The Left Side of Perfect

by Quinn, Meghan

  My pursuit for parking and trying to get here on time was a reminder why I don’t go out much; it’s a fucking hassle. And I know I sound like an old man saying that, but it really is a hassle, so why bother?

  Now? Well, maybe there will be a reason to deal with the hassle?

  “At least you smell nice.” She stands on her toes, leans in, and tentatively gives me a small side hug. She’s so fucking cute. Before she can pull away, I wrap my arm around her narrow waist and bring her in closer for a real hug. Her cheek presses against my chest with the top of her head barely reaching my chin, and it’s nice. Comforting actually. God, when was the last time I felt this sort of touch? No wonder humans need touch.

  It takes her a moment, but she wraps her arms around my waist and returns the gesture, her body relaxing. So goddamn sweet. She smells like heaven too, the same flowery perfume she wore on our first date.

  The hostess calls out Sage’s name, interrupting our greeting, and guides us through the busy restaurant to a booth in the back where we can experience a bit of privacy from the booming crowd. I requested something somewhat quiet since Sage has such a soft voice. I want to be able to hear her and talk to her without having to strain to listen.

  “Your server is Zack, and he’ll be with you shortly.” The hostess places the menus in front of us along with some silverware and takes off.

  Smirking, Sage leans forward and says, “This place is much better than the all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  Fucking saucy woman. She’ll never let me live that down. She may not look like Balboa, but she’s definitely related.

  To be honest, I like it when she teases me, when she comes out of her shell. It’s as though she’s unsure how to act at times. A little awkward, but she’s a pretty awkward. It makes you chuckle and puts a smile on your face. On my face. A smile I haven’t worn in a long time.

  Not to mention, she has a beautiful smile, and when she’s mischievous with it, I like to see how many times I can generate the same reaction from her.

  “Maybe we can forget that night altogether, start fresh, act like this is our first date.” Please, for the love of fuck, let’s forget that night.

  She shakes her head. “Oh no, I don’t think so, mister. Despite the chicken-wing bandit and weird dinner, I had a really good time.” A little blush spreads across her alabaster skin, smooth and silky, as if her skin has never seen a day in the sun.

  “Yeah?” My brow lifts.

  Her lashes flutter, her smile deepening. “Yeah, a really good time.”

  Fuck if that doesn’t send a surge of pride through my chest. There was no way it was the best or most inventive date ever, so knowing she had a good time puts me at ease.

  It’s easy when I’m looking for a one-night stand. I don’t have to do much, and I don’t go looking often, but dating is an entirely different story. And Sage is completely different than Rory, so I’m way out of my league when it comes to knowing what I’m doing. Sage waits for me to take charge, so she seems to have the patience of a saint . . . even with me.

  All-you-can-eat buffet. Fuck. What the hell was I thinking?

  “I’m glad.” Awkwardly, we smile at each other for a few beats before we turn back to our menus, silence falling between us.

  Focus on the menu, not on the beautiful girl in front of you.

  Okay, what do I want?

  Burger?

  Sandwich?

  Pizza?

  I glance over my menu, unable to control my urge to study her, figure her out. Balboa is so boisterous and loud, and Sage is the complete opposite. Long eyelashes flutter upward just in time to connect with my gaze. Her smile replicates mine, her eyes intent on me, a noticeable excitement brewing between us. Not saying a word but giant grins on our faces, we go back to our menus and for the life of me, I can’t keep my mouth in a flat line. The corners are permanently tilted, while the words on the menu collide with each other, my focus nowhere to be found.

  Okay, what to eat. Chicken . . .

  My eyes wander back to Sage who’s studying the menu intently, her lips quirked to the side, her head lowered enough that she doesn’t see me taking her in. Soft features, porcelain skin, the softest brown eyes I’ve ever seen framed by dark glasses. So gorgeous. And there is a sense of fragility surrounding her that I like, almost as if she needs someone to protect her.

  And I’m good at that—protecting. It’s my entire life: protect and serve.

  There is a tilt of her head to the side as she studies the menu, her top teeth rolling over her bottom lip, contemplating what to get, almost as if she can’t decide between two things. She glances up and catches me staring at her. Immediately her cheeks go red, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

  She pushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear that fell out of her braid, her fingers slender and small as they graze the side of her head.

  Blinking a few times, she sets her menu down and says, “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me? You’re making me think I have something in my teeth.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I pause, look her square in her warm eyes and say, “You’re beautiful, Sage.”

  Another blush stains her cheeks as she bows her head shyly, the compliment highlighting how reticent she is.

  “Thank you.” Her voice is soft before she picks up her menu and says, “You’re going to be trouble, Colby Brooks. I can feel it.”

  “Good trouble or bad trouble?”

  She lifts a brow in my direction. “Jury is still out.”

  * * *

  “This is so good.” Sage pops her fork out of her mouth and holds it with both hands, looking toward the ceiling, looking grateful for the bite she just took. “Seriously, great call. I was skeptical at first, but this is so freaking good.”

