Tailspin: A Top Gun Love Story

Chapter 1

You walk into the bar holding down your skirt as a gust of wind picks up the dust outside, tunneling in from behind. Your boyfriend gives you a smirk, holding the door open. You've come a long way to visit him in Miramar where he's attending the prestigious Navy Fighter Weapons School's TOPGUN training program.

He's dressed down tonight – not in uniform – and he looks casually sexy with his blond hair and blue eyes.

"What'll you have?" he calls, heading straight for the bar as his RIO, Ron "Slider" Kerner ushers you toward a table already overflowing with officers from their program.

"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea, please!" you yell back over the noise of the bar.

"Amelia," Ron says, gesturing to the large group of men when you arrive at the table. "Meet the asshats of Fightertown, USA. Asshats, meet Amelia."

Several of the men wave, chuckling, but only one of them catches your immediate attention. He's seated at the far end of the table, looking up at you with a small smile. He brings a hand up to his mouth to conceal his smirk before looking away. He strikes up a conversation with the man to his left, calling him a "Goose" or some other kind of waterfowl, you can't quite follow the conversation from where you stand.

Ron pulls a chair out for you and you sit down just as Tom Kazansky brings you your drink.

"Thanks," you say, glancing up at him.

He aims a wide grin in your direction and collapses into the booth on top of Ron. Ron groans theatrically and Tom laughs, giving him an additional punch on the arm for good measure.

You throw them a tight-lipped smile before looking away. Your eyes land once again on the officer sitting at the very end of the table, deep in conversation with his friend. They are discussing flight maneuvers, it seems, because he is waving his arms around enthusiastically to indicate motion.

You find it hard to tear your attention away from his passionate gesticulations, especially considering how good looking he is. He's wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of aviators hang from the neck of the shirt. His dark hair falls slightly over his face and his eyes are alight with excitement.

You finally rip your gaze away, focusing on the man who begged you to join him while you were on break from your studies, despite only having dated for about a month before he was recruited into the program.

You weren't sure about Tom then, and you aren't sure about Tom now. You decided to come because even NAS Miramar is a better option than home.

You spend the evening talking to Tom and Ron, and a few of their buddies, laughing at their stupid jokes, and having a surprisingly good time.

As the night progresses and the volume of patrons decreases, you begin to catch more and more of the conversation between Whiteshirt and Waterbird – the names you've given the two men sitting across the length of the table. Why their animated exchange interests you so immensely, you can't really say, although Whiteshirt's dazzling smile could have something to do with it.

Tom continues buying you drinks, as if getting you drunk is a strategy. The two of you have yet to sleep together and you have no doubt in your mind that this inevitable next step in your relationship is exactly what he has planned for the upcoming week.

As the crowd dwindles further, the various conversations get quieter, and are sometimes interspersed with short silences during which you try desperately to look anywhere but at Whiteshirt, who's thrown several glances in your direction over the course of the evening. Only six of you remain at the table now, and the separate dialogues are starting to merge slowly. You realize, by the direction the current discussion takes, that Tom and Whiteshirt do not like each other very much.

After delivering a particularly scathing comment, Tom looks over at Ron and smirks. "Looks like I ruffled some feathers, ain't that right, Goose?" Tom grins at the two men at the end of the table.

Whiteshirt watches Tom without responding, and then his gaze shifts to you. "Careful, Iceman," he says. "You stand to lose more than just a trophy if you're playing against me."

You stare at him for a moment, before looking back at Tom, who is glancing between the two of you. Tom rises from his seat. "Your recklessness is a liability. No way in hell are you getting anywhere near that trophy. Or this one," he adds, pulling on your arm.

You stare up at him in shock. "What did you just call me?"

"Come on, we're leaving," Tom says irritably.

You blink at him, outraged that he's treating you like some possession he can lay claim to. "I'm not done my drink," you reply shortly.

Tom lets go of your arm and sits back down. He looks you in the eye, frowning. "I didn't mean it," he says. "I'm sorry. He just" – he sighs, briefly closing his eyes – "he just" –

"Ruffles your feathers?" you suggest.

You hear some laughter coming from the far end of the table but decide not to look in their direction. Tom squeezes your hand. "I'm going to step outside for a minute," he says. "Come out when you're done your drink?"

You nod, giving him a soft smile.

After Ron follows Tom out the door, Whiteshirt and Goose shift closer to where you're sitting. Whiteshirt gives you a mischievous smirk, extending his hand.

"Pete Mitchell," he introduces himself.

"He goes by "Maverick"," his friend says. "And I'm Goose."

"Amelia," you reply with a small smile.

"We know," Goose says, eyeing Maverick pointedly while the latter chuckles.

"Right," you say. "Slider introduced me."

"Right." Goose nods. "That's how."

You furrow your eyebrows but, before you could formulate a response, Maverick says, "Can I ask you a question, Amelia?"

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "Okay."

"Do I have a shot here?"

You stare at him, astonished by his audacity. You are momentarily lost for words, disoriented by the curve of his lips as his mouth moves into a sideways grin, the tightening of his jaw as he watches you unabashedly. "I," you begin hesitantly. "I'm with Tom."

Maverick nods. "I know." His smiles widens.

Suddenly, you realize what his tactic is. You shake your head, rolling your eyes, and stand. "I'm not going to be another prize that you two idiots fight over. Leave me out of your games."

Maverick's grin disappears instantly and he rises. "No, that's not" –

"Save it." You hold up a hand. "I know your type."

Maverick bites down on his lower lip, nodding. "Okay," he says, holding your gaze. "But, just so you know, I intend to prove you wrong."

"Good luck, Lieutenant," you say coldly.

He bows his head, smirking again, and pulls the sunglasses from his shirt. He puts them on and, clapping Goose on the back, they head for the door.

.....

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment if you've got a request or if you are enjoying this story. Also, please consider voting because that would make you 110% awesome!

His little smile every time he looks at you <3