The Upside of Falling

by Meghan Quinn

  I want to ask her what the curveball was, what flipped her world upside down and held her back from going after her dreams, but I restrain. If she wanted me to know, she would have said something. Plus, a part of me knows if she did tell me, I’d have one hell of a time keeping this girl at arm’s length.

  Hell, I can already feel my cold exterior starting to melt.

  Poking me with her pretzel stick, she says, “Now that you’re a little warmed up, think I can ask you some more questions and get more than a yes or a no from you?”

  Tamping down the smirk eagerly pulling at my lips, I turn toward her and lean against the stairway rail behind me, crossing my arms over my chest, making eye contact with her for the first time since we’d been out on the deck.

  “Can’t promise I’ll answer them, but I’ll give it a try.”

  Lighting up, she turns toward me as well, crossing her legs and looking far too peppy to be having a conversation with such a closed-off guy.

  Rubbing her hands together, looking too fucking adorable, her smile bright and addicting, she says, “I’m not going to go easy, but I’ll give you a few easy warm-ups first. Are you ready?”

  Resting my head against the pole behind me, I say, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Pausing, she leans forward, her hand burning a heated path up my leg when she presses her palm to my knee. Whispering, as if she’s trying to keep a secret between us, she says, “For the record, your voice, when you actually speak, it’s incredibly sexy.”

  A crimson blush stains her cheeks. I can only see it from the light streaming through the windows, which casts just enough glow for me to notice. Why did she have to be here tonight? Beautiful Rory with her sweetness and light. God knows I’ve stayed away from relationships in the last three years, understanding that staying focused on my dream was the only way to survive. But this girl? This girl is challenging my necessary solitude. She's challenging the wall around my heart and soul, and I need to ensure she isn't successful in breaching it.

  Clearing her throat and straightening up, trying to hide the fact that she just rocked my foundation with her confession, she asks, “Colby, what’s your last name?”

  Okay, I didn’t think she was going to ask that kind of easy question. Chuckling, the sound foreign to me, I say, “Brooks.”

  Obnoxiously, she fans her face with her hand despite the chilly November air. “Oh my God, a laugh to go with the voice. Lord Jesus, save me from embarrassing myself.”

  Keeping my gaze fixed on hers, not saying a word, I take her in like I would one of my fourth-class cadets—the newbies. The Air Force thrives on being unconventional. I observe, find her weakness, ready to pounce . . . but she doesn’t even skip a beat. My cadet officer look barely makes a blip on her radar.

  “Colby Brooks. That’s a good name. Since you want to be a pilot, do you have a call sign?”

  “Nah.” I shake my head carefully against the pole. “You get that when you’re in flight school.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. Do you have a name you want to be called? Maybe something like . . .” She twists her lips to the side, trying to think of a name. Oh fuck, this is going to be good. “Hmm . . . something like . . . Cheese.”

  “Cheese?” Why the hell did she come up with that?

  “Yeah, you know, like Colby-Jack Cheese.” A slow, wicked grin spreads across her face.

  “Cheese is out of the question.”

  “Oh really, can you choose?”

  “No, not really.”

  “So then Cheese is an option . . .”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “Technically yes, but it’s not going to be Cheese.”

  “So you think.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Just you wait. Once you go off to flight school, I’m going to send the higher-ups a handwritten note, letting them know I think Cheese is the perfect call sign for you. Bet you no one else will be called Cheese in the skies.”

  “And there’s a reason for that.”

  Shaking her finger at me, so damn playful, she continues, “Just you wait, once the higher-ups get that letter—”

  “I’ll be shocked if the ‘higher-ups’”—I use air quotes—“take note of letters from civilians.”

  “They will when I spray the paper with perfume. Something you should remember, Colby. It’s the little things that grab people’s attention.”

  “Noted. What’s your next question?”

  Scooting in closer, her knees skim my propped-up leg, and her feminine scent drifts closer and closer to me with every light breeze. “Looks like someone is really starting to loosen up. It’s a good thing because this next question is a real doozy. Are you ready for it?”

  I should say no. I should turn away now, because with every word that falls out of her mouth, I find myself feeding off her, becoming enamored with her personality. How can I not, the way she’s so effortlessly taken on my gloomy and almost harsh personality? It’s as if she doesn’t see me that way. She seems to see a different side of me, a side I don’t think I’ve ever let myself experience.

  For good reason.

  Maybe because I’m feeling the effects of the beer from earlier—since I never drink, especially at a higher altitude—or because I’m fucking tired of putting up a protective front, I give in to Rory’s demands, give in to her game. I lower my shield, but my armor is rusted and not used to being pushed out of place. Does she see how hard this is for me?

  One night. That’s all this will be. Can be. One night of letting go, of indulging, of allowing myself some leniency from the strict plan I’ve held myself accountable to.

  Only one night where I allow myself to take one long, deep breath.

  Nodding at her, I say, “Hit me, next question.”

