Coming to my side, she hops up on the counter and crosses one leg over the other. “You act like it was a heart attack.”
“Felt like one,” I mutter.
“What?”
I cut up a few pieces and pop them on a tray to roast. “I just think you should slow down a bit, relax, take a load off.”
“I’m not that kind of person. I always want to be doing something.” She says this as she starts popping the bottoms off the asparagus and setting the spears on the tray.
I point the knife at her. “That doesn’t look like relaxing.”
“It is.” She smiles. “Popping the legs off asparagus is extremely relaxing.”
“They’re not legs.”
“How do you know? Have you taken asparagus anatomy classes?” I don’t answer her. “Didn’t think so.”
Shaking my head, I say, “So are you antsy to get out of this apartment?”
“What do you think?” She tilts her head and playfully quirks her lips to the side.
Finishing up the rest of the cauliflower, I move the pieces around on the tray along with the asparagus, douse a little olive oil and seasoning on them, and set it to the side while I prepare the chicken.
“There is a little concert tomorrow night at Bear Creek Park. The Colorado Springs Philharmonic is putting on a show honoring The Beatles. A couple of guys from the base are going. Wasn’t sure if you were interested.” I hold my breath, nervous as fuck as the invitation rushes out of my mouth. I don’t want her to think this is a date or anything like that, but more of a chance to get out of the apartment.
“I love The Beatles.” She beams. “My dad was obsessed, and I remember him playing Beatles songs all the time in the car. That sounds like so much fun. You don’t mind me crashing your little party?”
I scoff. “It’s not a party. Some guys were talking about it, that’s all.”
“Still sounds like fun. Do we bring food?”
“We can.” I finish seasoning the chicken, place them on the pan with the veggies, quickly wash my hands, and then stick the pan in the oven. Turning toward Rory, I say, “Sandwiches or something like that. Or we can even pick up some cheesesteaks from Jersey Mike’s.”
“Oh!” Her eyes light up. “Let’s do that.” Pushing my shoulder playfully, she says, “You know me too well.”
“That’s what happens when I sleep on a twin air mattress in your studio apartment.” That’s what happens when you love someone so much you have to know their every desire.
Chuckling, she says, “I still can’t believe you won’t take the bed. You’re so much bigger than me.”
I shrug and walk to my tiny bed and sit on it to take off my boots. I fold the laces inside and set the boots to the side, just like I did at the Academy. Some habits will never die. I lean back on the bed, my hands behind me, and stretch my legs out. “My bed is just fine.”
She rolls her eyes and goes to her giant bed and lies down, spreading her arms and legs out like she’s about to make a snow angel. “Look at how much room I have.” Sitting back up, she takes me in. “Your feet hang off the edge.”
“Like I said before, I’ve slept on worse. This is fine.” I nod toward her stomach. “How’s the incision?”
“Fine,” she answers sounding exasperated. “You know we can talk about things other than my surgery and how I’m feeling.”
Yeah, I’m aware, but I make it my mission to check off all the boxes when I get home, even if I have to slip them in between conversation, making sure she’s okay and that everything is healing properly.
“Well aware.” I smirk.
Sighing, she hops off the bed and goes to the dining table where she grabs the word search from the drawer. “Care for a little competition?” She fans out two pens and holds them in front of her face, a mischievous look in her eyes.
I cock an eyebrow at her. “You think you can beat me? The past two nights I’ve annihilated you.”
“Yes, but I spent my entire morning practicing, so bring your best game, Sheppard. I’m feeling spicy, and I think I can knock you off your pedestal.”
Chuckling, I get up from the air mattress, the squeaks of the bed ringing through the small apartment.
Instead of doing the word searches together, we decided to spice things up a few nights ago. We tear the pages out of the book and time ourselves. Whoever finds all the words on their puzzle first wins. The last two nights, I’ve destroyed Rory, not giving her a handicap for being sick.
I don’t plan on giving her one now.
Sitting across from her, I crack my knuckles, stretch my head from side to side, test out the pen she gave me, and then look up at her. “Are you ready to word search race?”
“You’re going down, Sheppard.”
“Not if I can help it, Oaks.”
“Go!” she says at the top of her lungs, causing me to laugh as I turn to my puzzle. She’s so goddamn competitive, it’s adorable.
She’s adorable.
She’s perfect.
She’s all I ever want in my life and yet, she’s so far away, despite how close we are.
An unattainable desire I can’t ever fulfill. And even though it’s like a constant tease, I still take her any way I can get her knowing it will never go anywhere. Some Rory is better than no Rory, and while she needs me here looking after her, I’ll be here. This place feels more like home than the museum I grew up in, more than the Academy. I know it’s not real, that this isn’t forever and at some point she’ll ask me to leave and find my own place, but while she welcomes me with her beautiful smile and tender hugs, I’m not going anywhere. She’s become my home, and I both hate and love that fact.
* * *
“Come on, are you really going to sulk all night?”
“Yes,” she says, rinsing her toothbrush in the sink.
Standing with my arms crossed over my chest, leaning against the doorframe, I study her and her getting ready for bed process. We’ve gotten comfortable enough with each other that we don’t need our privacy anymore. She has no problem knocking me over to get to the sink.
