Page 86 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

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DALTON

Iwatched those two assholes position themselves around her like vultures circling prey. Something dark and possessive clawed at my chest. My hands clenched into fists as the tall one leaned in closer to Janna, hanging on her every word like she was reciting the fucking gospel.

She was eating it up. Laughing at their jokes, tucking her hair behind her ear in that way that drove me insane and touching his arm in a way that made my cock twitch.

“Easy there, killer,” Pickle said beside me. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”

I forced myself to unclench my jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you look like you want to murder those hotshots with your bare hands.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He was right and we both knew it. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to march over there and tell those dickheads to find somewhere else to be. To make it clear that Janna was off limits.

But she wasn’t off limits. That was the whole fucking point of keeping things casual, wasn’t it? No strings. No claims. No jealousy.

So why did I feel like I was about to lose my goddamn mind?

How dare they—two hose jockeys, shirtless and swaggering, flirting with her? My girl. Well, it might not be official, but in every way that mattered. I gritted my teeth. Someone needed to stop things. I couldn’t do it. Then she would know I cared.

I was pretty certain she was purposely trying to make me jealous. I wasn’t about to let her know it was working.

I glanced back at Pickle, who was trying his best to get Max to stop hissing at him. The cat was particular about who he showed affection to. It seemed to take right to me and Janna.

The cat. That was a good distraction.

I crouched down and held out my hand to Max, who immediately abandoned his standoff with Pickle to come rub against my palm. The purring was so loud it sounded like a damn motor.

“We should probably find this thing a real home,” I said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Can’t have it living in the hangar forever.”

Pickle snorted. “Right. Because you’re so concerned about the cat’s welfare.”

“I am concerned,” I said defensively. “It needs proper food, shelter, veterinary care. Someone who can actually take care of it.”

“Uh-huh.” Pickle was grinning. “And I suppose you’ve got some ideas about where this mysterious someone might be found?”

I shrugged, still focused on Max. “I don’t know. Maybe we could put up flyers in town. Ask around. Someone’s bound to want a cat.”

“Or,” Pickle said, with a big goofy grin on his face, “you could just take him home yourself. You know, to that nice little cabin. The one with the big yard and the porch. A fireplace for the cat to get all cozy in the winter.”

“I’m not taking the cat home.”

“Why not? You’re already halfway to adopting it anyway. You feed it, you named it⁠—”

“I didn’t name it.”

“It follows you around. Face it, Dalton. You’re a cat guy.”

I didn’t know why, but the idea terrified me.

I stood up abruptly. Max protested with a soft meow as I pulled my hand away. “I’m not a cat guy. I’m not any kind of guy. I don’t need anything depending on me.”

“Yeah, about that,” Pickle said, crossing his arms. “For someone who doesn’t do attachments, you sure seem to be collecting them. First the cat, now⁠—”

“Drop it.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. In the background, I could hear Janna’s laughter again.

“Look, all I’m saying is maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to admit you care about something. Or someone.” Pickle’s voice was gentler now, less teasing. “The cat clearly thinks you’re his person.”