Eyes wide, Colt pretends to zip his mouth and then chuckles to himself as he pulls away.
Growing serious, I step closer to Bent and say, “Bent—”
“Don’t.” His back is toward me as he moves quickly. “Just drop it, okay?”
“Playing with fire, dude.” I roll up my flight suit sleeves, preparing for the Las Vegas sun, and pick up my bag.
His head hangs low as he answers, “I know.”
I pat him on the back, not wanting to elaborate, because he knows better than anyone the date he’s about to go on is a whole bunch of trouble.
“See you tomorrow.”
I head out of the locker and to my truck, the same truck I bought when I was able to finally have a car on campus at the Air Force Academy. It was used then, and it’s really starting to show its age, but I can’t seem to exchange it for something new. It might sound stupid, but it’s one of the things I still have that reminds me of Gramps. He gave me the money to buy it, so there is a piece of him in this truck.
I toss my bag on the other side of the cab and situate my aviators on my nose. The truck roars to life, and I crank up the air conditioning. Growing up in Colorado, I’m used to dry heat, but Las Vegas takes it to a whole other level.
I don’t take much time in making my way to the commissary, finding a parking spot, and hopping out of my truck. Colt and Rowdy like to get off base as much as they can, but I like the close confines of everything. I don’t have to go very far for food or housing, which works great for my ordered life.
The parking lot is empty for a Monday night, which is usually bustling with airmen and women picking up last-minute items for the week, like me. I should do my shopping on the weekends, but I need downtime. My job is stressful, and living in a bustling, chaotic city like Las Vegas, I need the solitude and quiet. I grab myself a cart and head straight to the vegetables. That’s pretty much all I eat—grilled shit, because it’s all I really know how to cook. Growing up in a household that was less than loving, I had to figure out basic living on my own, cooking being one of the hardest tasks to tackle. I don’t know, I just don’t have the cooking gene in me.
Yellow squash and zucchini are my go-to, so I pile a bunch in my cart along with some peppers, onions, and eggplant, because why the hell not?
As my make my way to the meat, I grab some bananas, apples, and oranges before taking my grocery list out of my pocket.
The guys would never let me live it down if they saw me walking around the commissary holding a grocery list. They already think I’m boring as shit, so they’d just about slaughter me if they knew I had a list.
Frankly, I don’t want to forget anything, because that means I have to make another trip. Fuck that.
I stare at my list, reminding myself to get eggs, because I forgot to write it down . . . just as my cart rams into a solid figure.
A small yelp accompanies the pushback of my cart along with a thump.
Shit.
I stuff my list in my pocket and round my cart to find a woman on the floor, glasses askew, and a broken watermelon on the ground next to her.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” I say, bending down to help the woman up. “I didn’t see you there.”
She takes my hand and rights her glasses right before looking at me. Deep brown eyes stare back at me, hidden behind thick black-rimmed glasses. Porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, and platinum-blonde hair that looks completely natural, not from a box. Flustered, she dusts off her high-waisted brown pants, and rights the tight-fitting white button-up shirt that’s tucked in to her waistband.
“Pardon me,” she says sweetly, her voice smooth like honey. “I was so not paying attention, kind of enamored by the green hues—” She stops and stares at the broken watermelon on the ground. “Oh dear, I was going to say by the green hues of my watermelon but it looks like there was a massacre on aisle one.”
“That’s my fault. I was staring at my grocery list.”
She smiles shyly and bends to pick up the watermelon. I stop her attempting to clean it up, not wanting her to get watermelon juice all over her clothes. “Hey, I’ll get someone to pick this up. You don’t want to get all messy.” Just as the words fall out of my mouth, an employee walks by. I snag the kid and say, “We had a bit of an accident over here. Would you mind helping us clean it up?”
“Not a problem. I’ll grab some supplies. Could you stand around it until I get back? I don’t want anyone slipping.”
“Sure,” I answer as the boy takes off.