  I sit back in my booth, fork in my left hand, watching Sage fawn over buffalo cauliflower as if it’s the best thing she’s ever put in her mouth. Being an observer, I enjoy studying her, her quirks and the little sounds she makes when she likes something.

  After every bite she takes, she follows it up with a wipe of her napkin that she places delicately back on her lap, and then a sip of her water.

  When answering a question and she’s nervous, she always plays with her glasses, and when she gets excited about something we’re talking about, she folds her hands in front of her on the table and has a light bounce in her seat.

  She also likes to tilt her head when talking to me, only on occasion though, like she’s studying me just the same.

  “Want me to order another round for you?”

  For a moment, I think she’s going to say yes, but then she shakes her head and rests her fork on the table. “I want to keep room for my burger that’s coming my way.”

  “Yeah, I can’t wait to see you take that thing down. I have my doubts.”

  She tsks me. “Don’t let this body deter you; I can take down some meat.”

  I’m mid sip of my drink when I sputter water over the table, an image of Sage taking down “meat” rapidly firing through my head.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, completely oblivious to what she just said.

  I hold my hand up. “Yup, fine.”

  “Are you sure? I think water came out of your nose.”

  “I’m good.” I wipe my face with my napkin, and take a deep breath. “For the record, saying you can take down some meat might have a different connotation, especially to perverted fighter pilots.”

  It’s true; we’re all idiots who have a maturity level of twelve-year-olds at times. I have no shame in admitting it. As pilots, our minds are consumed with the mechanics of what we’re flying and the seriousness of the tasks we’re asked or will be asked to perform. So when we get a chance to let loose, we revert back to our teenage years.

  Sometimes I wonder if some of the guys ever left their teenage years behind them . . .

  Hesitating before she speaks again, I can see her
little mind working to understand what she said. When she’s clued in, her mouth cutely shapes into an O before she chuckles, bringing her napkin to her mouth.

  “Oops.” She shrugs. “I feel like I should have realized that, especially since I’m living with Rocky and Rowdy, two of the biggest perverts out there. You can’t say anything around them without it becoming a sexual innuendo.”

  “Rowdy is bad.” I scratch the side of my jaw. “You should hear him on the com when we’re in the air. The ass never stops.”

  “Oh I believe it. He’s . . . interesting, isn’t he?”

  A low chuckle bubbles out of me as I slowly nod my head to confirm. “Yeah, he’s interesting. That’s a way to describe it. Interesting but a good guy. Very loyal.”

  “A good quality to have. What would you say your best quality is, Colby?”

  “Best quality? Hmm . . .” I pull on the back of my neck as I think about it. I’m good at picking out everyone else’s positive qualities, but mine? That’s a different story. “I don’t know, honestly. It’s not something I think about often.”

  “So you’re not in your cockpit, pondering over your best quality while going at Mach speeds?”

  “Not so much.” I shake my head in mirth. “What about you? What would you say your best quality is?”

  She folds her hands in front of her, not skipping a beat. “Seeing the best in people.”

  I don’t know her very well, but there is no doubt in my mind this is true.

  “Yeah? What do you see in me?”

  I wait as her eyes rake over me, her gaze like a laser beam examining me. “I see a man who wants nothing more than to do the right thing. Which means if he has to order the buffalo cauliflower for his date, he will.”

  I wink at her. “Damn right I will.”

  * * *

  Giant cookie.

  Coffee.

  A beautiful girl.

  And great conversation.

  It’s a good night.

  “Bite?” I offer as we sit on a bench, an enormous snickerdoodle being shared between us, as we watch tourists and locals pass us by, the wind providing for a cooler night.

  Smiling at me, a twinkle in her eye, she leans over and takes a bite of the cookie, only to lean back on the bench and savor every morsel.

  “Okay, I can get used to the food here.”

  “Minus the buffet.”

  She pats my leg. “Minus the buffet. Seriously though, thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to pay again.”

  “Of course I did.” My brow pinches together. “I asked you out, I pay. Plus I’m pretty sure your brother would have my head if I made you pay.”

  “He’s very old-fashioned like that.” She rolls her eyes, her body language a little stiff, but starting to warm up to me as she slightly turns, her knee knocking into mine. “So what if I asked you out on a date? Does that mean I get to pay?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “No.” I take a bite of the cookie.

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  I tip her chin up, the feeling of her soft skin on my finger awakening a part of me I haven’t felt in a while. “Life isn’t fair sometimes, Sage.”

  She studies me for a second and says, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “How come you’re not like the other guys, going to nightclubs all the time?”

  “Not my scene. Don’t care for it much.”

  “Ever?”

  “Not really.” I break off a piece of cookie and hand it to her. “I’m like you, the homebody. I’ve been very regimented my entire life. I’ve kind of had a one-track mind—be a fighter pilot. I guess I don’t know how to really let loose.”

  And I really don’t have any need to. I once had it explained to me that my need for quiet and order was because I’m an introvert. During work hours, I’m surrounded by people, instructions, stress, activity, conversations—constant input. And the combination wipes me out. I’ve learned that I recharge by spending time alone.

