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“Oh my God. You called it an objective.” I can’t help but point out.
“That’s not exclusive to gaming.”
“You’re learning the map.”
“I am not learning the map.” He closes his eyes briefly, like a man praying for patience or possibly for the ground to open.
I point at him. “Objective one complete.”
“What objective?”
“Getting you to engage.”
“I was already engaged.”
My mouth gets ahead of my good judgment, the way it does approximately eleven times a day. “Careful. That sounds like a proposal.”
Rick turns around and walks toward the hangar.
Coward.
Christopher gives me a long look. Heat creeps up my neck. Okay. Maybe that one was too much, even for me, and I have a fairly generous personal definition of “too much.”
“I don’t propose before breakfast,” he says, completely deadpan.
A laugh bursts out of me, full body, delighted. This time he actually smiles, and it changes his whole face. The serious lines soften. His eyes warm. He suddenly looks less like an authority figure carved from granite and more like a man I could have entirely inappropriate thoughts about, at length, possibly during my next flight lesson, which would be a safety hazard all its own.
Which is unfortunate. Because I immediately do.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, buying myself a second to recover. “See? You’re fun.”
“No one’s ever accused me of that.”
“They lacked imagination.”
Something shifts in his expression. It’s not amusement, exactly. Interest. He’s interested in me, and it’s subtle enough I could pretend I imagined it. I know I didn’t and for a second neither of us says anything.
The ramp noise seems louder around us. Someone starts an engine on the far side of the hangars. Wind lifts the ends of my ponytail. His gaze stays on mine, and my heartbeat picks up. We’ve known each other for twelve minutes, maybe fifteen, and he’s irritating, extremely irritating, and extremely attractive, and I have exactly zero defense against either, which is deeply unfair given how hard I usually work on my defenses.
He breaks eye contact first and looks at his watch. “I have a meeting.”
“Go coordinate your skies.” I say as if I am someone who can give him permission for anything.
“I intend to.”
He starts to walk away.
“Christopher?”
He turns.
I smile sweetly.
“What?”
“For the record, I would’ve been fine.”
His face goes stern again. “No.”