“It was plain as day; how could you have missed it?”
I beat Rory by one word. Elephant got her, and it got her good. But when she tossed her paper at me, claiming the word wasn’t in the puzzle and the word search gods were trying to fuck around with her, I found it immediately . . . which only increased her anger.
“It was backwards diagonal. Those are impossible to find and shouldn’t be allowed in word search. Basically they spell words that way because the devil paid them to.”
“But don’t you think someone who is a step above a novice when it comes to word search puzzles would know to look for a backward diagonal word?”
“Your reasoning is making me want to jam my fist into your neck.”
Not expecting that, I laugh out loud, head thrown back. When I open my eyes and my head falls forward, I almost expect to find an even more pissed-off Rory. But instead, her eyes are softer and the tightness in her jaw is gone.
She puts her toothbrush in the holder and faces me. “I like when you laugh.”
“Yeah?” Arms still crossed, I face-off with her casually, the doorframe holding up my weight.
“Yeah, I like this side of you. Fun and teasing, reminds me of the Stryder I first met. I’ve missed him.”
A little stunned, I uncross my arms and move into the bathroom, past her. Not wanting to get too serious, I line my toothbrush with toothpaste and say, “He never went anywhere, you know. You’re just finally funny.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth falls open, the corners of her lips tilt up in humor. Playfully she pushes my arm, but it doesn’t even make me budge. “Oh, you did not just say that.”
I chuckle, shrug my shoulders and start brushing my teeth, letting the foaming toothpaste build up in my mouth, making it impossible to talk.
She shakes her finger at me, a humorous smile still playing on her gorgeous lips. “How dare you blame your moodiness o
n my ability to be funny? I’m a hoot, but you just have a boot shoved so far up your ass you’re in a constant state of uncomfortable.”
That makes me laugh . . . and hard, spitting toothpaste into the sink. Chuckling, I rinse and dry my mouth.
“You think I have a boot up my ass?”
“Yeah, giant size, like Shaq size.” She holds her arms out incredibly wide, giving me an idea of what size shoe she’s talking about. I roll my eyes with humor.
I move past her and out of the bathroom while reaching behind me and pulling my shirt over my head, leaving me in my black low-slung athletic shorts. It’s hot as balls in here tonight thanks to the summer heat, so it’s taking a while for the apartment to cool down even with the windows open.
When I turn around, Rory’s eyes are plastered to my chest, while her little body takes my place against the doorframe; the light of the bathroom makes her look like a goddamn angel. It doesn’t take long for her to shake off her staring, but not before I notice her perusal from my pecs to my abs.
“If anyone has a shoe up their ass, it’s you,” I say, breaking up the silence that fell between us the minute I took off my shirt. My comment snaps her out of it.
“Excuse me? How on earth do I have a shoe stuck up my ass?” She pushes off the bathroom door, turns off the light, and walks toward me fuming, ready to argue.
I shrug again, chuckling. “You refuse to watch House of Cards with me.” Not a good reason, but it was the first thing I could think of.
She holds up her hand as she steps up next to me. “Besides the fact that your point has nothing to do with our little debate here, why on earth would I want to start a TV show when I know the main character ends up getting taken out because he’s a perv? Makes no sense.”
She’s got a point.
“And the reason why you won’t throw your laundry in with mine?”
“Mixing laundry is just asking for trouble. What if you accidentally take one of my shirts.” I eye her glitter-face shirt and then look back at her.
“That’s not going to be a problem.”
“Could be. For all I know, you could be planning to steal my glitter-face shirt right out from under me.” She eyes me up and down and says, “And why on earth have you taken off your shirt?”
I lift an eyebrow in her direction. “Because it’s hotter than balls in here. Have a problem with me walking around shirtless?” I look her up and down. “Looks like you just proved my point about who has the shoe stuck up their ass.”
Pursing her lips, she shakes her head, a smile wanting to peek out. “Oh, you are in rare form tonight, Sheppard.”
I wiggle my eyebrows at her, feeling lighter than I have in a while. “Admit it, you like it.”
Studying me, her head tilted slightly to the side, she nods. “I do.”
Walking into my space, closing the distance between us, she wraps her arms around my waist and tentatively brings her head to my bare chest. Not wanting her to feel shy about me not wearing a shirt, I cup the back of her head and hold her in place while I wrap my other hand around her back.
Our good-night hug. One of my favorite things. We do it every night, and I know it’s because she’s trying to make up for the years of hugs I’ve missed out in my life. Not only is it sweet, but it also recharges me. Every time she holds me, I feel like she breathes fresh air into my lungs, renewing me. And she has no clue.
But this hug feels different as she snuggles in closer, holding onto me longer, her fingers splaying across my back, the pads of her fingers burning an imprint into my skin.
Standing in the middle of the bathroom, we hold each other, not saying anything, but I wonder if she gets something out of these hugs too. She’s a tactile person, but I get the sense that these hugs are becoming something she looks forward to as well. And that makes me as happy as fuck.
What I wouldn’t give right now to put a few inches between us only to lift her chin up toward me, my finger hooked, my gaze set on hers, my lips ready for her.
