The next morning, I didn't have to sneak. I could get up and shower, take my time using the toilet and brushing my teeth without a single worry. When I flushed, I didn't cringe and stop to listen if I'd woken Charlie. I just spun on my heel and strode back downstairs to gather my things for the day. As I descended the stairs, I skipped steps like a little girl playing hopscotch. A silly smile worked its way onto my face. Usually, I'd swallow it down immediately. Knock it back like a shot and suffer the sharp tang in the back of my throat. But not today. Today I let the smile climax. I could feel myself sparkling as I slid down the slick wood floor straight down the hall into the kitchen.
"Good morning to you too," Charlie laughs from the stove.
She lifts her head and shoots me an amused glance. My smile slips and I duck my head bashfully. Charlie starts up again, shaking her head at me and goes back to whatever it is she's up to. Curious, I skate forward and lean over the counter. Charlie pushes something around an iron skillet with a spatula. A lovely, warm steam wafts off the stove and embraces my senses. Sighing, I inhale the scent and throw my head back. If there were a breakfast heaven, it would smell like this. Eggs...bacon - no, sausages. There's a distinct spice that's definitely a sausage, patty or roll, I'm not sure, but who cares? It smells amazing.
Lost in the smell, I don't realize my eyes have fallen closed until two plates are roughly set onto the counter in front of me. My eyes fly open and drop to the steaming dishes.
"Wow," I blurt, already drooling.
Charlie chuckles. "Good thing we made up huh?"
"Damn straight," I agree.
Charlie prods the plates closer to the seating on the other side of the counter and then steps around to sit. We move in sync, dragging out two stools and then mounting them eagerly. Brilliant, blessed Charlie has already laid a fork and knife on each of our plates.
With the edge of my knife, I nudge some eggs onto my fork and before I stuff my mouth full say, "Thanks."
"Oh no problem," Charlie replies and takes a bite of her sausage. She chews, pensively and cocks her head to the side. "I was worried, you know," She begins. I raise a brow and turn her way, munching on a slice of buttered toast. "When you kept slipping out before I woke up, I thought you were walking to campus, but Goose kindly told me Maverick had you covered..."
She makes it sound so simple, my RIO breathes.
Because it is.
An objective scoff rolls off her tongue. Simple? Maybe. But platonic?
Knowing that there's no winning this debate, I shrug my RIO off and swallow my food. Once she gets something in her head, it's like pulling teeth to get it out. Growing up on a farm teaches you how to handle stubbornness in animals and people. As the warm, munched toast warms my throat, I'm reminded of my dad's old mare. Miss Flea, or so we called her. The boys - my brothers - wanted to call her Fleabag because of all the bugs that followed her around the pasture, but my dad had taken to the bag of bones and only allowed Flea. I bite my lip, careful to hide my smile. My dad always had a soft spot for outcasts like ol' Flea.
But his taste never failed.
Flea was great while she lasted.
More loyal than any dog, sweeter than any bunny.
All of a sudden I notice Charlie's knowing eyes on me and I clear my throat abruptly. "Yeah," I finally reply. "Maverick had me covered."
"Good."
I nod.
"Well," Charlie takes a sip of her coffee and licks her lips clean. "You'll be pleased to hear that we aren't flying today."
A part of me fires up, pissed as Hell. No flying? Screams my inner adrenaline-junky pilot. But the sensible part pins me to my stoll and levels out my tone so I don't sound absolutely enraged when I ask, "Why?"
"Some issue with the jets. They need a little more time to get fixed up. But this is a good thing," Charlie sets a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You get a break from Dash."
Dash.
Dash the dick, she sings.
I struggle to contain my laughter and cram as much of my eggs as I can down my throat. The rest of breakfast is quiet. Charlie and I wash our dishes in a rush, barely scrubbing them enough to really clean them. In the end, we dump them into the sink for the evening and lock up. With Charlie and I on good terms, I no longer have to sneak out my window and catch Maverick on his motorcycle. I get to ride in the convertible again. The thought puts a pep in my step. Lighter than air, I skip after Charlie and jump into the passenger seat. No Dash - well, no being stuck behind Dash and confined to his amatuer flying; no avoiding Charlie; no conflict; and a full stomach to start the day?
Can this day get any better?
"Hit the radio, DJ," Charlie shouts.
