Page 22 of From Air

The sugary aroma mixes with Todd’s open bag of cheesy Doritos for a rather interesting combination. He snags one and stares at it while grinning. “Fitzy, you never mentioned your new roommate is a baker. You also never mentioned she’s beautiful.”

“Aw, shucks, Todd.” I tuck my chin and twist my body. “You’re the sweetest.”

He puffs out his already broad chest, clad in a green Missoula Smoke Jumpers T-shirt, and winks at Fitz, who rolls his eyes. “Well, are you going to give her the tour, or am I?” Todd addresses Fitz with a grin.

“I really should get back to work.” I peek at my watch.

“It won’t take that long,” Todd promises, grabbing another cookie and shoving half of it into his mouth.

“Well”—I corkscrew my lips—“I suppose I have time for a quickie.”

Gary covers his mouth and coughs a laugh while Todd perks up with a face-splitting grin.

“Christ,” Fitz mumbles, stuffing the last part of his sandwich into his bag.

“A quickie it is.” Todd begins to stand.

Fitz grabs his shoulder. “Just sit your ass down.” He jerks his head in the direction from which I came. “Let’s go, Jaymes.”

“Bye, guys. Nice meeting you. Make sure Fitzy brings that container home to me.” I give them a wiggly-fingered goodbye.

“Stop by anytime.” Todd delivers his invite with a flirty smile.

“Oh, you can count on it.” I skip to catch up to Fitz and his sexy ass in gray cargo pants.

Of course, he’s wearing a red smoke jumper shirt that’s accentuating every muscle beneath it. And I’ve decided I’m mildly obsessed with himwearing brown leather boots that are rarely tied. He might as well be my celebrity crush. I’m never going to tell him, and he’s off limits.

“We’re even now. Understood?” He shoots me a hawkish expression.

“Even? Whatever do you mean? I brought you and your friends cookies.”

“And I’m giving you thequickieyou suggested. We’re even.” He nods to the room with sewing machines. “That’s where we sew shit.” We parade a few more feet, and he points to the right. “That’s the ready room. And over there is the loft, and the rigging room is beyond that.” He turns abruptly, and I bump into him.

When I take a step back, he gives me a tight grin. “There was your quickie. Thanks for coming by.”

I snicker, offering him an easy nod while wetting my lips. “Was it good for you? I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t climax this time. Perhaps Todd would have been more effective.” I peer toward the rooms we didn’t visit. “You barely gave me the tip. Maybe that’s all you have to give. A dickhead of sorts.”

He crosses his sinewy arms. “Are you done?”

I bounce my head noncommittally. “Are you?”

He blinks several times before he surveys the entire length of my body. I hold stone still and think of gross things like vomit and nasty flatulence, anything to keep from blushing. Fitz feeds off my uncontrolled vulnerability.

“How deep do you want it?” he asks in a throaty voice, reaching for my hand and pulling me toward the tall room with hooks hanging from the ceiling. I try to focus on the surroundings since I’ve never seen a room like this one. However, all my focus goes to my hand in his.

Mine’s cold but soft.

His is calloused but warm.

And despite our size difference, my hand fits nicely in his.

That notion sends me down another rabbit hole. Would other parts of our bodies fit this well?

In the next breath, he drags me through another door, leading to a room with lengthy tables and walls of cubbies with packs. He drags me to the far end at a vicious pace and stops, releasing my hand and spreading his arms like the Christ the Redeemer statue. “We went all the way. Did that do it for you?”

I hold his gaze, and we have a stare-off. Then I mutter, “I could use a cigarette.”

Fitz’s facade cracks, and he grins. “Get the fuck out of here.”

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