“You’re about as mysterious as an open book,” I teased, and for a moment, I forgot all about the mess waiting for me on the ground.

The tension in my chest loosened a little more, the corners of my mouth tugging upward without effort.

“Well, if I’m an open book, you should at least read a few chapters,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Who knows? You might like the story.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden heat in his tone. The air between us shifted, becoming charged and almost tangible.

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“What?” he asked, leaning back but still watching me like he could read my mind. “Too much?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, but the smile on my face betrayed me. “Or maybe you’re just very good at this.”

“At what?”

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