“Uh-huh.” He shoots me a smile that makes my heart race for reasons unrelated to the fact that we’re about to be thousands of feet above the ground. His hand moves back to the controls.

The plane starts moving. Slow at first as we roll away from the hangar and other aircraft. But then there’s nothing in front of us but a long stretch of asphalt, marked with yellow and white lines. I know what that means, even before the scenery starts to blur by. The speed is stunning.

“This is my favorite part.” His voice grounds me, even as we lift up off of it.

It’s a rush. In seconds, Charleston is spread below us, and the sky surrounds us. Fluffy clouds float by like cotton candy. Streets that I know stretch miles long shrink to thin strips, separating buildings and neighborhoods. As impressive of a view as it is, I find myself mostly studying him. Watching him speak codes and flip switches and fly. Not many people can fly.

He catches me, just like he did in the car earlier. After studying him so intently, I could probably draw his profile from memory.

The small smile he was already wearing grows. “You good?”

Rather than answer, I say, “I’m glad you went to the Academy.”

His expression turns serious. I wonder if anyone has ever said that to him before.

“I’m glad you came back to Charleston.”

I smile at him before looking back out at the clouds.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m experiencing a lot of gratitude toward whoever invented sunglasses right about now. Eyes say a lot. A lot I don’t want to say at the moment.

Sloane’s phone goes off beside me, so I tear my hidden gaze away from the water. Or more specifically, one of the many people in the water. Sloane sits up, stretches, and smirks when I nod toward the tube of sunscreen. She flips over to expose her back to the rays and continues her twenty minutes per side regimen. Hopefully, she has aloe on hand.

I go back to reading. Or rather, to using the cover of my sunglasses and the pretense of a propped-up paperback to pretend I’m reading. In reality, I’m watching Gray surf. He’s good. Then again, I’ve yet to find anything Gray is bad at.

Except communication maybe. But I’m not sure he’s bad at it. Just not employing it.

I haven’t seen or heard from him in nearly four days. Eighty-two hours, to get super specific. Not since he dropped me off after our trip to the base. I was high—on adrenaline, on excitement, on him. And then four days of silence. I don’t know what that means. Did he get bored? He initiated everything last time. The sex, the car shopping, the flight. He stayed. He offered to go with me. He invited me to the base.