  Chapter Six

  RORY

  That smirk, those soulful eyes, the way his voice feels like a warm blanket protecting me from the outside world. He’s dangerous. He’s the man you’re warned about when growing up. The man who can make or break you, flipping your world upside down without even realizing it.

  The kind of man who comes around once in a lifetime.

  The man you don’t let go.

  Gearing up for my next question, I rub my arms trying to warm myself up. I might be wearing a sweater, but the top half of my body is exposed, and when I look at Colby to ask my next question, his brow is pinching, his eyes focused on my hands rubbing up and down my arms.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Uh, just a little, but I’ll get used to it.”

  Not saying a word, he stands from his sitting position and holds out his hand for me to take. “Oh no, I’m okay. Really.”

  “You’re cold.”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t want our conversation to end.”

  “Who said anything about it ending? Take my hand.” The command falls from his lips with ease, and I hear the future commanding officer in the depth and no-arguments-accepted tone. Good God, it’s hot.

  Not one to argue, I take his hand, and like the way he helps me to my feet before pulling me into the house. Rather than letting go, he guides me through throngs of people who have gathered in the great room, now playing a drinking game.

  Colby takes me to the stairs that lead to the second floor, and my heart leaps into my chest for a second before he turns me around and says, “There’s a balcony I spotted. It’s private, and I’m sure we can find a blanket in the room if you’re okay with that?” That’s a serious question? Am I okay with that? Yes, Colby Brooks, I am absolutely okay with that.

  “I’m more than okay with that.”

  Privacy. Balcony. Blanket. All words I like to hear come out of his mouth. Not sure where we’re going, I let Colby lead the way, peering into random rooms until he finds the one he wants. He switches the light on, illuminating the open space, which I assume is the master with its sprawling fireplace and en suite bathroom. The bed in the center of the room is huge, decorated in white and green bedding with a yellow blanket at the foot of the bed.
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  Picking up the blanket, he opens the sliding glass door to the balcony and pulls me to the cozy outdoor loveseat that overlooks the woods. Below us, the party goes on, the pool table occupied by Stryder and Ryan still, and even though we can hear the party, it’s not as loud, offering us a little peace.

  Is it the quiet he likes most about this spot? Or being with me? I’d love to think the latter, but given the way he took himself away from the party earlier, my guess is it’s the former.

  Taking the seat next to me, Colby’s body—larger than I thought—takes up a great deal of room on the small couch, but he spreads the blanket over both of us and then places his arm on the back of the couch. He must be uncomfortable, because he’s a little stiff. But I'm now forced against his body's warmth, so I am not moving. Ever.

  Eyeing me, he asks, “Is that better?”

  The scent of fresh laundry hits me when I bring the blanket to my shoulders, and for a brief moment, I think it’s the scent of the blanket, until I realize it’s Colby. It’s his cologne filling my senses. Chills run up and down my body as I take in a deep breath. Savor.

  “So much better. Thank you.”

  Clearing his throat, he says, “Okay, apparently you had a good question.”

  “I did.” I pause. “God, it was really good.” I twist my lips to the side, trying to think of my question. “Ugh, I can’t think of it now, because you’ve got me all tangled inside with your sweet gesture.”

  “Not sweet, just making sure you don’t freeze to death.” Even when he's gruff he's sexy.

  I chuckle. “Someone doesn’t take compliments well. Good to know.” He doesn’t say anything—of course—so I shake my head and continue, thinking of something else. “You’re a local, right?”

  He nods his head. “Born and raised.”

  “How many times have you done the Incline?”

  Not even flinching, he says, “One summer, I did it every day.” Every day? For three months?

  Leaning forward, eyes wide, I rapidly blink. I’m all about fitness—it’s my job—but to hear someone traversed the Incline every day during summer, I’m amazed. That’s insanity. We are talking walking straight up the side of a mountain, climbing over two thousand feet in elevation. It’s a challenge, to say the least.

  “Why on earth would you do that to yourself?”

  No humor in his voice, he answers, “Needed to be prepared. Needed to stay in shape. I couldn’t think of anything more challenging than dedicating my summer to staying as physically fit as possible, and running the Incline every day was one way to do that.”

  He ran it? Ran it?

  “Was this so you were ready for the Air Force?”

  “That and other reasons.” His voice trails off, shutting down that conversation, so I decide to go a different route.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be up here with you.” His voice is stern, maybe still affected from the last question. I can’t help but love the way he answered, though. Not only did he confirm he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he blatantly pointed out that he wouldn’t cheat on his girl. I would have guessed that about him anyway. If I did, I wouldn’t be up here with you. Yes, Mr. Brooks, I like your answer very much.

  Integrity and loyalty. Both characteristics will carve a bright pathway for others to follow. He has a sense of loyalty to himself, never giving away his secrets, and his loyalty is also evident because he came to this party with his friend, despite not wanting to be here at first. There is no doubt Colby wanted to be anywhere but here tonight, but hopefully now that he’s spending a little one-on-one time with me, his tune has changed.

  “Okay, no girlfriend. Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

  “Two, but they weren’t really serious.” He coughs, covering his mouth in his sleeve.