What I wouldn’t give to run my hand up her back, tug on her ponytail until her head tilts back, mouth open, ready for me.
What I wouldn’t give to finally press my lips against hers, to explore them, to taste her, to know every crevice and smooth surface of her mouth.
Just one taste.
Just one kiss.
Just one moment . . .
. . . I’ll never get.
Instead, I’ll take these little moments that I can hold on to forever. These moments where I steal a few seconds away from the world with her where it’s just us, together.
When she finally pulls away, she takes a step back, confusion knitting her brow but also a slight smile playing at her lips.
“You’ve changed, Stryder. It’s almost like there is a new spark of life inside of you.”
Not wanting to get into it, I tip her chin up with my forefinger and say, “Good night, Rory.”
I walk toward my bed, a bounce in my step.
I have changed, she isn’t telling me anything I haven’t noticed over the last few days, and I think I know what it is.
For the first time in my life, I actually feel needed, like there is a purpose in my life other than the Air Force.
I’ve enjoyed taking care of Rory, having someone rely on me, someone appreciate me. I’ve loved having someone see me as the man I wish I could be rather than the man my dad tried to turn me into.
I’m important to someone, but more importantly, Rory sees value in me. Instead of being a number or a puppet to master, Rory sees me as a man worth something. And it gives me pause. If I’m not going to be a pilot, am I bound to stay in the Air Force? By definition, yes, for a few years, I am. But it doesn’t have to define me. It just might be possible that I have options. And it’s the girl behind me that’s making that thought worth considering.
For the millionth time I ask myself, how could I not fall in love with her?
Chapter Forty-Nine
RORY
“Let me carry something.”
“I got it,” Stryder grunts out, carrying a large cooler and blankets.
“Stryder, for the love of God, I can lift things.” I try to pull the blankets out from under his arms but he holds on tightly, clamping them to the side, keeping everything firmly in place.
“No heavy lifting.”
“It’s a blanket.”
“I got it. Go on ahead and find us a good spot on the lawn.”
“You’re stubborn, you know that?”
He winks at me and answers back, “Just taking care of you, Rory. Now go on before all the good spots are taken.”
Shaking my head at how ridiculous he is, I make my way through the crowd, all carrying the same kind of gear we brought and hurry my way to the center lawn where tons of people have already set up.
Scanning the area, I try to find somewhere that would work when I spot Ryan with a guy, lying on a blanket. When we make eye contact, she waves me over frantically. They have a great spot in the center with a little space to the side that Stryder and I could take.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, pulling me into a hug when I reach her.
I eye her date, who is a very handsome guy with blond hair and green eyes. He almost looks like a real-life Ken doll. Where does Ryan find these guys?
“Needed a little night away from the apartment. Who is this?” I wiggle my eyebrows as the guy stands.
“Brad, meet my bestie, Rory. She just had her appendix rupture, so don’t go punching her gut or anything.”
Laughing, he shakes his head at Ryan and takes my hand in his. “Your friend is an interesting one,” he says.
“Yeah, I know. But please, no punching in the gut.”
He holds his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eyeing my blue sundress and cowboy boots, Ryan looks around and says, “Are you here on a date?”
A snort pops out of me. “No. No way, not even a little.”
“Okay.” Ry
an eyes me skeptically. “Then you’re here by yourself? That seems a little odd especially since you don’t have a chair or a blanket.”
I roll my eyes. “Stryder is here. He’s carrying the blanket and cooler, but he told me to find somewhere to sit.”
“Oh, how is our roomie doing?”
“Good,” he answers, coming up behind me. He sets the cooler and blankets down and gives Ryan a side hug. It doesn’t escape me how he hugs me differently. How when I greet him, he presses his entire body against mine, sometimes wraps his hand gently around my hair and when he lets go, his hand slowly drags down my lower back, just above my ass.
There is none of that with Ryan.
Why does that matter? It shouldn’t.
It doesn’t.
Shaking the weird thoughts out of my head, I ask, “Is it okay if we sit here with you?”
“Of course. We would love that, right, Brad?”
He nods but a part of me thinks maybe he would like his privacy with Ryan. Before I can offer it, Ryan introduces Brad to Stryder while blankets are spread.
I guess this is where we’re sitting.
“I’m so excited for this.” Ryan excitedly bounces next to us. “Everything about The Beatles music makes me happy. What’s your favorite song?”
Brad answers without even having to think. “’Help!’ Fucking love that song.”
“Gah!” Ryan squeals. “Mine too.”
“And she’s not lying just to please you,” I add. “There was a road trip we took to Fort Collins where she played it for at least half of the car ride, trying to memorize every word and note.”
“I have no shame admitting that.” Turning toward me, Ryan smiles and says, “Rory, let me guess . . . ‘Hey Jude?’”
I shake my head. “That’s my second favorite. “Let it Be” has to be my favorite. I can remember listening to it on replay after some of Bryan’s more difficult meltdowns.” I briefly shut my eyes, recounting the memories of lying in my bed, headphones over my ears, eyes closed, listening to the lyrics, profound and meaningful to me.
The Duets Page 35