She revs the engine and I reach across the center counsel to flick on the radio. Take on Me, by A-ha comes on. Immediately, Charlie and I surge forward to crank up the volume. Our hands collide and we burst out laughing. The two of us flop our hands about like fish, straining to get the volume knob dialed up. Eventually I bat her hand out of the way and spin it like a record. The speaker's blare is so loud, I almost worry I'll go deaf before we reach Top Gun.
Almost.
It's hard to get too stressed when you're belting one of the greatest songs of the decade at the top of your lungs.
Charlie pulls away from the curb and sets a course for the academy. The young sun peeks over the neighborhood rooftops, a blazing yellow that splices my corneas. Squealing, I tug my aviators off my head and shield my eyes. Then, I go back to singing with Charlie and smile, my heart practically bursting at the seams.
Today is a good day and miraculously, I feel unstoppably happy.
>>>>>
"Well well well," says a smug voice as I slide into the chair beside him. "Somebody's feeling good today."
"Shut up, Mav."
Maverick merely smirks. "Lookin' good too."
"Smooth, Mav," I laugh, though my stomach flutters worse than an intoxicated butterfly. I feign composure and focus on getting my notes out. Unlike Jester's class, where he seems to enjoy yelling at us rather than giving us sufficient information to glean from, Viper comes prepared. The commander reminds me of a college professor. Calm, collected, and excellent at what he does. I've read about his glory days and boy was he a good pilot. Better than me. And just maybe better than Maverick? Who am I kidding, I laugh internally. Nobody's better than Maverick. He's an idiot, but he's an idiot with skills. That much is undeniable. "So, where's Goose?"
"He's uh..." Maverick clicks his pen and slowly turns his head this way and that, suspiciously checking the room. Satisfied with his findings, he leans towards me and I shoot him an incredulous look but dip my ear close to his mouth as he whispers, "he's breaking into Area 51."
I puff out a scoff and jerk back. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
"Ah, but you love it."
Stupid, goshdarn butterflies are back at it. I clench my jaw and swear up a storm, threatening my own body if a single patch of pink bleeds out on my face. Just as I successfully swallow my...whatever this feeling is, someone behind our row starts gagging.
"Watch out boys! Flirting in aisle two!"
Mortifying laughter ensues.
Well, there goes my self control. A blush as bright as a little girl's church dress dusts my cheeks. I can feel the burn everywhere. My chest, my heart, and even in my eyes. Half of me wants to drop to the floor and curl into a ball while the other says to stand up and sock the douchebag behind me right in the eye.
"How is she Mav?"
Paralyzed, I can only twist my head in Maverick's direction. Our eyes lock and he raises his brows, conveying a silent apology on behalf of the class. I shake my head and mouth, It's not your fault. Maverick shakes his head in return, refuting me. His green eyes swarm with sympathy. It's a refreshing breath of fresh air on my steaming pride.
"What're you talking about, Iceman?" Maverick replies.
"Oh c'mon," the instigator presses. "We've seen her riding here with you."
"So?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Iceman open his mouth in a silent laugh and then set his jaw, disbelief written across his face. He munches on a piece of gum, wadding the stuff up between his teeth as he shares an insinuating glance with his buddies, Wolfman and Slider. I choke back a wave of nausea. It's a nasty taste, like the scraps you'd feed to a pig. A salty, slimy combination of flavors all rotten and disgusting. They churn in my stomach. A toxic tornado. Bile tickles my throat but I swallow hard, refusing to let my discomfort show. Beside me, Maverick sits silently, no doubt anticipating Iceman's next comment. I drag my eyes away from my feet and catch Maverick's gaze. He's got his eyes centered on the blackboard, the muscle of his jaw taught as a bowstring. The slight furrow of his brow sharpens his profile.
The sickness subsides, if only for a second.
Iceman leans over the back of Maverick's chair, crossing his arms over it and hovering his lips close to Mav's ear.
"What happened, Mav?" He smirks, chewing loudly. I cringe, sympathizing with Maverick who has to hear that sloppy, wet sound right in his ear. "She get tired of you?"
When Maverick stays quiet, Slider scooches closer, popping his head over the space between Maverick and I's seats. "Or maybe she got tired of you. But hey, don't worry Mav. There's always bigger fish in the sea..."
