I turn to the side and pat my stomach. A little bit of a swell, but I’m getting my period any day, so it could be from bloating. Just an apple for breakfast tomorrow, especially after what I’m about to eat tonight.
Facing the mirror again, I lean forward and stare at my face. My brows need shaping again, and these freckles, God, why won’t they just go away?
I’ve always hated my freckles, spent countless hours in the bathroom covering them up, never wanting to give anyone fodder to make fun of me.
Guys don’t like freckles.
They make your face look dirty . . .
Gripping the edge of the counter, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She will not cloud my mind; she will not be present in this moment.
You are beautiful, Ryan.
Without another glance at the mirror, I slip my clothes back on, turn off the light, and walk down the hallway of my apartment just in time to see Rory and Stryder walk through the front door, Stryder propping the door open with one giant paw.
Not everyone would notice the adoring look Rory gives Stryder as she walks by, but I catch it. It’s a small glance, but one that packs a powerful punch, one full of so much love that for a brief second, I’m envious.
All I’ve ever wanted is for someone to love me. It’s not a secret that my dating record hasn’t been pretty, I continue to fall for the wrong man, I can’t hold a relationship longer than three months. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
I want to blame it on the guys I choose, which I’m sure is part of it, but a deeper, darker side of me chooses to believe it’s because I’m not pretty or intriguing enough for the men I come across.
Hell, I couldn’t keep Stryder’s attention when I first met him and Colby . . . I shake my head at the thought of him. The two nicest guys I’ve ever met and neither showed an ounce of interest in me.
I swallow hard, trying to push back the negative thoughts roaring through my head as Rory speaks up.
“Ryan, you knew we were coming over.”
Putting on a happy face, because that’s what I always do—mask firmly in place—I say, “Yeah . . .”
Rory motions around my apartment. “You have bras and thongs hanging everywhere.”
I walk to my friend and her husband—HUSBAND, so weird—and give them both a hug, with an extra tap to Rory’s stomach. “It’s laundry day, what do you expect? Got to let these guys dry out.” I flick a thong with my finger. “Come on in. Did you bring pancakes?”
Stryder holds up a bag and nods. “Pancakes. No bacon, sorry.”
“What?” I ask, outraged. “Why no bacon?” Whenever we get pancakes from Uncle Sam’s Pancake House in Manitou Springs, we flirt with the manager, Derick, and always get ourselves free bacon. Every single time.
Rory thumbs toward Stryder. “He picked it up.”
With a stern brow, he sets the pancakes on the counter and says, “And to hell if I’m about to flirt with Derick.”
I sift through the bag, pulling out the to-go boxes. “If you loved Rory enough, you would have flirted.”
“You’re going to pull that card?”
I nod with a smile. “Yup.” I take my box to my little kitchenette table along with syrup and a drink. “Juice is in the fridge. I got apple for Preggo.”
“You’re such a good friend,” Rory says, pulling two glasses from my cabinet for her and Stryder. They work in unison in the kitchen, helping each other gather their dinner items. It’s adorable. Some would say sickening, but not me. I know their history and the bumps in their road they faced.
Once settled and pancakes are being consumed, Rory asks, “So, why were we beckoned with pancakes?”
I take a deep breath and look them both in the eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
“What?” they both say at the same time, their eyes widened. Rory coughs a few times while taking a sip of her juice.
“Are you serious?” Stryder asks, while concern laces his brow.
“No, I’m not.” I smile and take a bite of my pancakes, chewing happily.
“Wait, what?” Rory sets her fork down. “Are you or are you not pregnant?”
“I’m not, but wasn’t that fun?” I tip my juice in their direction and take a sip.
They exchange glances between each other and then look back at me, Rory speaking first. “No, that wasn’t fun. What would possess you to say something like that?”
Casually, I shrug. “Not sure really, thought maybe it would be an icebreaker.”
“That is never an icebreaker, or something to joke about.” Rory takes a deep breath to continue her lecture when I jump in to stop her.
“I’m lost.”
This time Stryder lifts his brow at me. He really is so handsome. Rory scored such an amazing man. Handsome, loving, and worships the ground she walks on. “What do you mean you’re lost?”
I toss my fork in my to-go box, not feeling too hungry anymore. “I’m in a rut. Nothing is happening for me right now.”
“Why?” Rory asks.
I play with my napkin, dragging it between my fingers as I speak. “I’m still doing makeup at Ulta for people who come in to buy nothing but the products they already use, except for the occasional serious customer. There is no room for growth, and I’m bored. I don’t want to match people’s foundation anymore. It’s not what I went through all those classes for. I want to be a serious makeup artist. And forget my love life.” I roll my eyes. “It’s non-existent. Pathetic actually.”
“What happened to Glenn?”
“He never returned my phone call.”
“Zack?” Stryder asks.
“Got back together with his girlfriend after a date with me.” I let out a long sigh and prop my chin up in my hand. “I’d rather not run the gauntlet of men who’ve appeared in my life. It’s depressing.”
“Okay,” Rory answers, mouthful of pancake. “So you want a different job then?”