  But, being with Sage now, I wonder if I might need to explore more outside of my rituals and comfort zones.

  “Can I be honest with you?” I ask her, growing serious.

  “I wish that you would be.” She places her hand on my forearm tentatively and says, “I like you, Colby, and I want to see where this goes, but I’ve been burned in the past. It’s why I’m so cautious, and why Rocky is so protective. So I ask that you’re just open and honest with me about everything.”

  “Burned?”

  She shakes her head. “A story for another day. You tell me what you were about to say.”

  How could someone burn Sage? She’s so sweet and demure, which seems untouchable to me when it comes to burning someone, although someone like her might be the most susceptible to dickheads.

  Focusing on our conversation and what I was about to tell her, I say, “I didn’t have the best childhood. I won’t get into it now, but I found an escape at a young age and it was planes. It’s what has ruled my life for the past seventeen years. I haven’t learned how to really move away from that yet. I guess I haven’t really lived outside of the Air Force so I might be”—I pull on the back of my neck, feeling embarrassed—“boring.”

  Shit, I never really thought about that until now. I am. I’m boring. I was more fun in college when Stryder was dragging me everywhere or when we were parachuting on the weekends. I had more of a life back then. Now, if I’m not in the cockpit or in the gym, I’m at home, reading a damn book, building a new model plane, or watching some documentary about flying.

  Christ. I am boring. What a horrifying realization.

  “You’re not boring. I haven’t found that at all. You’re actually really interesting to me.”

  I want to argue with her. I want to tell her I have a stick up my ass and don’t ever do anything fun, but I also want to see her again, and convincing her that I’m a stick-in-the-mud might not be a good idea.

  Instead, I say, “Yeah?” and playfully wiggle my eyebrows at her, which makes her laugh.

  “Yeah.” She bumps her shoulder with mine and then snags another piece of the cookie, popping it in her mouth in one quick movement. She settles in next to me, her bare shoulder leaning into me, and I’m half-tempted to put my arm around her but hold off. Sage seems like a girl you take things really slow with.

  “What do you think they’re doing?” Sage asks, nodding to a couple dressed in matching shirts and holding giant drinks in their hands.

  “Hmm.” I break off another piece of cookie and chew on it as I think. “I want to say total party animals who’ve been married for thirty years and are here on vacation as a bucket list trip.”

  “Ooo.” Sage looks up at me, impressed. “That’s good a very good answer, and I want to say probably accurate.”

  “Tourists are easy to pinpoint.”

  “You think so?” She squints, eyeing me suspiciously, challenge in her eyes.

  I motion to the crowd. “Go ahead, test me.”

  “So confident, okay . . .” She scans the crowd, her cute little finger tapping her chin. “What about that couple over there, the ones with the hot dogs?”

  “Couple from Europe, getting the true American experience.”

  She laughs. “And them right there, the girl with the five-inch heels?”

  “Ah.” I nod. “Escort and her pimp.”

  She bursts out in laughter and playfully swats my leg. “They are not a pimp and escort. What is wrong with you?”

  “They could be. Look, they’re talking to a man right now. Bet they’re making a deal for the night.”

  She shakes her head in laughter. “You’ve been watching Pretty Woman, haven’t you?”

  “Guilty,” I joke, making her laugh even more.

  With a deep breath, I take that moment to move my arm around her shoulder and bring her in closer to my side. Her laugh subsides as she takes in our new position. For a brief moment, I have a horrible f
eeling she’s going to pick up my arm and return it to where it was, but instead she snuggles in closer and breaks off another piece of cookie. And . . . it feels good. She fits me, with her lightness and sweetness, her quirky sense of humor. This feels good. I don’t think I’m desperately lonely or wanting a girlfriend per se, but if there is a chance for more here, I think I’d be a fool to ignore it. I need to . . . woo.

  * * *

  “You do realize how ridiculous this is, right?”

  I shut Sage’s car door after the incredibly short drive from my house to hers. I made her wait for me to park my car in the driveway, then hop in her car so I could walk her to her door.

  Ridiculous, yes. But I have my reasons.

  If I remember anything Gramps taught me, it was how to be a gentleman and how to “woo” a woman. He used to tell me countless stories of how he constantly won my grandma over with his smooth moves. I’m trying to channel him right about now.

  “Do you need me to carry anything?” I ask, not dignifying her question with an answer.

  Keys in hand and purse on her shoulder, she says, “I’m good.”

  A little wave of nerves shoot up my spine when she rounds the corner of her little car and I hold my hand out to her. She pauses mid-stride, takes in my gesture, and waits a breath before slipping her hand in mine.

  She feels good, her palm pressing against mine, her shoulder gently brushing against mine.

  “Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun,” she says as we take small steps up the front walkway.

  “I had a really good time too. Sorry about almost being late. I’m not usually like that.”

  She tugs on my hand. “Colby, I get it. My brother is a pilot. I know your schedules are hectic and unpredictable at times. If I wasn’t going to be understanding of that, then I never would have gone out with you.” Is she always so thoughtful?