  “When you say not serious, are you talking about . . . fuck buddies?”

  His lip curves up. “You want the truth?”

  “Might as well tell it like it is, given you’ve been doing that all night.”

  His hardened facial expression softens, and for a split second, all breath escapes me as his finger wraps around a loose strand of my hair and playfully tugs on it.

  “Fuck buddies is the polite way of putting it.”

  “That’s polite?”

  He nods. Jesus, why does that make me clench my legs together? “Okay, so you’ve had sex, and from what it sounds like, a lot of it.”

  Chuckling, he neglects to correct me. Oh Lord. I want—need—to record Colby chuckling, because I will play it every day. Many times. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Uh . . . what?” I know he asked a question, but I’m still replaying the chuckle.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Now that I understand English again, I am tempted to repeat what he said to me. If I did, I wouldn’t be up here with you. But I need to have a little fun here.

  “Five actually.” I nod. “Five boyfriends that I rotate through during the week. Trying to get seven guys altogether—one guy a night. Want to live the dream, you know?”

  He doesn’t say a word, just stares me down, eyes locked on mine, intimidating, as if reaching for the truth. And I give it to him because it seems impossible not to answer him when he stares at me like that. “No boyfriend. I had one in high school who turned out to be a real tool. I think he runs a pawnshop down south. And I had a few boyfriends here and there after high school but no one who stuck around.” Biting on my bottom lip, I say, “I kind of have a difficult family life, and it’s not meant for everyone.”

  When I think he’s about to ask me about my family life, he slouches in his seat and presses his head against the back of the couch, the loss of his finger in my hair noticeable. “I can understand that.” He doesn’t elaborate, just keeps his understanding short and simple, sympathizing with me but only scraping the surface, never diving deep, a common reoccurrence I’m starting to notice about him.

  Not wanting our conversation to end, I say, “Any pets?” It’s lame, it’s a horrible transition, but nothing else comes to mind.

  “None, not even growing up.”

  “Really? That’s kind of sad.”

  He shrugs, his eyes closing as he speaks. “Didn’t need pets. I had my model airplanes, and they kept me busy enough. I sanded, built, re-built, and painted every airplane kit my gramps ever gave me. It was my sanctuary. No need for animals; I had everything I needed in my planes.”

  My heart squeezes, images of a young version of Colby flash through my mind, his hardened features softened, his chocolate-brown hair ruffled, and his brown eyes wide and innocent, focused intently on his planes.

  “That’s really sweet.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called me sweet tonight. I think I’m giving you the wrong impression.”

  “Yeah? And what kind of impression do you wish you were giving me?”

  He folds his hands over his stomach, eyes still trained on the stars above, staring into what seems to be his safe haven—the sky and open air. “A hard-ass, someone you should stay away from, someone you shouldn’t be sitting on a balcony with while there’s a party going on down below.”

  “Yeah,” I drag out, “You’re doing a terrible job if that’s the kind of impression you want to be giving me. Sorry, but your soft side is showing.”

  “I don’t have a soft side.”

  I press my foot into his leg. Slowly, he rolls his head toward me, those sharp eyes connecting with mine. “I see it differently. I think you’re a softy inside, a truly sensitive guy, but try to hide it with this tough, impenetrable veneer.”

  He scoffs at me and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the stars. “And why would you think that?”

  Leaning forward, I hook my finger around his cheek and force him to turn his head toward me. When his eyes focus in on mine, I say, “For one, you could have easily told me to fuck off by now and walked away. Secondly, you brought me up here for a qui
et place to talk and offered me a blanket to stay warm. And thirdly . . . even though your eyes seem to be weathered and worn at a young age, I can see a glimpse of joy in them when you joke around, like the little boy in you is trying to peek out.”

  Studying me, his eyes searching mine back and forth, the wheels in that handsome head of his going a mile a minute, he pulls away and sits up on the couch, hands folded together. “You don’t know me, Rory. Sorry to say, but you’re wrong.”

  Pushing off his legs with his hands, he stands, getting ready to leave. But I stand with him, snagging his hand in mine, keeping him firmly in place.

  “Don’t leave.” It’s a simple request—just spend some more time with me—but from the distraught look on Colby’s face, my request is starting a war of indecision in his head.

  There’s something holding him back, something preventing him from enjoying his time. I want to know what it is.

  Tugging on his arm, I turn him toward me. His large hand runs down his face, his expression pained. He’s avoiding every opportunity to look me in the eyes.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  “Because,” he says, his voice terse, resembling the guy I met at the beginning of the evening.

  “Because why?”

  “Because you’re a distraction.” Stepping out of my grasp, he heads toward the bedroom.

  A distraction? From what? From school?

  Not able to let this go, I chase after him and wheedle my way in front of the bedroom door before he can leave.

  A deep, heavy sigh escapes him as he spins around, gripping the back of his neck, his bicep a boulder stretching out the fabric of his shirt.

  “Damn it, Rory, just let me go. I’m going to tell you right now, there is nothing here worth waiting for.”

  “Why don’t you let me make that assessment myself?”