I nod and take a deep breath. This is going to kill Rory, but . . . “I do want a different job. I, uh, kind of got one.”
“Really?” Rory’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Where?”
“Well, remember that girl we went to high school with, Leah Cameron?”
Rory takes a second to mull over the name. “Leah, is she the one who’s the—” She stops short and lowers her fork from her mouth before swallowing what’s in her mouth. “Is she the Vegas showgirl?”
Oh God, she knows where this is going.
“Yes.”
“Ryan. What are you not telling me?”
I twist my hands in my lap, more nervous telling the news to Rory than I was to my parents. Not that my mom really cared . . . “She got me a job as a makeup artist on her variety show. I have a day to decide if I want to take it or not.”
“But, does that mean you’d move to Las Vegas?”
Stryder squeezes her hand and gently says, “Babe, if the job is in Vegas, she has to move there.”
Stunned, Rory starts to shake her head. “No. Nope. Not happening. You can’t move. What am I going to do without you? I have a baby coming soon, for crying out loud.”
“I know, and I want nothing more than to be here for you when that happens, but I’m in a rut with no way out. I think this might be the break I’ve been waiting for.”
“There has to be something in Denver at least. There are more jobs up there.”
“Not really. I’ve been looking, and you know how much I’ve wanted to get into show business makeup. This could be my foot in the door. The only show business makeup jobs here are local news channels and even those are rare.”
Cutting in, Stryder says, “When would the job start?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Rory nearly flies off her chair. “What are you doing to me?”
“Babe”—Stryder rubs her shoulder—“Ryan wants more.”
“I do. I need to focus on me for once. I feel like”—I pause, biting on my bottom lip, willing the tears back that h
ave suddenly threatened to spill over—“I haven’t been in the best place recently, and I need a change.”
“What are you talking about? Did something happen and you didn’t tell me?”
I shake my head. “No, I just haven’t been feeling great about myself, that’s all.” She doesn’t need to know any more than that; it will just worry her, and the last thing she needs to worry about is me.
“You’re not running away from something, are you?” For once? No. I’m not.
“No. I’m running toward something.” I let out a long breath. “I know this is going to suck, being away from my best friend, but I think this is something I have to do.”
Rory leans back in her chair, crosses her arms over her chest, and groans. “Ugh, why do you have to have aspirations?”
A very unladylike snort pops out of me. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less ambitious.”
“That would be appreciated.”
With his fork, Stryder scoops up a bite of my pancakes and says, “Nellis Air Force Base is right outside of Vegas, you know. I could contact Colby to help you move.”
“No, no, no.” I wave my hand. “Not necessary. My dad is going to help me move. You don’t need to bother Colby.”
Rory places her hand on Stryder’s forearm, leaning forward in her chair again, her eyes filling with excitement. “No, that’s a good idea. At least Stryder can let Colby know you’re going there. He could keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not corrupted by a pimp.”
It’s almost impossible to hold back the giant eye-roll that threatens to take over my eyes, but I do.
“I’m not going to be corrupted by a pimp, and please don’t contact him. I’ll be fine. I need to do this on my own.”
“But it’s Vegas.”
I lean over and take my friend’s hand in mine. “And I’ll be fine. I promise.” I will, because it’s my time. It’s time to make my life make a difference. Las Vegas, here I come.
Chapter Eleven
COLBY
“Who you texting, Flyer?” Balboa’s deep voice booms from over my shoulder, startling the piss out of me.
My phone fumbles between my hands as I try to calm the jump-start in my heart.
“Christ.” I turn toward him. “No one.” Lie. I was about to text his sister.
“Is that right?” He eyes my phone. “Let me see your phone.”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why?” Bent asks, walking up to the briefing desk where Colt is checking out the weather for the day.
“Word on the street is, he asked for my sister’s number.”
“You did?” Rowdy asks, setting his helmet on the counter. “I thought you said your sister is off limits.”
“She is, especially to you.”
Rowdy holds up his hands. “Why me? I’m a gentleman. I treat a lady well.”
“Says the guy who scooted his date out the door at midnight.”
Rowdy likes to think he’s a gentleman, when really he’s a dick.
“She wanted to cuddle.” Rowdy shrugs. “I don’t do that shit.”
Turning back to me, Bent nudges my shoulder, his harness clanking with his movements. “So, were you about to text her?”
Knowing I can’t get out of his inquisition, I say, “Yep.”
“Oooo.” Rowdy drums the counter with his index finger knuckle. “Looks like Flyer is about to get the Balboa treatment.” Rowdy leans past the muscular mass in front of him and says, “Good luck, man, he packs a hefty punch.”
Jaw shifting back and forth, his eyes narrowing in on me, he says, “It’s about goddamn time. She’s been asking me for the last two days if you were going to text her. I’m sick of it.” He pulls a pen from behind his ear and starts making notes in his notebook about the weather report.
“What?” Rowdy asks. “What’s this bullshit? You’re letting Flyer take out your sister? What happened to the beatdown mentioned, how no one is allowed to ask her out?”
Not even lifting his head, Balboa says, “I know he won’t do anything stupid, unlike you.”
That’s very true.
