Page 8 of The Pilot's Good Girl
Maybe both.
Chapter Four
Jake
Jesus.
She’s still mad, but damn if she doesn’t wear it well.
Ruby. That’s what Danny said her name was. And now that I’m standing three feet away from her, watching her chest rise and fall with the aftershocks of her tantrum, I can’t help thinking she might be the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
All damp golden curls and sharp brown eyes, standing there like she’s about to launch a second attack. I probably deserve it.
Hell, Idefinitelydeserve it. I know I’m a cocky asshole at the best of times.
But I can’t stop watching her mouth when she talks. Or thinking about what that mouth might feel like doing something other than yelling.
Focus, Pearson.
I clear my throat and hold out the coffee to her again. “It’s not just a bribe. It’s an apology. I’m genuinely sorry.”
She eyes me skeptically, but the fire in her gaze cools by a degree or two.
“I misjudged the wind. That drop wasn’t supposed to land on the cars, especially not yours,” I say, keeping all traces ofamusement out of my voice. “I could make up a dozen excuses, but bottom line…it shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”
Apologies aren’t easy for me. I don’t throw them around. But somehow, with her, saying “I’m sorry” doesn’t feel weak. Just honest. I can only hope she sees my genuineness.
She’s quiet for a moment, but then her expression shifts. Not totally softened, but…gentler. Like she hears me. After a beat, she takes the coffee from my hand and takes a cautious sip.
Her eyes instantly light up, her lips curving into a surprised smile. “Are you kidding me? This is exactly how I take it. How did you…?”
I grin, shrugging my shoulders. “Lucky guess.”
She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “You guessed almond milk, two sugars, extra hot with a sprinkle of cinnamon?” she asks with a scoff.
“Or maybe I asked Danny,” I reply with a smirk. “He’s got a thing for details.”
She gives me a look, half-amused, half-annoyed, and lowers herself onto the couch with a sigh. “You’re such a cocky hotshot.”
I move to sit beside her, leaving a respectful distance between us. “Hotshots are the guys on the ground,” I correct. “I’m just the guy in the sky.”
“Oh yeah?” she says, taking another sip. “So what do you do, fly in, drop a bucket of water, and disappear like Batman?”
I chuckle. “Pretty much. I fly the chopper. I’ve been doing it since the Army.”
Her expression morphs into one of awe. “You were in the army?”
“Yeah…started in combat search and rescue. Then medevac missions. Did a few years overseas, then bounced around until I found this gig.”
“That’s…intense,” she says, shaking her head.
I nod once. “Yeah. It was.”
The silence stretches just long enough for the memories to claw at my chest.
“There was this mission,” I say, pushing the words past the lump forming in my throat. “It was supposed to be a simple—quick in and out. Two birds. I flew the lead chopper. My buddy, Tom, flew the second. Tom had just gotten news that his wife had their first baby three days prior, so we had something to look forward to. Anyway, things went south. I made it out. He didn’t. That…” I shake my head, pushing the memories away. “It broke something in me. I couldn’t go on.”
She looks at me over the rim of her cup, her eyes shadowed by something I can’t quite read. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice quiet.
