Scorch by Dani Collins

it’s time. That’s hot, Jac. I don’t know why it is, but I have to admit, it’s really hot that you get horny waiting for the season, same as me.”
    “Excuse me?” Her jaw dropped, then her mouth snapped closed. Her eyes tried to glare at him, but there were shadows of mortification in their depths.
    “Happens every year, doesn’t it?”
    “None of your business!”
    He tried to recall if he’d ever caught her coming out of Russ’s office with a particular glow, then decided he didn’t need that image cluttering up his head.
    “Don’t be embarrassed.” He was still quietly laughing inside, and way too stimulated by the idea. “And take it from me that it’s a lousy way to start a relationship.”
    She had her arms crossed over her breasts. They were rising and falling with her agitated breaths. Her eyes looked a little too glassy. Hurt?
    His amusement slid away.
    “Jac, I’m teasing. We’re both suffering. That’s all I’m saying.”
    “I know . It’s just really confusing.”
    “Because it feels like it would be cheating?”
    “Because it feels like it wouldn’t .”
    That was confusing.
    He swallowed.
    He talked a pretty big game himself, saying that one-nighters were bad. The truth was, once he had put away youthful cravings for emotional salvation, he found sex gave him all the affection and pleasure and carnal satisfaction he could want. He liked sex. A lot.
    He would love to have sex with Jacqui.
    His scalp tightened as he admitted it to himself. He would love to release the tension winding up both of them. The fantasy went through him with both a fresh spike of desire while burning the base of his throat like the rub of a hangman’s noose.
    This was why one-night stands were better between strangers. You did not bang your best friend’s widow to let off steam. Bad, bad, bad.
    “It would feel like cheating to me,” he said, and wished that felt more like the truth.
    The lines of her face altered, taking on a stunned and injured cast.
    “I thought this was a rhetorical discussion,” she said. “Sorry if confiding my deepest personal feelings came across as a pass. Poor you. Does a minute go by when you don’t feel like a piece of meat on a block?”
    “Jac.”
    “Don’t let me keep you up. The last thing I need is to feel like a pity fuck agai—” She cut herself off and turned away.
    Again? Was that what she almost said? Because of that “back on the bike” dickhead?
    “Jacqui.”
    She went into the bathroom and shut the door.
    He stood there willing her to come back, but he didn’t call out. He’d played this game of talking through doors before and had never won, not even once.
    He went to his own room where it took him a long time to fall asleep. He’d never felt like a bigger asshole.
    Until he walked out of his room the next morning and found his plaid hanging off his doorknob.
    *
    For the next couple of weeks they were ships passing in the night.
    Jacqui knew a huge part of it was that rookie training had started. The first week was always especially brutal. It wasn’t uncommon to lose half the group on the first day. The trainers openly told the rookies they weren’t trying to make any of them physically stronger as they pushed and yelled and demanded and pushed some more. It was about testing their mental endurance, to see if they gave up under pressure.
    Vin was tied up with that, taking rookies on runs and mock pack outs, disappearing for hours, then coming back for jump training. The loft became a constant hum as gear came back every day to be inspected and mended. The drone of a plane taking off sounded daily, as they began the practice jumps.
    Vin started eating with the crew at The Drop Zone in the evenings, too, but Jacqui didn’t take that personal either. It was all part of the bonding ritual. Besides, he texted her to join them so she knew he wasn’t doing it to avoid her.
    Actually, first he texted the day after their argument, I didn’t mean it