“I can stand here if you want to continue checking things off your grocery list,” the woman says, adjusting her purse on her shoulder.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’m in no hurry.”
“Neither am I.” She smiles again, looking at me through her thick eyelashes.
She really is pretty, with almost a quirky look about her that makes her unique with her heavy bangs and light freckles framing her beautiful face.
Seeing that neither one of us is moving, I introduce myself. “I’m Colby. Sorry I cracked your watermelon.”
Shaking my hand still, she says, “I’m Sage, sorry I interrupted your grocery list reading time.” Funny too.
I shrug off her apology. “It’s a few minutes I’m willing to spare.”
Shit, did I just flirt with this woman?
From the look of it and the way she turns her head down, humor playing at her lips, I’m guessing I did.
I can’t even remember the last time I flirted. Here and there maybe when I was out with Colt and Rowdy, but they do most of the work for me when it came to women. I sit there and drink while they push the girls toward me.
She adjusts her glasses on her nose again and says, “I’m going to guess you’re a pilot. Unless it’s Halloween and I missed the memo.” The way she delivers her jokes, quiet almost monotone, makes me believe she’s shy despite her good sense of humor. It’s cute.
“Nah, you didn’t miss the memo. I’m a pilot.”
“What do you fly?”
“F-22,” I say with pride. That will never get old, being able to brag about the wings I take to flight every day. I worked damn hard to get to this position, an elite spot in the Air Force, and I never miss a moment to talk about it.
Her eyes widen and her nose twitches cutely to the side. “Wow, an F-22, super stealth.”
I chuckle. “One of the best.”
“Did you hear about the new F-35?”
Did I hear about it? Uh, it’s all I’ve been reading about lately. Lockheed Martin has been working on the F-35 for what seems like forever, and it’s almost ready to be tested in the sky. I’m partial to the Raptor, but hell, if given the opportunity to fly an F-35, I’d jump right on it.
“Yeah, pretty excited about it.”
“Think you’ll fly one?”
I shrug my shoulders. “A guy can only dream, right?”
She nods and shifts on her feet, twisting her hands together in front of her. “I’m not a pilot, in case you were wondering, but I admire the planes from afar.”
Given her attire and glasses, I’d guessed that. Is she a civilian? Girlfriend, or married maybe to someone on base?
“What do you do?”
“I’m an optometrist here on base.” She nods at her statement. “Yup, I look at eyeballs all day while you’re flying in the skies.”
“As long as you’re not poking them.” I chuckle, the sound feeling weird on my ears. It really didn’t sound like me at all. This whole conversation doesn’t sound like me.
Maybe I feel bad because I ran into her. Is that why I’m not acting like my normal closed-off self? Or maybe it’s because she’s shy and a little timid so it makes it easier to talk to her.
“Never poke an eye, rule number one.” She adjusts the strap to her purse again and nervously laughs, her voice very soft-spoken. “It’s sure taking that guy a long time to get cleaning supplies.”
“Hey, if you need to get going, I’ll guard the watermelon.”
�
�Do you mind?” She shifts on her feet. “I’m kind of late for a party.”
“Not a problem.”
She points behind me. “I’m just going to slip past you and grab another melon.”
“Yup.” I step to the side and tilt my hat in her direction like a doofus. “Have a good one.”
A very small smile peeks past her lips. “Thanks, you too.”
Because I’m a man, I check out her backside before turning back to my grocery list. Firm ass, narrow waist, slender shoulders. She’s pretty, but very quiet. Letting out a long breath, I read my list to see where I’m at, only to lift my head again and give her one more look. She hefts a large watermelon into her arms, a little unbalanced at first, and then heads to the checkout.
Sage, the optometrist, interesting.
Chapter Seventy
COLBY
“Hey,” I answer my phone, another long day of work kicking me in the ass. “What’s up, man?”
“Heard there is a chance Nellis gets to test out the F-35.”
