Josh raised his eyebrows at me. “Good news or bad?”
“Both,” I answered.
“Looks like you solo first.”
My head snapped toward his, looking for any indication that he was messing with me. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He smiled, mock-punching my shoulder. “Good job, man.”
First. I was going to solo first. Top of the Order of Merit list. I had a shot at an Apache, and not fucking my friends over. “That’s…” I couldn’t find the words. “Where’s the bad in that?”
Josh laughed. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
Nearly everyone left, either ecstatic about soloing in the afternoon or utterly dejected. I didn’t have a problem getting to the schedule or finding my name in the first slot. Hell, yes. This was everything I’d been— What the fuck?
“This should be interesting,” Grayson said, standing next to me.
I’d gotten Will Carter as my damn stick buddy. Fuck my life.
I juggled our drinks—two beers and a sweet tea—like a professional frat boy and headed to our table. Masters accepted his tea with a nod, because speaking more than the required amount of words might kill the guy, and Josh gave me a half smile. “Thanks, man.”
We all relaxed and drank as our classmates ambled in, grabbing drinks at the bar and dragging chairs over to join us. Once over a dozen of us were there, some with girlfriends or the occasional wife, we had to combine tables. The bar filled quickly for a Friday night, with both flight school students and local girls. A couple of them were eye-fucking me from their bar stools.
“What’s with you?” Josh asked. “I get to be pissy. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen my girlfriend, but what’s your excuse?”
I shook my head and wiped the condensation off my glass. Beverages, people…everything sweats down here. “Nothing, man.” I spun the nickel on the table.
“Bullshit.” He scoffed.
“Let it go.”
“I’ve known you for three damn years, Jagger. All you ever talk about is hockey and helicopters, so you’re going to have to explain why you’re not jumping through your ass in joy right now. You soloed first, man, first! I get the little chastity vow you’ve self-imposed, but you’ve got two hot girls over there dying to make your lap their seat, and you look like your dog just died.”
“I don’t have a dog.” I couldn’t explain what I didn’t understand myself.
“You know what I mean. I know it blows that you’ve got Carter as your stick buddy, but at least you guys will push each other.”
Push each other right off a damn cliff.
He leaned forward and dropped his voice, “You know you can talk to me.”
“He said to let it go,” Masters answered quietly. “Sometimes voicing something gives it power over you. He’s got to acknowledge his own shit storm before he lets someone else witness it.”
I raised my beer in salute and drained half the glass.
“Dude, you speak?” one of our classmates asked Masters, looking dumbstruck.
Masters glared in response.
“Masters no speak. Only grunt,” replied Montgomery. The street-to-seat nineteen-year-old kid had the nerve to make monkey motions at Masters. Why the hell did they let babies into flight school?
“How was that solo-cycle ride, Montgomery?” I countered.
“Fuck you, Bateman.” The kid turned bright red. He’d ranked last on the OML, soloed last, therefore had to pedal the infamous solo cycle down the airfield.
Persley cleared his throat. “Right. Anyway”—he raised his voice and his glass—“here’s to us, for all completing solo flights without burning one in!”
A cheer resounded, drowning out the music. “And here’s to Bateman for soloing first!” Josh slapped my back and lifted his glass to another cheer.
“To Bateman.” Carter’s mocking voice grated as he took the empty seat directly across from me. I spun the nickel and kept my eyes focused on it.
“Congratulations, Jagger.”
I stopped the nickel midspin, seeing Paisley standing behind him. She’d come. She never came to these things. She wore a fitted top the same green as her eyes, and it might not have shown off that amazing rack she had, but it was sexier than anything the spandex sisters at the bar were wearing. She smiled, and my fucking heart stopped beating momentarily, then hammered.
Get a grip.
I clenched the nickel in my fist and answered her smile with my own. “Thanks, Paisley. Want me to grab you a chair?” I threw out the olive branch.
“She doesn’t need a chair.” Carter wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. “Do you, Lee-Lee?”
I arched an eyebrow at the nickname. It sounded ridiculous, like a five-year-old child instead of the beautiful woman in front of me.
“I’m fine,” she said softly, as if she was answering my thoughts and not his question. She blushed and tucked that soft blond hair behind her ears, then wound her arm around his shoulders like she was happy to be there. Of course she’s happy to be there. He’s her damn boyfriend.
Dropkick Murphys came on the jukebox. Paisley smiled as “Rose Tattoo,” her favorite song, started to play. She arched an eyebrow at me, and I gave her a small nod. Yes, it’s for you.
Carter locked eyes with me, turned her head, and kissed her, never wavering in his gaze. “Yep, she seems pretty fine to me.”