The morning sun blazed down on the tarmac as you stood at attention with the other pilots, your crisp flight suit already feeling a little too warm. Your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves about your first day at Top Gun. It had everything to do with him.

The night before, at the Hard Deck, you’d met a man—charming, confident, and, honestly, way too good-looking for his own good. He’d bought you a drink, and one conversation turned into two, then laughter, then touches that lingered just a little too long. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were tangled up in him, the heat of the moment leaving no room for second thoughts.

Now, as the instructor walked into the hangar, the voice that greeted the group sent a cold shock down your spine.

“Good morning, Lieutenants.”

Oh. Shit.

You snapped your eyes up, and there he was—Maverick. Captain Pete Mitchell. Your instructor.

Your body locked up as your eyes met his. His expression didn’t waver, but you saw it—just a flicker of recognition, a ghost of last night’s heat flashing behind his cool, authoritative gaze. Your stomach dropped. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Heat crawled up your neck. Were you blushing? You were definitely blushing. No one else seemed to notice, but you felt like a spotlight was shining directly on you. You quickly looked away, fixing your eyes on some point in the distance, pretending you weren’t about to die of secondhand embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Maverick—Captain Mitchell, you reminded yourself—barely hesitated. His face was unreadable as he continued addressing the class, but there was something in the way his lips twitched, like he was holding back a smirk.

You were in so much trouble.