Tired as hell, I put the phone on speaker and set it on my counter where I unzip my flight suit and let it dangle at my hips, my sand tee clinging to my torso. “Not sure. We haven’t heard anything yet.”
“Be honest, you’re totally drooling over the idea.”
“Hell yeah, I am.” I fill a glass with water and bring it to the couch where I slouch down in my seat, resting my head against the cushion. “Long shot though. I can’t waste time thinking about it. What’s going on with you and Rory?”
“Wanted to call and tell you we’re uh, we’re actually pregnant.”
That makes me sit right up and set my drink on the coffee table. “Pregnant?”
“Yeah.” He lets out a long breath. “Doctor said it’s a honeymoon baby.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” I swallow hard. “Congrats, man. I’m happy for you guys.”
“Really?” He sounds hopeful. “I was a little nervous telling you.”
I chuckle and run my hand through my hair. “Stryder, you married her, this was bound to happen.”
“I know.” He’s silent for a second, and I would bet a thousand dollars I know what’s going on in his head right now. He’s freaking out about being a dad. Growing up, Stryder not only didn’t have a good relationship with his dad, but his dad was a tyrant, practically a dictator in their household.
To ease his mind, I say, “You’re going to be such a good dad, man.”
“Christ, I don’t know. I didn’t have a good example—”
“You don’t need a good example in order to be a loving and caring parent. What matters is that you don’t want your child to have the same childhood you had, so you’re going to make sure that never happens.”
“But what if it’s in my genes?”
I clear my throat, being as honest as I can be. “I’ve known you since you were eighteen. I can tell you right now, the apple has fallen incredibly far from the tree. You are nothing like your father, never will be.” I add, “Plus you have Rory by your side, so if you do mess up she’ll kick your ass.”
He chuckles into the phone. “Isn’t that the fucking truth. Her parents are really excited.”
“I bet they are. And Rory?”
He pauses, taking a minute. “She’s . . . fuck. She’s glowing, Colby.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. Just as I would have expected her to be. There is no doubt in my mind she was meant to be a mom, and she’ll be wonderful at it too.
Both of them are meant to be parents. Not to be a cheese dick, but Stryder might put on a front, act like he’s a tough son of a bitch, but he’s not. He has a giant heart that’s made to love. Both him and Rory.
My stomach feels a little hollow as I think about the family they’ll be starting soon. I’m happy for them, I really am, but fuck if I’m not jealous. When I decided at age ten I wanted to become a fighter pilot, I told myself to allow no distractions, which meant no relationships. When I was a teenager, I dabbled here and there and fucked around in college the first three years but never took any of it seriously, because I knew I couldn’t afford to give time to a relationship.
And then Rory came along and showed me the possibility of having both—my dream and love.
Once I went to flight school and started flying fighters, I never really gave having a relationship another thought, because I was so consumed with flying. But I’m going to be fucking honest, and I hate to admit it, but it sucks coming home to an empty house after a long day at work, or a three-month temporary duty. It sucks not having someone to greet you when you come home, wives and kids on the tarmac, waving in their loved ones with signs and balloons.
At first it didn’t bother me, because I had my plane.
But it bothers me now.
“I can—” There’s a knock at my door, cutting me off. I look toward the entryway as I stand, my muscles aching from my early morning workout. “Uh, hey, there’s someone at my door. Can I give you a call back?”
“Sure.”
I hang up with Stryder, tie the sleeves of my flight suit in front of me so the entire thing doesn’t fall down, and open the door.
Spinning around on a pair of ankle boots is a familiar face.
“Sage?” I ask, a little startled that the watermelon girl from the commissary is standing at my front door.
Taken back, she blinks a few times before adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses and saying, “Cody?”
“Colby,” I correct while wearing a gentle smile.
