She shakes her head. “I’m good. I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay.” Smiling I nod behind me. “It’s open.”
She chuckles quietly and takes off, her hair brushing over my forearm in her retreat, teasing me, reminding me what a pathetic motherfucker I am.
I turn my back to the bathroom, set the plates down, and grip the counter. My body is so fucking tense, I can feel a headache at the base of my neck developing. Head bent forward, eyes closed, I force myself to push down my feelings, to tamp the need I have for her. Because if this is going to work for the next few days, I need to compartmentalize.
She’s a friend.
She’s one of my best friends.
You don’t want to lose that, so get your shit together.
I can fucking do this.
Gripping the plates, I turn around to find Rory standing at the bathroom door, watching me.
Shit, what is she thinking? Say something. Don’t let her believe she has such a strong effect on you.
“Getting a headache,” I announce, the truth pounding at the base of my skull now.
Her brow pulls together with concern. “Oh no, do you want any pain relievers?”
“Sure.” Not sure it will help, but it keeps her busy while I set the table. Going to the fridge, she opens a can of Coke Zero for me and hands me three pills along with the soda.
“Caffeine always helps me when I have a headache.”
“Thank you.”
We stare at each other for a few beats too long, just as the buzzer for the oven goes off. Spinning around quickly, her dress flaring up, Rory puts on a pink oven mitt and pulls out a dish of chicken and broccoli.
Smells like heaven.
She looks like heaven.
I down my pills, put the can of soda on the table, and move to the silverware drawer where I grab forks and knives for us while Rory puts the meal on a serving platter.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Water is great,” she answers softly. I drag my hand over my face when I turn away from her, hating every tense moment. Even her voice is tight and clipped, and I have no idea why. Did I do something wrong? Did I offend her?
Was it because I called her beautiful?
Fuck, what if I crossed a line back there? I know she saw me take in her entire outfit, because I wasn’t shy about my perusal. I took my time, moving my way up her legs, to her perfect tits, to her beautiful face. I wasn’t bashful, and I sure as hell would do it again if I had the chance.
But did I offend her? We’re friends, and I quite possibly could have just crossed a line, which terrifies me. I can’t lose her. I don’t want my slip up to be the reason she’s so chilly with me right now.
I fill up a glass of water for her and grab two napkins just as she sets the serving platter on the table and takes a seat.
Sitting across from her, I hand her the cup of water and a napkin as well. There are three pieces of chicken on the platter and a pile of broccoli. She knows me too well at this point, providing me with twice the protein.
I hold out my plate and she serves me. Wanting to break the tension resting heavily between us, I say the only thing that comes to mind. “The Thunderbirds flew into the base today.” The Thunderbirds are the USAF demonstration squadron. They perform insane tricks in the air and are present during the Air Force Academy’s graduation.
“Really?” She perks up, most likely surprised from my mention of work. I never talk about it. “That’s exciting. What were they doing there?”
“Training. One of the guys my brother went to the Academy with is now part of the squadron. We caught up a bit.”
Cutting her chicken, but keeping her eyes intently on me, she asks, “Must have been nice to catch up.”
I shrug my shoulders, unsure why I brought up the topic. Rory is treading lightly with me. “It was cool. I’m, uh, I’m part of Air Force Operations, which means I help manage the runways on base. I cleared them for takeoff and landing. We don’t get many jets on base, so when their engines fired up, it was fucking awesome to see and hear.”
Slowly, Rory’s face starts to light up, that beautiful smile I’ve grown to know peeking past the purse of her lips. She takes a bite of her chicken and says, “What kind of planes do you normally have landing and taking off at Peterson?”
“Heavies, meaning cargo-type planes, military transport planes, things like that. They’re fucking huge when you stand next to one.”
“Heavies, is that the term everyone uses?”
I nod. “There are three types of aircraft you can fly in the Air Force: heavies, fighters, and helos, meaning helicopters.”
“That’s what Hardie is flying, right?”
“Yeah, and killing it.” In all honesty, I say, “I’m happy for him.”
She takes a bite of her chicken, chewing slowly, looking me up and down, her gaze searing me in half before she speaks.
“You’re a good friend, Stryder.” Ha, if only she knew. Good friends don’t lust after their best friend’s ex-girlfriends, nor do they fall hopelessly in love with them.
We spend the rest of the meal making small talk, discussing plans for the weekend, how Rory has been feeling all week, and the upcoming State Games Bryan will be participating in. It’s nice, not as uncomfortable as the beginning of our dinner, and for the first time since not making flight school, I was able to briefly talk about my job without wanting to reach for a bottle of scotch. It almost felt normal.
It doesn’t mean I’m not bitter about the Academy’s decision or that I actually enjoy my job, but I’m not about to throw a chair against the wall and find the closest bar when the Air Force is mentioned, and that’s progress.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say, when I exit the bathroom after changing out of my work clothes.
Dishes are done, leftovers are put away, and Rory is sitting on the couch in her blue dress, flipping through the channels. When she lands on the Rockies game, she stops and sets the remote down.
