“That was the only thing you put on your resume before they hired you, right?” He grins. “Penguinsin a bold, size-forty font.”
“Actually, I have a bachelor’s in marine biology,” I say, and he nods along because we’re both technically still roleplaying, even though I don’t think he realizes I’m telling the truth.
Maybe it’s for the best. I’m in the mood to manifest my dream by talking about it out loud, and not let reality crush my spirit.
“I was working on my master’s, too,” I add with a cheery laugh.
“Damn.” He lets out a low whistle. “I don’t think I could have stuck around for a master’s. Although, my degree is totally irrelevant to my job.”
“Circus clown?” I guess, my eyelash extensions fluttering innocently when he stares at me with the most withering look I’ve ever bore witness to. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
“A pilot,” he says dryly.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I interject, and he quirks a brow. “Hold up.” I peek around the cabin, then scoot closer, my nose brushing against his thick and wavy black hair while my lips find the shell of his ear.
He sucks in a breath, his throat bobbing reflexively, and my lower lip almost skims across his sharp cheekbone when he turns his head slightly toward me. “What’s up?”
“If you’re here,” I begin, dropping my voice to the breathiest whisper I can manage, “then who’s flying the plane?”
There’s a beat of silence that follows before he snorts, and I burst into cackles while I pull away from him, already missing the heat of his body as I settle back in my seat. He smells really nice, though—a hint of something musky and citrusy. And there’s another little fact I’ve just discovered: there are a couple of grays sprinkled behind his ear.
“What the hell was that?”
“I can’t ask that out loud,” I point out the obvious, making a circular motion with my hand. “I don’t want to freak people out.”
“And you say I’m lame,” he mutters.
“Well, what made you want to become a pilot?” I ask. “Was it the sexy uniforms?”
“The sexy uniforms?” he repeats, and I shrug a shoulder. “My dad was a pilot.”
“Oh.” There are a couple of things I could draw attention to—such as the usage ofwas—but I decide to play it safe. “You wanted to make him proud?”
“Er.” He lifts his hand and drags it through his hair. “I never met him.”
Well, fuck.Way to go, me.
“He died before I was born,” he explains.
“You don’t have to tell me anything if it brings up painful memories,” I begin, and he flashes me something reassuring of a smile.
“It’s fine. My stepdad?—”
“Was also a pilot?”
“No. Firefighter.” He pauses, then peers intently at me. “Any comments on their uniforms?”
“Ten out of ten.” I give him a thumbs-up. “No complaints from me.”
With a light chuckle, he settles in his seat and sprawls his long legs out. “My stepdad helped me get flight hours.”
I glance sideways at him, wondering for a moment why he’snota pilot if he’s done the training. Dammit, this is backfiring on me. I wanted to have a fun conversation starter, not send this guy on a one-way trip down sad and tragic memory lane.
Clearly, a redirect is needed. “Do you get along with the people you work with?”
“Do you?”
“There’s this one guy.” I pause. I don’t know if I should even reveal anything salacious because what if other Green Checks employees are seated nearby?
