“Step up here, and hold the shaft,” he says to me. I attempt to stop my cheeks from turning pink at his comment and get up on the edge of the door where there’s a lip, gripping the rocket shaft. Our fingers brush as wind swirls around us, and that zap of electricity passes between us again. I’d growl at that sensation if I could. My body needs to understand that Ryker and I are no longer involved. He’s my platonic professor.