Fuck, she’s adorable.
Wearing a thin T-shirt that clings to my arms and a pair of shorts, I sit next to Rory on the tiny loveseat. There isn’t much room on the small space, so I’m used to sitting mere inches from her.
“We don’t have to watch the Rockies game if you don’t want to. We can watch something else,” I offer as my favorite player steps up to the plate.
“Why would I want to do that when I love watching the games as well? Come on, Bryan and my dad had me watching games all the time.”
“Ahh, yes, Bryan is a mega fan. Didn’t know if it transferred over to his sister though.”
“I might not know all the players, but I sure know how to shout, ‘go baseball!’”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” She shrugs her shoulders—so cute.
Not really in the mood for baseball, I ask her, “Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Sure. Mind if I change?”
I give her a once-over and playfully say, “Yeah, I do mind. I like that dress.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s chilly.” She goes to stand, but the stupid part of me takes over and instead of letting her pass by, I pull her back onto the couch and drape my arm over her.
“Just snuggle under a blanket with me and you’ll be fine.” Reaching forward, I snag one of the throw blankets she keeps on the little shelf of the coffee table and drape it over us. I situate her against my body. “There, that work?”
She nods her head against my chest.
I take the remote from the coffee table and switch the TV to Netflix. “In the mood for anything in particular?”
“Nothing super violent,” she says, her hair brushing the underside of my chin.
“How about comedy?”
“Or romance.” There is a joking tone to her suggestion, but little does she know, I dabble in romance every now and then.
Knowing exactly what I want to watch, I type it into the search and when it comes up, I p
ress play.
Pushing off me, she looks me in the eyes and asks, “Really?”
“What?” I smirk. “You don’t want to watch that?” The movie starts to play in the background.
“Top Gun?”
“There’s romance.”
“It’s the Navy,” she points out.
“All the more reason to watch it. Means I won’t be salty when Tom Cruise pretends to fly through the air. Come on.” I snuggle her back down into position. “If I start to cry, you can comfort me.”
Exhaling with a laugh, she gives in and snuggles in closer just as the song “Danger Zone” starts to play. This is all I need: Rory pressed against me, a movie playing in the background; my sole focus the smooth inhale and exhale passing through her lungs.
This night may have gotten off to a rough start, but we’re back to normal. We’re back to us.
* * *
“Hey,” I nudge Rory who’s tightly curled against me, sleeping. I stroke her head and whisper softly, not wanting to startle her. The TV is off, movie’s over, and with the usually bright moon covered by clouds tonight, it’s dark in the apartment. “Rory, wake up.”
Halfway through the movie, Rory changed into her pajamas, and we both brushed our teeth in case we fell asleep.
“The movie is over.”
“Mmm,” she groans, moving in closer, clinging to my shirt.
She’ll get a kink in her neck if she stays in this position, so I decide to take matters into my own hands . . . or arms. I pick her up, cradling her to my chest, and take her to her bed. I pull the covers back and then set her down.
When I go to lift away, she stops me. “Please don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Just headed to bed.”
Eyes sleepy, she shakes her head. “No, don’t go to your bed. Keep me warm.”
My heart stutters in my chest, my body going numb from head to toe, stunned. What the fuck do I do now?
I pull on the back of my neck. “I don’t know if that’s—”
“Please.” She tugs on my arm, pulling me close to the mattress. “Just lie next to me, Stryder.”
Just lie next to her. As if it’s that easy. To her, maybe, to me, it will fulfill a fantasy I’ve had since I met her. To her it would just be another night, to me it would be monumental. It would break down the walls I’ve tried to keep plastered together every moment I’m around her.
It would weaken me, give me false hope, make me believe that this woman who’s stolen my heart actually belongs with me.
My brain is telling me all the right things, reminding me to back off; and yet, my heart is controlling the movement of my body as I climb into her bed.
I lie there, stiffly on my back, staring at the ceiling, unable to move, not trusting myself. I will admit this, her mattress is a welcome cushion compared to the air mattress and pullout sofa I’ve been sleeping on. My back melts into the foam top, and I think this could work if I lie here like this, but when Rory backs into me, I think she has different plans.
Reaching behind her, she grabs my arm and pulls it over her body, causing me to shift so I’m spooning her.
“Yes, perfect,” she murmurs, yanking on my arm even more so I scoot in closer.
Fuck. Her ass presses against my crotch, her hair tickles my chin, and she drapes my hand over her small waist where her shirt is lifted what I can imagine is only an inch. The only way I know is because my thumb lands on the small exposed patch of skin.
I suck in a sharp breath and will myself to think of anything but my dream girl snuggling in close to me, but it doesn’t work. Nothing comes to my mind. Instead, I inhale the honey scent of her shampoo, I notice how she fits perfectly against me, and I marvel in the feel of her breath synchronizing with mine.
In and out.
In and out.
This is perfect.
Everything about this moment is perfect.
