Yep, insane. That was the only answer.
Leah, I corrected him automatically and dug my thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans.Holy shit. He closed his eyes.
Are you okay? I turned his words around on him.He nodded, his eyes squeezed tight. Just moving you out of the fuckable category in my brain. I’m going to need a minute.Wait. He had categories? Scrap that. I’d barely met the guy and he’s already friend-zoned me? Out of your league.
Leah, he said, opening his eyes with a slight smile, like he enjoyed saying it. So what can I do for you?You can explain why I’m in a crazy-huge suite that I can’t possibly afford and ask them to move me, since apparently you have the power over where I sleep. I crossed my arms under my breasts, well aware that I was fidgeting.
Oh, do I? he asked with a suggestive smile.
Apparently friend-zone was still flirt-zone to him.It will tell you that almost a month ago, I was involved in a helicopter crash that killed my copilot, whom I was very fond of, and then I watched a very close friend die protecting me, all in the name of saving my best friend, who was the pilot of the other downed aircraft.
That must have been extremely rough on you.He flipped through my questionnaire, scanning the pages. How would you classify your mental health?
Tread carefully if you want to fly again.I have a little trouble sleeping, and when I do, I have nightmares once a night. Three, four, five times. Who’s counting?