Page 57 of Stalkers Anonymous

“Remember what I told you,” he says. “Arms crossed over your chest when we jump, then spread them out once we’re stable. Arch your back. Let me do the work.”

“Let you do the work. Got it.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. His hands settle on my hips, adjusting our position, and I’m acutely aware of every inch of him.

“One minute.”

Cole opens the door, and the wind screams into the cabin, cold and violent.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

My heart rate spikes. The ground looks impossibly far away—a miniature world of vibrant trees and winding rivers.

“Oh God,” I breathe.

“I’ve got you.” Cole’s arms wrap around me, secure and solid. “Trust me.”

And the thing is, I do.

“It’s time!” Jack calls over his shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure flying with you today. Be sure to leave me a good review on Yelp!” He pauses. “And aim for the center of the clearing! Trust me on that part!”

“What does that mean?” I yell.

“Have fun!”

We tip forward before I can process what he said, and the world disappears.

For one eternal second, there’s nothing but wind and falling and my own scream ripping from my throat. The earth rushes up to meet us at a speed that shouldn’t be possible, and every survival instinct I have is shrieking that this was a terrible idea.

Then something shifts.

The initial terror gives way to something wild and free and utterly exhilarating. We’re not falling. We’re flying. The wind holds us up like a giant hand, and the world spreads out beneath us in all its glory. I can see the curvature of the mountains, the way the aspen groves look like spilled gold paint, the ribbon of a river catching the light.

Cole grabs hold of my hands and spreads my arms, and I’m a bird. A very screamy, adrenaline-drunk bird, but a bird nonetheless. Cole’s grip on me is strong and steady, so grounding in an incredibly unstable situation.

“Holy shit!” I yell, and I feel Cole’s amused laugh vibrate against my back.

The freefall seems to last forever and no time at all. Sixty seconds of pure, unfiltered chaos, my body singing with the rush of it. And through it all, Cole is there—steady and warm and real, his body fitted against mine like we were designed to do this together.

Then he pulls the chute, and everything changes again.

The jolt is gentler than I expected—a firm tug that shifts us from plummeting to floating. Suddenly the roar of the wind quiets, and we’re drifting, suspended beneath a canopy of bright blue nylon. The world below is silent and stunning.

“You okay?” Cole asks, his voice clear now without the wind.

“I’m fucking amazing.” I laugh, slightly hysterical. “That was incredible. Can we do it again? I want to do it again.”

“Adrenaline junkie in the making.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I knew you’d love it.”

We spiral down slowly, Cole adjusting our trajectory with small tugs on the handles. My heart is still racing, but now it’s mixed with an awareness of his body against mine.

His chest rises and falls against my back. One of his arms is wrapped around me, the other gripping and maneuvering the controls. And pressed against my lower back is something that’s definitely not part of the equipment.

Oh.

Oh.

“Cole,” I say, my voice coming out breathless.

“I know.” His voice is rough, almost apologetic. He already knows. “Sorry, it’s—adrenaline does things. I’m not trying to—”