“Noted.” I swallow. Losing his parents at such a young age seems like it should be a major part of our conversation, but Dash quickly moves on to describing how he takes his coffee, (with enough cream and sugar to entirely negate the point) and his favorite sexual positions—“in case anyone asks”—and the moment passes.

Message received.

We spend takeoff trading basic information about each other. Background, school, hobbies… When I ask about his grades, he replies, “Good, even though I studied hard and played harder,” and wiggles his brows, making it clear exactly what he means by playing.

“No steady girlfriends, even then?”

He heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Alas, no. More like a steady stream of dates and short-term companions. Though,” his blue eyes are warm as they drift the length of my body, “I would have made an exception for you, of course.”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the heat that follows his gaze, slipping over my body smooth as molasses. It’s wild: My brain knows all too well what an incorrigible playboy the man is, but somehow my body doesn’t get the memo.

Which means I need to set some boundaries, and fast.

“Ground rules!” I blurt.

Dash wrinkles his forehead. “I’m sorry?”

You should be, brandishing all that charm and sex appeal without a license!

“What I mean is, we should agree on the level of PDA we’re both comfortable with now, so there aren’t any… Surprises.”

“Trying to get my pants off already?”

“No! We will both keeping our pants on!” The exclamation shoots out of me like a bullet, causing the eyeballs of the white-haired gentleman sitting across from us to just about bulge out of his head.

I take a deep breath. “What I meant was, do we hug in public? Hold hands?” I swallow hard. “Kiss?”

“Definitely hand-holding and hugging,” Dash replies. “If we want to sell this thing, I mean.”

“Right.” I nod. Hand-holding. That seems innocent enough.

“Plus, we should toss in a few affectionate gestures, like this,” he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a gesture that has no business feeling erotic but somehow does, “or this.” He smiles into my eyes and trails his knuckles down my cheek, and dear god, I’m starting to believe the less dangerous move here is hunting down a parachute and skydiving right off the plane.

I clear my throat. “And what about… Kissing?”

Dash gives a wry grin. “I’m in favor.”

“I’m serious.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, the normal amount? I mean, I wouldn’t be making out in front of my grandmother even if this was a real thing, so… A quick peck on the mouth should be fine. Besides, Zelda thinks some things should be kept in private.”

My fervent prayers of thanks to his grandmother’s sense of propriety die when he adds, “… Unless, of course, we’re somewhere with a reasonable expectation of privacy and we know she’s going to stumble across us. Then she’d probably think it was weird if we weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off.”