Page 19 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

8

JANNA

The bar in Hollow Gorge was exactly the kind of place I’d hoped it would be. It was the kind of place that no one had any expectations. There were no pretenses. People were just there to unwind with greasy food and cold beer.

The walls were covered in vintage beer signs, neon lights, and what looked like decades of local memorabilia. A few pictures of celebrities that had stopped by the place hung on the wall. The floor was sticky in places and covered in peanut shells. Bowls of peanuts sat on every table. I’d been in bars with the whole peanut thing before. The peanut oil was supposed to be good for the wood floors. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but if it worked, great.

Pool tables dominated one corner while a jukebox in the opposite corner played rock at just the right volume. It was loud enough to feel the bass in your chest, but not so loud you couldn’t hold a conversation. There was a dart board mounted on the wall near the pool tables.

The bar itself was solid wood in an L shape. Behind it, shelves lined with bottles stretched up to the ceiling. The place smelled like fried food, old cigarettes because that smell never went away, and stale beer.

“This place is perfect,” I said to Laser as we claimed a table near the pool tables.

“Right? It’s got character,” she agreed, signaling the bartender. “And the wings are actually decent.”

The bartender was a man that looked to be in his fifties and had zero cares in the world. He wore jeans and an Aerosmith T-shirt. I had a feeling this man was responsible for the Creedence Clearwater pumping out of the jukebox. And I was willing to bet I would find a lot of classic rock in that jukebox. My dad loved CCR.

A server, a young woman in her twenties with bright red lipstick appeared at our table. She had on a white half apron and tight jeans. “What can I get you ladies?”

“Two beers,” Laser said. “Wings and nachos.”

I arched a brow. Laser looked at me. “Do you want onion rings? They are really good here.”

I shrugged. “Hell, if we’re going in, we may as well go all in.”

Laser flashed a bright smile. “You heard the girl. Onion rings. And extra special sauce.”

“Be back in a few,” the server said.

I looked around the bar and took stock of the people. The crowd was a mix of locals and what I assumed were other firefighters and pilots from various agencies. Hollow Gorge was kind of firefighting central. There were a group of men in the corner wearing yellow shirts and forest green pants. It was the standard uniform for the wildland firefighters. A few ranchers sat at the bar in their Wranglers and boots, nursing beers and watching a baseball game on the mounted TV. The whole place had that comfortable, lived-in feeling that made you want to stay for hours.

I spotted a few guys I remembered seeing at the airfield earlier. I wondered if there were cliques. Was Laser one of the cool kids? I had a feeling she was definitely one of the cool kids. Anyone that looked like her and had that confident air about them had to be cool. And I got the feeling she was friends with Dalton and he was definitely one of the cool kids.

“Here you go,” the server said. She put two glasses of beer on the table. “Food will be up in five.”

“Thank you,” Laser said. “To surviving your first simulator session with Herc.” She held up her glass.

I laughed and gently clinked my glass against hers. “Barely.”

The first sip hit just right. I was glad my dad had introduced me to beer. Mom liked wine but Dad was all about IPAs and trying all kinds of new beers. I took another drink, licking the foam from my upper lip.

Laser tilted her head, studying me. “So, Janna, what’s your story? You’re what—mid-twenties?”

“Twenty-five,” I said.

“Damn,” she said. “That’s young for this game. Most folks don’t end up flying fires until they’ve been up in the sky a decade or more.”

I shrugged. “I started early.”

“How early?”

“My dad taught me to fly,” I said, smiling at the memory. “I was barely tall enough to reach the rudder pedals. He was a crop duster in the summers, flew utility work in the winters. Thought every kid should know how to handle a Cessna before they got their learner’s permit.”

Laser grinned. “I like your dad already.”

“I logged hours through high school. Got my private license at seventeen. And when I was old enough, I took off for Alaska.”

Laser’s eyes lit up. “Alaska?”