The world around us fades, all my worries and walls drift away, leaving me alone with Rory. I’ve thought of moments like this before, what it would feel like to be the man who ends the day with her, the man who protects her at night, the man who wakes with her in the morning. I’ve imagined it over and over again, and even though I tried to play it out several times, it never compared to this.
Being a greedy bastard with no will to stop, I move my thumb over that small patch of skin. When she doesn’t move, I repeat the stroke, reveling in her smooth skin.
She shifts against me, and I pause my thumb as her hand glides down my arm to my hand where she lifts it off her body.
Shit. Embarrassment fills me just as she moves my hand up and under her shirt so it’s splayed over her stomach.
I still.
My skin prickling with awareness, my mind whirling a mile a minute, I try to understand what she wants, try to comprehend my next move. My heart beats so erratically that I truly think I might have a heart attack.
This is the girl who stole my heart, the girl I never thought would look at me as anything other than another man’s friend. And yet, here I am, pressed against her, my hand firmly planted on her stomach, my nose slowly rubbing the back of her head.
She presses her ass into my growing erection. Unable to hold back any longer, intimacy takes over, igniting a flame within me.
Moving my mouth so it’s near her ear, I begin moving my thumb over her skin. She hums from the touch and moves her hand to the back of my neck where she grips me tightly.
Shit. Is this real right now? Is this really happening?
Wanting to make sure she’s awake and I’m not taking advantage of a sleeping woman, I quietly whisper, “What’s going on, Rory?”
She shifts her body against my erection, her ass rubbing the tip in just the right spot to make me clench my jaw down hard, my hand moving up her stomach to her ribcage.
“Rory,” I grit out, a light sheen of sweat spreading across my body.
Beneath me, she spins to her back so I’m looking down at her wide-open and heady eyes.
The air catches in my lungs when I get a good look at her, a turn up in her mouth, fluttering eyelashes, wet lips.
“Stryder.”
“Wh-what?” My voice catches in my throat, the electricity between us so real I feel unsure of anything right now.
Is she going to tell me to leave? Was she partially asleep during this and now realizes what just happened?
I try to read her expression, try to gauge where this is coming from, but the room is too dark to fully understand what she might be feeling. Why is she so silent, just staring up at me?
Fuck.
I crossed that line . . . again, but this time, I went too goddamn far.
Feeling like a giant jackass, I back away, off the bed, spinning away from her, gripping the back of my head with both hands. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut.
There is no way I can fucking stay here. Not after what just happened. I shouldn’t have stayed here in the first place. This is Colby’s girl, not mine. She’s never belonged to me; she’s only been a fictional thought in my head.
A what if . . .
What if I went after her?
What if I didn’t step aside when I saw Colby’s eyes on her?
What if I fucking fought for her?
Chest constricting, heart beating at a dangerous rate, I make my way to my duffel bag and start stuffing it. I need to get the fuck out of here. I can’t stay the night, not with her a few feet away, breathing in the same air as me. It’s too dangerous.
I’m too dangerous around her, willing to push her to her limits.
Hugging.
Holding her hand.
Stroking her soft skin.
It’s all too much. I went too far and fucked everything up.
It’s what I’m good at. I fuck everything up. I’ll just tack it onto the list.
Desperate, I leave my toothbrush in the bathroom and zip up my bag. I’ll get a hotel room for the night and figure out what to do after that. I have
enough saved up now where I can find a place somewhere. I might not have furniture, but I’ll at least be as far away from Rory as I can be, not corrupting her, not forcing myself into her arms. Into her bed.
Slinging the duffel over my shoulder, I lean down to get my boots when I hear Rory’s bed creak through the silent night.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice worried.
Not even bothering to look at her, I say, “I have to get out of here.”
“Stryder.”
I shake my head. “No. I need to fucking leave.” I pocket my phone and make my way toward the front door where I snag my hat, jacket, and keys. Reaching for the door, I’m stopped by Rory’s body, blocking my way out, leaning against the door.
“You can’t leave.”
Gritting out, I say, “I have to fucking leave. There is no choice in the matter. Move, Rory.”
“No.”
Exhaling heavily, I try not to get angry, but it’s hard because I’m fucking embarrassed. I’m mad at myself, and I’m so goddamn in love this woman that I hate every damn breath I take . . . because I can’t be with her.
Shoulders proud, a determined look on her face, she’s not backing down.
“Rory, I’m not kidding. Move.”
“Neither am I.”
Growing angrier by the second, I say, “Move out of the way.”
“No. I’m not letting you walk out that door when . . .”
My heart pauses in my chest, as she bites her bottom lip, her chest heaving, the look of indecision crossing her eyes.
“When . . . what?” I ask, holding my breath, calming my overactive imagination and tamping down any insane thoughts of what I wish would come out of her mouth.
“When,” She twists her hands together, her eyes drifting away for a second but then she fixes them back on mine. “When I want you.”
When she . . . wants me?
I blink a few times, the words not quite registering in my mind. She wants me.
The girl of I’ve dreamt for well over a year, wants me.
Still gripping my items tightly, I’m dumbfounded, struck to my goddamn soul with an arrow straight from her quiver.
The Duets Page 39