Page 69 of Asystole

What the fuck?

“Up here!” he yells, drawing my eyes to the top of the helicopter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, scared shitless that he’s going to get blown off the top of the damn thing and carried off the roof.

“Securing the rotors. I’ll be right down.”

I watch in a weird mix of awe and horror as Logan slides some kind of sleeve with a long tail over the end of each of the rotors. Once he’s safely back on the ground, he affixes the straps currently flapping in the wind to various parts of the helicopter so the wind can’t bend or damage the rotors.

He works so quickly that I don’t even have a chance to offer help.

Reaching back into the cockpit, he pulls out some kind of notepad-sized plastic box and locks the door.

“Let’s get the fuck off this roof,” he says, walking past me straight for the door.

As soon as it closes behind us, we’re encased in silence, but my ears continue to ring.

“Jesus, that was intense,” I say, forgetting all about the tension that’s been between us.

“That’s the kind of shit that separates the men from the boys and makes a pilot feel like God,” Logan says with the biggest grin I’ve seen on his face in a while…hell, maybe ever.

“That landing was pretty hot,” I admit, trying not to stare like a creeper as he adjusts himself in his flight suit—which is also pretty fucking hot.

“Chase, I’ve got an adrenaline dump the size of Texas happening right now, which tends to make me do dumb shit.”

“What’s your point?” I ask.

My eyes are still taking in the fit of his flight suit, and my brain is trying to process the fact that not only is he back safely, but the level of skill he just demonstrated with that landing has me hard.

“My point,” Logan says, taking a step toward me. “Is that if you keep looking at me like that, my tongue’s gonna end up back in your mouth, and we haven’t even recovered from the first time that happened.”

My eyes snap to his face, and I have mixed emotions about the cocky grin turning the corners of his lips up.

On the one hand, I’m glad one of us has finally mentioned the elephant in the room, and seeing Logan lean into the confidence he once had makes me happy. On the other hand, it’s really fucking hard to ignore the fact that I want to kiss him again, and that thought causes guilt to slam into me harder than the wind still beating its fist on the door behind us.

I lick my lips because they’ve suddenly gone dry, and Logan zeroes in on the move.

“You’re killing me here.”

“Yeah, well, at least the feeling is mutual.” The admission slips out without my permission, and Logan groans.

“Chaaaaase,” Logan half-whines, half-growls my name in agony.

I can’t help it.

It makes me smile.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you sadistic fucker?” Logan asks, but there’s no venom behind his words.

“Oddly, yes,” I confirm.

“Great,” Logan deadpans, making me laugh. “So, my dick’s gonna fall off because I forgot torturing the gay guy is your favorite game,” he says, adjusting himself once more. His hand on his dick draws attention to the outline it makes as it strains against his flight suit, making me curious about how it would feel to touch it, to hold it in my hand.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Chase. Tell your eyes to stop broadcasting your dirty thoughts. I gotta go. I’ll see you at home at some point,” Logan says, breaking the spell.

Home.

“Oh, hey,” I say, moving to catch up with him. “Um, I went out yesterday and looked at a couple of townhouses.”