Page 58 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

She raised an eyebrow. “Such a gentleman.”

“I just like staring at your ass,” I whispered to her. She blushed before she looked away quickly.

I stayed close behind her as we moved through the line. Close enough to catch another whiff of that citrus scent that was driving me crazy. Close enough to notice the way her dress hugged her curves when she bent to examine the side dishes.

“What’s good?” she asked, looking back at me.

“Oh, I’ve got my eye on something good alright.”

She rolled her eyes but looked flattered too. “Stop. I mean the food.”

“Most of it is good. Chief doesn’t mess around.” I reached past her to grab a plate, my arm brushing against hers. “But the brisket is legendary. And Martha brought her famous potato salad.”

Janna loaded her plate with a little of everything, asking questions about each dish like she was conducting a food survey. I piled brisket, beans, and coleslaw onto mine, keeping it simple. The guys ahead of us were already deep in conversation about the upcoming season, speculating about when the first big fire would hit.

“You want to sit inside?” I asked when we’d both filled our plates.

She glanced toward the hangar where the tables were filled with people happily eating and talking. She nodded at some chairs in the shade of the building. “There,” she said.

We ate and I had to admit I was pretty impressed with her appetite. She wasn’t trying to be dainty. Not like the princess I often called her.

“Want dessert?” I asked her. “I’ll get you something.”

She smiled. “I’d love some of that pineapple upside down cake if there’s any left.”

I winked. “I’ll fight someone for the last piece for you.”

The moment I said it, I felt ridiculous. But it was true.

I walked over to the dessert table, and sure enough, there was one piece of pineapple upside down cake left. I grabbed it along with a couple of her cookies, ignoring the look Pickle shot me when he saw me playing waiter.

When I got back to our spot, she was talking to a woman about her cookies. The woman was asking for the recipe and heaping praise on her.

“Thank you for the cake,” she said. “You didn’t actually have to fight anyone, did you?”

“Just had to stare down one of those smoke jumpers. He backed down pretty quick.”

She laughed and took a bite of the cake, closing her eyes and making a small sound of pleasure that went straight to my dick. “Oh my God, that’s incredible.”

“Yeah, Carol makes it every year. It always disappears fast and then she magically produces another one out of thin air. I think that’s the hype. Supply and demand. Everyone wants the cake that everyone else wants.”

“I need this recipe.” She took another bite, then held out her fork. “Want some?”

I should have said no. Should have kept that distance. But instead, I leaned forward and let her feed me the cake, my lips brushing against the fork. Her eyes darkened as she watched me chew.

“Good?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.

“Good,” I confirmed, my voice rougher than it should have been.

Someone else drifted over. “Did you make the cookies?” the woman asked.

“I made some,” Janna said.

“These are so good!”

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She looked proud. Quietly so. Like she was trying to act chill but her cheeks were pink. She had to know her cookies were good. But she was humble.

Janna waved someone over and I gratefully turned my attention toward Pickle and Laser.