Page 5 of Blue Moon

Kelli was such a nag. I used to think she was a friend and that she really liked me, but we never hung out unless it was a work obligation. Frankly, I didn’t have any close friends—just collaborators. And I wasn’t sure why. After graduation, my friends dispersed, and we’d lost touch. Though I had over one million followers, I felt more alone than ever.

“I know, I’m on it.”

“Okay. That’s all. Call me if you have any questions.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone, and almost immediately pressure built up in my chest.

Breathe, Sol, breathe.

Speaking to Kelli jolted me into the reality of what I would do tomorrow.

I was going to be flying at the speed of sound.

As an influencer, pleasing people was my job. No one cared whether or not I was happy so long as I appeared to be happy. Back in college, I thought it would be so thrilling and glamorous to have a career in social media. Traveling all around the world with no set work schedule; being paid to take pictures and promote products.

But I never imagined how difficult it would be to be “on” all the time. I was definitely not a celebrity, but people still watched my every move. The pressure to be picture perfect was debilitating.

Nor did I realize how dangerous this job could be. I was way too trusting, something I learned the hard way after that creeper had targeted me last month.

And this latest assignment of flying with a daredevil pilot was the most insane gig of all. I’d seen the Blue Angels fly every year since I was a little girl. Those psychos flew their planes inches away from each other, tempting fate. There was no way I could handle that without freaking out. Once, when I took a gondola on a ski run in Lake Tahoe, I had a full-on panic attack. The scorching sun beat down on the hot fiberglass and sweat drenched my clothes. I could barely breathe, and I’d literally thought I would die. Definitely not my idea of a good time.

But this was my job. And, although I hated to admit it, Kelli was right. My engagement with my followers had recently gone down, especially since I’d wasted so much time and energy on that shady collaboration. At least I was back on track professionally, if not emotionally. These images with the Angels should do well, unlike my recent posts. Lately, there had been a backlash against perfect pictures. I guess you could only take so many pictures of lavender lattes and açaí bowls.

Speaking of pictures, time to find one of my pilot.

I entered “Sawyer Roberts Blue Angel” in a quick Google search. Immediately a picture popped up of a blond man in a tight blue flight suit.

I clicked on the picture to get a better view.

Whoa, he was gorgeous.

Eyes the hue of the ocean, sexy scruff on his strong jawline, and muscles that practically bulged out of his flight suit. Were those tattoos on his arms peeking out from the sleeves? He definitely didn’t look like the preppy pilot I’d imagined he’d be.

I clicked on his bio on the Blue Angels website.

Captain Sawyer Roberts is a native of Davenport, Iowa. He attended the United States Naval Academy and graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Aerospace Engineering.

Sawyer reported to NAS Fallon, Nevada, for the U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School (TOPGUN).

Sawyer has flown more than seven hundred combat hours and supported numerous operations and exercises in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and Korea.

Sawyer joined the Blue Angels in September. He has accumulated more than three thousand flight hours and has twenty carrier-landings. His decorations include eight Strike Flight Air Medals, three Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medals, and various personal and unit awards.

TOPGUN? Like the movie Top Gun? This guy was like one of those fantasy heroes who only existed deep in the pages of my romance novels.

I searched the internet for some more intel. I couldn’t find any social media accounts under his name. Maybe his accounts were private or under a nickname?

But I scoured the search engines, and still couldn’t find anything. Nada. It didn’t make sense. I mean, he had to have a social media account—what kind of millennial didn’t?

I finally found a Blue Angels fan page. And the cover photo was a picture of Sawyer shirtless, drinking a beer on some dock.

Jesus, he had the best body. His chest was massive and covered in tattoos, his arms were ripped, and his abs were rock solid, revealing that perfect V. I closed my eyes and imagined those arms wrapped around my body, and my head nestled against his chest. I wanted to lick that man from head to toe.

I opened my eyes and scrolled down the page, thirsty for more.

Bingo.