Logan
Las Vegas, Nevada
Lila threads her fingers through mine and leads us out of the crowded bar. My hand curls around hers instinctively, possessively. Her grip is warm and sure, like she’s not second-guessing this and I really fucking hope she doesn’t.
I nod toward Ryan and the guys as we pass. They catcall obnoxiously and I shoot them a look that would silence a lesser man. Because it’s not like that.
I mean, it could be.
I wouldn’t mind.
But it doesn’t have to be.
I follow her out, the pulse of the music fading behind us.
My eyes catch on the sway of her hips for half a second too long before I force them back up but it’s already too late.
That image’s burned into the inside of my eyelids now.
Yeah, she’s gorgeous—curves in all the right places, soft green eyes, and a smile that makes me forget I’m standing in a room full of noise—but it’s more than that.
She looks at me like she sees something real.
Like she’s not buying the swagger and doesn’t need the show. Like maybe she wants what’s underneath.
Hell, I want to give it to her.
The dry night air hits us the second we walk through the doors. Lila drops my hand and I fight the urge to grab it again. To keep the connection humming between us.
The Strip is alive. Lights, sounds, bodies moving in all directions. It’s loud, chaotic. Too much. I mentally curse Ryan for dragging me out. Crowds make my skin crawl these days. Eight years of military training doesn’t love the lack of control.
But she’s beside me, and suddenly, it’s bearable.
Lila tucks a strand of long brown hair behind her ear as she looks up at the lights around us. “Have you ever been here before?” she asks.
“Yeah, my dad was stationed at Nellis for a few years growing up. I was young, so I didn’t experience Vegas, but yeah, I’ve been here. What about you?”
She shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “This isn’t really my thing. It’s beautiful in it’s own way, but it’s”—she struggles to find the right word—“intense. So where to?”
It’s a fair question. I hadn’t thought this far ahead, too focused on the fact that she’d actually stayed. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans, buying myself a second to think.
“Honestly? I didn’t have a plan,” I admit, flashing her a grin. “Just didn’t want you to walk out with your friends.”
Her full lips curve into a smile. “Not much of a planner, huh? That’s surprising for someone in the military.” She smirks and I swear a knowing look flashes across her pretty face but then it’s gone.
I laugh at that, shaking my head. “Depends on the situation. If I’m in the cockpit or on a mission, I’ve got every detail worked out. But with you? I guess I’m just winging it.”
Her laugh is light and warm and damn if I’m not about to trade anything to hear it again.
“Alright, flyboy,” she teases. “Let’s see how good you are at improvising.”
I rake my fingers through my hair, glancing down at Lila. The neon lights paint streaks of color across the pavement. She looks up at me, her eyes bright with laughter and her smile a little too tempting for my self-control.
“Well, what sounds good?” I ask, grinning. “We could grab another drink or go for a walk or...we could go find a chapel and get married.”
Her head tilts, lips curving with playful intrigue. “Married, huh?” she echoes, stepping closer like she’s daring me to push this further. “I don’t know. Do I at least get a ring out of the deal?”
I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “I can win you one out of a claw machine. Plastic, sparkly, maybe it’ll even light up.”
Her laughter is instant and contagious, but she doesn’t let me off the hook. “Okay, but if we’re doing this, I’m going to need a real proposal. Down on one knee and everything.”
Something reckless surges through me. I don’t even hesitate. I just drop to one knee right there on the sidewalk, taking her hand in mine like this is the most normal thing in the world. People pass us by, some cheering, others too wrapped up in their own lives to notice.
“Lila,” I say, looking up at her with an exaggerated seriousness that barely masks the way my pulse is hammering. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife for the next eight to ten hours?”
She bites her lip, her eyes sparkling like the city lights around us. “Eight to ten hours?” she teases, fingers curling lightly around mine. “That’s all I get?”
I swallow, my throat inexplicably dry. “Maybe longer,” I murmur, and the words slip out before I can catch them.
Her smile softens, and for a split second, something very real passes between us. But then she grins, yanking me to my feet. “Okay,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief. “Let’s do it.”
I stumble, nearly tripping over myself as I stand. “Wait...what?”
She links her arm through mine, tugging me toward the street like this was her plan all along. “You proposed. I accepted. Isn’t that how this works?”
I laugh, a little breathless, my heart pounding way too hard for a joke. “Lila, I was kidding.”
She glances up at me, her smile downright wicked. “Were you?”
I don’t know.
I don’t know why my chest feels tight or why my fingers itch to touch her. I don’t know why the thought of walking into some random Vegas chapel, of her in white becoming Mrs. Logan James, makes my brain short-circuit.
But I let her drag me down the sidewalk, my hand slipping into hers like it belongs there. And for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to let go.
Lila clears her throat, her voice pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I force myself to look at her instead of replaying the last five minutes in my head—the feel of her hand in mine, the way she smiled when she said yes, like we weren’t just messing around.
“How about that walk?” she suggests, glancing down at her heels like she might take them off but deciding against it. “Whose turn is it?”
“Yours,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. I clear my throat. Trying to pull it together.
“Why the F-22?” she asks.
“Because it’s the best,” I answer simply. “Why events?”
“Because I’m a control freak.”
I snort.
“No, seriously,” she continues, her voice softer now. She releases my hand and wrings both of hers together, suddenly seeming shy. “We don’t really get to control much of what happens in life, you know? So I built my career around something I can.”
I stop walking and turn toward her.
She looks up, and something in her gaze knocks the breath out of me. “You’re passionate about what you do,” I tell her, the words falling out before I can think twice. “That’s rare.”
