I follow and try to ignore the warmth left in my chest from his words.
Chapter
24
Our flight wentwell. I was able to land without George touching the controls.
But now he seems distracted as we tie the plane down. I thought the man was stoic before, but that was nothing compared to this. His answers aren’t even words. Just grunts. I guess that works fine for us now that I know what I’m doing.
Still, I don’t like this tension.
Things seemed more relaxed when Tasha was here. What’s changed?
Did I do something wrong?
Is he seriously mad that I disagreed with his “impressive” comment?
When I show George my tie-down knots and he gives me another silent nod, I’ve had enough.
“What’s up with you?”
He pauses, eyes on the checklist in his hands. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” I snark back, crossing my arms over my chest, annoyed but also energized by the fact that I have no urge to placate orpeople please. “Seriously, George. At the wash event you claimed you wanted to be my friend. But now you’re ice cold again. If you’ve got a problem with me, just say it.”
He faces me, brows raised almost to his buzzed hairline. “I don’t have a problem with you.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you grunting at me instead of using actual words?”Or laughing like I saw you doing with Tasha only an hour ago?
That’s what friends look like. I’m feeling like a charity case at the moment.
He sets the clipboard on the pilot’s seat and stalks to where I stand with the wind whipping my hair around my face.
“I spent a lot of my life trying not to talk to you,” he says. “Sometimes it’s hard to get over the habit.”
I frown. “You’re quieter now than you’ve ever been.”
“I’m trying.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Iam,” he growls. “I am trying to be your friend. Trying not to fucking—” he snaps his teeth shut so fast I hear the click of their impact. But I also heard the beginning of his sentence.
“Trying not to fucking…what?” Stepping into his space, I stare up at his aviators, wishing I could see his eyes, even if the slate gray irises reveal nothing.
“Forget it,” he grits out.
“No,” I snap, frustrated. “I’m not going to forget it. You came intomydiner, spouting off ideas of us being friends. Time to follow through on that and be honest with me.” I rise on my toes, getting in his face, wishing I had an expensive coffee table to climb up on so I could be level with him. “You’re trying not to fuckingwhat?”
His nostrils flare on a ragged inhale. “I’m trying not to fuckingkiss the hell out of your sassy mouth because I know you’d rather bite my tongue off than let me have a taste of you!”
Oh.Oh.
I thought the cockpit of an airplane during engine failure was a silent space.
