Page 5 of Viking

“Yours,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. I clear my throat. Trying to pull it together.

“Why the F-22?” she asks.

“Because it’s the best,” I answer simply. “Why events?”

“Because I’m a control freak.”

I snort.

“No, seriously,” she continues, her voice softer now. She releases my hand and wrings both of hers together, suddenly seeming shy. “We don’t really get to control much of what happens in life, you know? So I built my career around something I can.”

I stop walking and turn toward her.

She looks up, and something in her gaze knocks the breath out of me. “You’re passionate about what you do,” I tell her, the words falling out before I can think twice. “That’s rare.”

She bites her lip, like she’s holding back a smile. “You barely know me, Logan.”

I tilt my head, studying her like I’m already in too deep. “I don’t need to.”

She blushes, her gaze flickering. “Coming from someone who flies fighter jets for a living, that’s saying something.”

I shrug, my smile softening. “What I do is different. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I know it’s not easy for people to understand. Most people just want to hear the Hollywood version of it.”

She stops walking, her eyes sparkling with sincerity when she turns to face me. “What you do is incredible. It’s honorable and respectable and brave.” She shifts her gaze to the floor and whispers like she somehow understands, “And dangerous.”

We find a small park tucked just off the Strip and settle on a bench. Lila kicks off her heels with a sigh of relief. Don’t get me wrong, they’re sexy as hell, but she opted for a walk, so I can only imagine how her feet are feeling. “Why do I do this to myself?” she mutters, eyeing them like they’ve personally betrayed her.

“If it’s any consolation, they make your legs look great.” I flash her an innocent smile.

She sneers but there’s no venom in it. She can’t be surprised that I think she’s beautiful. Would I really walk up to a girl in a bar I wasn’t attracted to?

“Why Viking?” she asks, tossing me a sideways glance. “You don’t exactly scream horned helmet and battle-axe.”

I chuckle, leaning back on the bench. My jean-clad leg brushes her bare one and neither of us moves. “You’d be surprised,” I say. “But no, no helmet or axe. It started during training. My instructor said I flew like a Viking—reckless but calculated. That I had the ferocity of someone going into battle.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Reckless but calculated? That sounds…safe.”

“Safe doesn’t win dogfights,” I counter grinning. “It was during a simulation. We were up against some senior guys, and I pulled an unconventional move. This wild dive and roll that had everyone in the control tower holding their breath. I nearly blacked out. Everyone thought I was going to fuck it up. But I locked on and won.”

Lila’s eyes widen, her curiosity piqued. “And that’s where Viking came from?”

“Sort of,” I say, my grin widening as I glance at her. “When I landed, my instructor looked at me, shook his head, pissed, and said, ‘That was pure Viking shit out there.’” I shrug. “The name stuck after that.”

She studies me. Her lips pressed together like she’s trying to suppress a laugh.

“What?” I ask, my brow lifting.

“Nothing,” she says, but her smile gives her away. “It’s just, Viking is so intense. You seem…laid-back. Quiet, even?”

I shift on the bench to face her fully. “Quiet?” I lift a brow, shooting her a skeptical look as I bite back a grin. “You met me at a bar. In Vegas. I all but dragged you away from a bachelorette party and then fake-proposed to you in the middle of the Strip. Does that sound quiet to you?”

She giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Fair point.” She pauses, eyes narrowing as she studies me. “You know, you have this energy. It’s grounding. Like you’ve got the chaos under control.” She leans in a little, her fingers brushing my leg causing my pulse to kick. “It makes Viking kind of perfect, actually.”

“Perfect, huh?” I grin, leaning into her space. “So you’re saying I live up to the name?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. It’s more like I can imagine you flying like you’ve got nothing to lose, but still somehow making everyone else feel safe.”

Her words hit harder than they should, threading through all the pieces of myself I usually keep locked down. “Good,” I say, voice low. “Because I’d want you to feel safe with me.”