She bites her lip, like she’s holding back a smile. “You barely know me, Logan.”
I tilt my head, studying her like I’m already in too deep. “I don’t need to.”
She blushes, her gaze flickering. “Coming from someone who flies fighter jets for a living, that’s saying something.”
I shrug, my smile softening. “What I do is different. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I know it’s not easy for people to understand. Most people just want to hear the Hollywood version of it.”
She stops walking, her eyes sparkling with sincerity when she turns to face me. “What you do is incredible. It’s honorable and respectable and brave.” She shifts her gaze to the floor and whispers like she somehow understands, “And dangerous.”
We find a small park tucked just off the Strip and settle on a bench.
Lila kicks off her heels with a sigh of relief.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re sexy as hell, but she opted for a walk, so I can only imagine how her feet are feeling.
“Why do I do this to myself?” she mutters, eyeing them like they’ve personally betrayed her.
“If it’s any consolation, they make your legs look great.” I flash her an innocent smile.
She sneers but there’s no venom in it. She can’t be surprised that I think she’s beautiful. Would I really walk up to a girl in a bar I wasn’t attracted to?
“Why Viking?” she asks, tossing me a sideways glance. “You don’t exactly scream horned helmet and battle-axe.”
I chuckle, leaning back on the bench. My jean-clad leg brushes her bare one and neither of us moves.
“You’d be surprised,” I say. “But no, no helmet or axe. It started during training. My instructor said I flew like a Viking—reckless but calculated. That I had the ferocity of someone going into battle.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Reckless but calculated? That sounds…safe.”
“Safe doesn’t win dogfights,” I counter grinning.
“It was during a simulation. We were up against some senior guys, and I pulled an unconventional move. This wild dive and roll that had everyone in the control tower holding their breath. I nearly blacked out. Everyone thought I was going to fuck it up. But I locked on and won.”
Lila’s eyes widen, her curiosity piqued. “And that’s where Viking came from?”
“Sort of,” I say, my grin widening as I glance at her. “When I landed, my instructor looked at me, shook his head, pissed, and said, ‘That was pure Viking shit out there.’” I shrug. “The name stuck after that.”
She studies me. Her lips pressed together like she’s trying to suppress a laugh.
“What?” I ask, my brow lifting.
“Nothing,” she says, but her smile gives her away. “It’s just, Viking is so intense. You seem…laid-back. Quiet, even?”
I shift on the bench to face her fully. “Quiet?” I lift a brow, shooting her a skeptical look as I bite back a grin. “You met me at a bar. In Vegas. I all but dragged you away from a bachelorette party and then fake-proposed to you in the middle of the Strip. Does that sound quiet to you?”
She giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Fair point.” She pauses, eyes narrowing as she studies me.
“You know, you have this energy. It’s grounding.
Like you’ve got the chaos under control.
” She leans in a little, her fingers brushing my leg causing my pulse to kick.
“It makes Viking kind of perfect, actually.”
“Perfect, huh?” I grin, leaning into her space. “So you’re saying I live up to the name?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. It’s more like I can imagine you flying like you’ve got nothing to lose, but still somehow making everyone else feel safe.”
Her words hit harder than they should, threading through all the pieces of myself I usually keep locked down. “Good,” I say, voice low. “Because I’d want you to feel safe with me.”
Her lips part and her gaze locks on to my mouth. The air between us shifts, that invisible pull stretching taut. I watch her glowing in neon and moonlight, equal parts soft and dangerous. Like she doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me.
And then, she kisses me.
Just a whisper of a thing. Barely there. Like it happened by accident.
Her lips brush mine and she pulls back fast as if she’s surprised by it. Embarrassed. Like she’s already halfway down the spiral of regret.
I sit there, stunned. Wrecked in the quiet.
She folds her arms across her middle, eyes flicking anywhere but me, and rushes to buckle the straps of her heels like she’s planning to run.
“Come on,” I say, voice lower than it should be. “Let me walk you back.”
She nods but doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Just starts walking, and I fall in beside her. The night stretches around us, warm and electric and knowing.
We don’t say a word.
I can still feel her kiss. Still hear the softest sound she made when she pulled away. Still feel the way she clung to the moment like she wasn’t ready to let it go, but did anyway.
It’s driving me insane.
Then she exhales. It’s barely audible. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “That was…I shouldn’t have done that.”
I stop walking. So does she. She’s a step ahead, shoulders tight, chin tipped down like she’s waiting for me to confirm she made a mistake.
I step forward, reach out, and catch her wrist, just enough to turn her toward me.
Her eyes find mine and it’s all there. The nerves. The second-guessing. The ache. She’s already trying to take it back.
But she doesn’t need to. I don’t give her the chance.
I lean in and kiss her. For real this time. Not a brush. Not a maybe.
My hand slides to the side of her neck, thumb stroking just beneath her jaw as I pull her in. The kiss is slow, deliberate, deep. It says everything I haven’t found the words for—I’m here. I want this. I want you.
And it’s just rough enough to make sure she feels it in her bones, that this isn’t confusion. This is certainty.
She gasps softly against my mouth and her fingers curl in my shirt, anchoring herself to something solid in a world that’s clearly spinning off its axis. When I finally pull back, she’s breathless. Wrecked. Eyes wide, lips parted, and completely undone in a way that matches me beat for beat.
“The only thing you should be apologizing for,” I say, voice like gravel, “is not doing that sooner.”
Her breath hitches. Then she smiles and slips her hand into mine, tugging me forward. She holds on like she means it. And I don’t let go.