Page 37 of Rocky Top

“I finally deleted the app after I caught one trying to seduce me with a poem he copied off the internet. Word for word.” I shook my head. “I mean, I love a good poem but come on. Married, I can handle, but plagiarize, that’s where I drew the line.”

“Damn,” he said, leaning back on one elbow. “You’ve been through it.”

“Yeah,” I said, quieter now. “I think I just kept picking the kind of men who’d never stick. Maybe cause I didn’t think I was worth stickingaround for.”

That made him go still.

Real still.

He looked at me like I’d just handed him my heart wrapped in butcher paper, blood and all.

“Birdie,” he said, voice low and rough. “I don’t know what kinda jackasses told you that, explicitly or not, but you’re wrong. You got a light in you. One that makes people turn their heads and take notice.”

I looked away, the compliment hitting too close.

“What about you?” I asked, trying to steer the ship away from tears.

“Oh, I’m one of those bad Tinder dates. Grumpy biker who was only out for one thing and never called again.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or run. “You ever been in love?”

Rocky hesitated. “Yeah. Once.”

I met his gaze. “What happened?”

“She wasn’t mine to keep.”

There was weight behind those words. A whole story he wasn’t ready to tell. I didn’t push.

Instead, I smiled soft and said, “Well… I ain’t anybody’s to keep, either.”

He leaned in then, close enough I could feel his breath on my cheek. “No. But I wouldn’t mind earning the right to try.”

My heart stuttered.

Because suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about any of those fuck boys or their recycled lines.

I was thinking about Rocky. About now.

Chapter 8

Birdie

Next thing I knew, Rocky walked me toward the hangar with that cocky saunter that could’ve melted plastic, let alone my insides. His hand brushed mine once. Twice. And by the third time, he just tangled his fingers with mine like he’d been doing it for years.

“Come on,” he said, pulling me with a grin that should’ve come with a warning label. “I got an office in the back.”

“An office?” I teased. “You taking me on a tour or trying to seduce me in a swivel chair?”

He looked over his shoulder, blue eyes dark and amused. “Depends. You into swivel chairs?”

Lord help me.

The hallway that led to his office was lined with framed photos, him in a flight suit, standing beside helicopters, arms folded, smirking like he owned the sky. Some shots were from tours with tourists, others had old teammates in UT orange. My chest did a funny little flip at the one where he looked younger. Happier.

Before whatever had turned him into the hard-edged man I was following like a love sick puppy.

The moment the office door clicked shut behind us, the tension snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight.

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