Immediately her face flames red. “Of course, Colby. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said Cody. That was dumb of me.” She holds up a few pieces of mail. “It says Colby right here on your mail. I had a patient today named Cody, and I think I can’t get him out of my head, had a terrible case of conjunctivitis.” She cringes. “Uh, you don’t want to hear about that.”
I grip the casing of my door, my other hand on the knob and shake my head. “Yeah, I don’t.”
Briefly, I watch her eyes scan my torso, taking in the way my shirt is stretched across my chest, pulling at my pecs.
Shaking her head, she shoves the mail into my unsuspecting hand and takes a step back, eyes cast toward the sidewalk. “Uh, some of your mail came to my place, so thought I would drop it off. Didn’t know it was you who lived here.”
“Thanks,” I awkwardly say. “You live around here? I didn’t think civilians could live on base.”
“Oh”—she scratches behind her ear—“my brother flies in the sixteenth weapons squadron.”
“Really? That’s why you know so much about fighters.” She shrugs. “I’m in the four hundred thirty-third squadron.”
“I figured.” She digs her toe into the sidewalk. “Since you fly Raptors and all.”
Good Christ, this girl is speaking plane geek with me right now, and I’m kind of turned on.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Rocky Guthrie. Do you know him?”
A smile passes over my lips. “Balboa is your brother?” She nods, a sense of pride filling her chest. “You two look nothing alike,” I joke. Because, they really don’t. Balboa has olive skin, dark hair, and green eyes. Sage has fair skin, platinum-blonde hair, and brown eyes. He’s also a bulky guy, especially for a pilot, and Sage is tiny.
We’ve hung out a few times because he shares a house with Rowdy, so I actually know the guy pretty well. Didn’t know he had a sister . . . a sister who knows about planes.
“We get that all the time. I look like my mom and he looks like my dad.” She shrugs casually. “He was the one who helped me get the job on base actually. He was also nice enough to let me move in with him until I get my feet on the ground. Anyway”—she eyes the mail in my hand—“we’re four houses down.”
“Yeah, you live with my friend Rowdy. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t say anything about a new roommate.”
“Oh. I just moved in. I’m sure he’s still in shock. I won’t be there for long. When I ran into
you the other day, I was actually getting off from my first day; the watermelon was for an after-work welcome party.”
“Nice.” I nod my head. “Welcome to the neighborhood. It’s pretty quiet here, besides Rowdy, which I’m sure you’ve noticed already.”
“He does enjoy making noise.” She quietly cringes and takes another step back. This girl is almost painfully shy. “On that note, I’m going to head back. I guess I’ll see you around.”
For a split second, I think to wave and say goodbye, but a lonelier side of me steps up and says, “I can show you around, if you want.”
“Huh?” she asks, taking another step back.
Shit, I’m so bad at this crap. It was easy with Rory, because she did all the work, but it looks like I might have to step up my game.
“A date.” I swallow hard. “I can take you out and show you around Vegas, if you’re interested.”
Hiding a smile, she adjusts her glasses and says, “That would be nice.”
Trying not to show how relieved I am, I nod to the inside of my house and say, “Come in for a second. Let me grab your number.”
“Okay.” She takes a step forward and says, “My brother knows I’m down here, so no funny business.”
That makes me laugh, especially since she’s pointing her little finger at me, pure warning in that fingernail.
“Don’t worry, Balboa terrifies everyone on base.” Did I mention the guy is huge?
“He terrifies just about anyone he runs into.”
Sage follows me but stays inside the entryway when I snag my phone from the coffee table. When I turn to face her, I catch her taking in my very empty place.
White walls, tan carpet, brown leather furniture, and a picture of an F-22 above the fireplace. There is nothing special about my home, but it works for me.
“Here,” I hand her my phone. “Type in your number.”
As she enters her name and phone number, I take her in. She seems so delicate, like she’s meant to sit on a shelf under a glass dome rather than walk around in the real world, let alone Las Vegas. Hell, I’m nervous this city is going to eat her alive.
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