“I was going to see if she was available tonight,” I answer, turning back to my phone.
Balboa makes a final note, clicks his pen, then turns toward me and presses the pen to my chest. “Just don’t fuck around with her. She’s special. Got it?”
“Yeah. Got it.”
Balboa gives me a curt nod before walking away, leaving Rowdy grumbling about something incoherently.
Focusing on my phone, I type out a text.
Colby: Hey, sorry about the delay in our date. Things have been busy here at the base. Are you available tonight?
I press send and then listen to Colt and Bent talk about our training for the day and the clear skies we get to fly in with moderate wind. Should be a piece of cake. At this point, nothing fazes me when I’m in the cockpit. That happens once you’ve been deployed a few times overseas, thrown into the thick of things, into an entirely different terrain than you train in. Today seems like a flying day I could do with my eyes closed. But I never allow myself to feel that cocky. It can only take a moment of lack of concentration for something to go very wrong.
“Ten minutes, boys,” Bent says, slapping his hand on the counter. “I’m going to take a leak.”
Rookie mistake since he’s already strapped into his gear.
“What are you going to do with Balboa’s sister?” Rowdy asks, knocking me in the shoulder.
I rest my arms on the counter and turn my head in Rowdy’s direction. “Not sure. I told her I would show her around town.”
“Town, or base? Because you could walk the grounds of Nellis with no problem, but navigating Vegas, good luck, man. You know nothing.”
He’s got me there. We were transferred here a year ago from Tyndall, and I’ve spent most of my time on base, never exploring Vegas because it’s not my scene. So offering to be a tour guide for Sage might have been a bad idea.
“I can make it work. I’m not worried.”
Growing serious, Colt asks, “Is this like a real date? Because I can’t remember the last time you took a girl out.”
“Sure,” I answer casually, not wanting to be ribbed by the guys.
“It better be a date, because Balboa will have your ass if it’s anything other than that.”
My phone beeps in my hands. Lifting off the counter, I say, “He has nothing to worry about. Meet you guys out there.”
I throw my helmet bag over my shoulder and open up the text with one hand.
Sage: I hate to look like I have nothing going on in my life, but in all honesty, I have nothing going on in my life, so I’m available tonight. Don’t judge me.
I chuckle to myself and answer her back.
Colby: No judgment. How about I pick you up around seven?
Sage: Works great. I can dress casually, right? I’m not much of a nightclub girl.
Colby: Good, I hate nightclubs. Casual is good. See you at seven.
Sage: Fly safe.
I pause when I read her text message, a little flutter taking flight in my stomach. Fly safe. I can’t remember the last time someone said that to me, someone of the opposite sex. I also can’t remember the last time I felt this type of . . . joy? I haven’t been celibate since moving to Vegas, but I certainly haven’t dated. My commitment to the Air Force hasn’t deviated, and has been my priority. Fly safe.
I pocket my phone, a smile on my face. This feels good.
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a truck this high,” Sage says, taking in my vehicle. “It’s very tall.”
It’s not that tall but then again, she’s short.
“I’ve had it since college. I guess I’m used to it now.”
“Well, it’s much bigger than my little Honda Civic.” She glances at me. “I bet you wouldn’t fit in the car just like Rocky. His head touches the ceiling.”
I chuckle and pull out onto the road. “Balboa is a huge dude. Still can’
t wrap my head around the fact that you came from the same parents.”
“It takes people some time.” She pauses and then says, “Full disclosure. I’m wearing a ton of sunscreen right now.” She pushes her glasses up on her nose and then twists her hands together. “I didn’t want you to think what’s that smell? It’s my sunblock. I have very fair skin but wanted to wear something nice today that wasn’t going to make me all sweaty, so I put on a ton of sunscreen earlier.”
My lips pull to the side, a smile forming. “Well, I wasn’t wondering what that smell was, but just to put your mind at ease and not wanting skin cancer is a valid thing, so . . . uh, good job wearing your sunblock.”
“Thank you.” She smooths out her baby-blue sundress and lets out a light sigh. “Can I be honest with you?”
The truck comes to a halt at a stop sign, so with one arm on the steering wheel, I glance in her direction, my aviators blocking my eyes when I say, “Of course.”
“I, uh, I don’t go on many dates, so I might not be very good at this.”
When I first met Sage, I sensed innocence about her. She was quiet, a little awkward, and not very outgoing. When she came to my door, I saw a little bit more of her personality, but still reserved. Her confession doesn’t shock me.
It actually almost seems like she’s the female version of myself. Reserved, quiet at times, awkward when the moment is right. This date should be interesting.
“Don’t worry,” I say, driving off base. “I don’t date often either. So we can both be rusty together.”
“Really?” I catch her hopeful look.
“Really. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Sage. I’m not like the other pilots.”
“I guess you’re not. You carry around a grocery list. My brother doesn’t carry one around and since I’ve moved in, I’ve seen him bring home two different girls.”
I’ve seen Balboa in the bars. He’s just as much of a player as the rest of them, but I don’t mention that to Sage, because I’m sure that’s information she doesn’t want confirmed.
The Left Side of Perfect Page 9