Page 24 of Viking

“He’s incredible,” I admit, looking up at Logan and trying not to think about Lincoln and his dream to fly the very same Raptor.

Hampton, Virginia

April 30, 2024

1932

Logan

“Ladies and gentlemen, she has a flaw!” I roll up off Lila’s oversized brown leather couch and bow toward my pretend audience.

A handful of popcorn bounces off my jogger-clad thigh as Lila laughs. “Logan!” she shrieks as I take the bowl of popcorn out of her lap and lunge for her, wrapping my arms around her waist and tickling her sides.

“It’s…not…that…I—” she says between laughs. I lean back so she can finish what she’s saying. “It’s not that I won’t eat popcorn, it’s just not my favorite. I literally only have it in my house for when friends are over.”

“Friends, huh? Like me?” I smirk.

“Friend-friends, you ass. Girl friends.”

“Wait, so we’re not friends?” I feign hurt.

“Nope.” She smiles up at me under long, thick lashes. “I don’t do this with my friends.” Keeping her hands in her lap, she leans in, planting a kiss on my mouth, only touching me with her soft lips.

I’ve been wanting to do that since I got here.

“Good.” I say, tangling my fingers in her long brown hair and pulling her mouth against mine.

Lila melts into me before pulling away slowly. She drops a kiss on the tip of my nose and then stands up, picking up the few kernels off the rug. I watch her walk toward her kitchen to throw them away. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized Georgetown T-shirt, her hair loosely braided down her back. She rushes back.“Are we going to watch the movie or not?”

I want to tell her, not, but I can tell she’s nervous. “Yes—” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her close. She curls up against my chest.

“Why Georgetown?” I ask her.

“What?”

“Your shirt,” I say.

“Oh,” she looks down. “I got my MBA there.”

“Damn, that’s impressive, Lila.”

She laughs. “Thanks. I actually started the program a couple of weeks after I met you. My last job paid for it.” She glances down at my arm encircling her small waist. “What’s your tattoo?” She lightly traces the lines with her fingers.

“That one is the anatomy of an F-15.”

“Why not your jet?” She asks.

“This is what my dad flew his entire career.” Goosebumps rise along my skin in the places she caresses.

“Is he…” She trails off nervously.

“Oh no, he’s fine. He’s retired from the Air Force. He and my mom live in Huntsville; he’s an engineer for Lockheed Martin.”

“The same Lockheed Martin that built the F-22?” She smirks.

I grin.

“I pay attention,” she says, earning a kiss on her forehead and we turn our attention to the Avengers movie she chose.