Still, even though I’m dying to go skin-to-skin with him, I’m terrified of his reaction to touching me. He could decide to hold me forever, or he could jettison me out of this car right now. So…yeah. Showerheads and jerk-off sessions for the foreseeable future.
When we pull up to the hangar an hour later, however, he still hasn’t said anything.
Worried, I touch his arm as he puts the car in park. “Hey, Erik?”
“Yeah?” he asks, struggling to unbuckle his seat belt.
“You okay? You’ve been even quieter than usual.”
He sends me a quick glance, then looks away just as fast. “Yep. I’m good. Just…making sure I got everything covered.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need help with anything.”
“Will do,” he says, exiting the vehicle.
Ugh. This guy.
8
ERIK
I’ve flown this jet dozens of times. I am confident in this aircraft and in my flying skills. That said, I completely understand Ant’s look of concern when I climb into the captain’s chair before realizing I haven’t gone through my checklist.
It’s a simple order of operations error, but one I’ve never made before. Not willing to take a chance with Ant’s life, I triple-check everything. To his credit, Ant stays quiet and doesn’t give me any shit.
I finally get us in the air in one piece without blowing up the plane, and soon enough, we’re winging our way to Teterboro. Luca was dead serious about wanting us to make it in time for poker night, which he made clear when he borrowed his good buddy’s helicopter and pilot to take us from Teterboro to the rooftop adjacent to his building. Can’t have us getting delayed by New York traffic, it seems.
About a half-hour into the flight from Louisiana, my blood pressure finally crawls out of the rafters and I feel like myself again. Ant, however, remains quiet.
“You okay?” I ask. “You normally would’ve given me shit about the checklist situation by now.”
He raises a shoulder. “Flying isn’t always my favorite.”
“Really? You seemed okay on the way to New Orleans.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, my pilot seemed a little more focused back then.”
I chuckle, knowing I deserve that. “It’s totally okay if you don’t want to fly up front with me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you move to the back.”
Actually, it would hurt my feelings, but I’m ignoring that for now.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m less afraid when I sit next to you. I don’t think I understood how much I relied on you beingyou. So when you act all weird and distracted, it really freaks me out. Especially midair,” he cracks.
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean by me beingme?”
Holding back a smirk, he broadens his narrow shoulders and—badly—imitates my accent. “I’m Erik. I’m Norwegian. I’m tall. I’m overprotective. They call me the Quiet One. Except for when I get to know you, and then I roast you every chance I get.”
God, he’s so fucking adorable.
No, he’s not.
Yes, he is.
Your little body’s so tight around my big cock, baby.
Shut up, Bash.
Painfully refocusing on the present moment, I raise my brow, giving him my best Viking glare. “That is the worst Norwegian accent I have ever heard. Al menos puedes hablar español con un lindo acento.”