Slider smiles poison and turns to me, his hot breath rancid, fanning over my face, sure to have rustled my hair had I not pulled it back into a ponytail. I grimace and draw my head back defensively. Slider's smirk only grows. His intentions glimmer in his eyes, a wicked glow, like a witch's brew or a poltergeist's translucent figure. I shiver inadvertently.
"Hey, Stirrups, if you ever tire of Ol' Mav then you can sit here with us."
"Yeah," Iceman agrees. "There's a free spot in my lap."
That's it.
Stirrups -
I cut her off viciously. No.
No more waiting. No more dealing. I'm sick and tired of being harassed like this! What makes me less than these boys? What? Nothing, that's what. They hassle me and hit on me in the same breath. It's twisted. What self respecting person flirts with someone they find weak? Women don't, that's for sure. Most of us, at the very least. We look for a guy who lives up to our dreams. It can mean years of waiting, sometimes your entire life. Alone and waiting. While it's lonely, it's just life. But these douches? They flag down every person they see with curves, desperate for something. It's all about their goshdarn egos. Women make men tick. They claw after us like a child whining for candy. An addiction. Give it a little and you instantly need the rest. It's revolting. Just thinking about it makes my stomach jerk, sloshing the vile contents around so that I wince.
I'm here to fly.
Maybe I got landed in the back seat, but that's alright for now.
I might be a girl, but I'm not a pansy.
I'll roll with the punches.
But I don't roll with dickheads.
Fizzling with anger, I start to turn around, mouth full of comebacks when Viper strides into the room.
"Sorry, sorry!" He announces. "I'm late, I know. But I know you're all glad for it so let's jump right in-"
As he moves to the front of the room, Goose drops into the seat beside Maverick, out of breath and red in the face. Sweat drips from his brow and he quickly brushes it away with the cuff of his sleeve. I whip around in my chair, facing forward and lean across Maverick, addressing Goose.
"Where were you?" I inquire, raising a curious brow.
Goose coughs into his elbow and swallows hard. "On the phone."
"For twenty plus minutes?"
"It was my wife." Goose replies easily.
My jaw drops.
Wife?
"You have a wife!"
"Stirrups!"
"Yessir!"
Viper clamps his hands behind his back and stares me down. "Care to share with the class?"
I lift my chin. "No sir, sorry."
Viper's mustache quivers as his lips quirk into a smile. He tears his gaze away and goes back into his lecture. I hold my breath, waiting for him to turn his back on his pupils. Once he's picked up a knob of chalk and begun to scrawl in a neat print across the blackboard, I look back to Goose -
He quickly raised a finger to his lips.
At lunch, he mouths.
I nod and lean back in my chair. As I try to focus on the lesson, my eyes continuously dart back to Goose's hands where the sunlight glints off a ring I'd never noticed before.
He has a wife!
>>>>>
"So," I begin, dropping into the seat facing Goose, my lunch tray clanging against the slick table's surface. As I tuck my legs under the table, I notice Maverick eyeing the seat beside me. My gaze darts to the empty spot to my left, the chair directly across from where Maverick sits right now. Confused, I raise an eyebrow and turn back to the boys. Right as I sit back up, Goose grabs Maverick's sleeve and shoves him into his seat again. Maverick shakes his friend off, glaring at him in a friendly way and then he gets comfortable. I watch the exchange, puzzled but intrigued. It's not hard to put two and two together. Maverick eyeing the spot next to me and getting up in a rush. The real question is why the Hell would Mav prefer being by my side than his lifelong friend?
Maverick catches me staring and winks.
I roll my eyes. That pilot has enough ego to fuel ten Tomcats.
What stops me scoffing is the shaky hand Maverick tears through his hair after so cheekily brushing my stare off.
"So?" Goose prompts, shoveling some cooked peas into his mouth.
He chews loudly and I cringe. Boys, I sigh, shaking my head and biting back a scornful laugh. They eat like pigs. And that's coming from a girl who was born and raised on a farm full of pig slop and cow shit.
"So," I continue, "Wanna tell me why you never mentioned you were married this whole time, Heron?"
"Goose."
"Right," I force a sheepish smile. "My bad."
Maverick and I lock eyes and he breaks out into a smile, laughing through a mouthful of food. Our gazes linger, green eyes roped together, knotted by our twin smirks as Goose mutters incoherent dissents into his sandwich. I reach for my glass of water, never breaking my connection with Maverick once. The longer we stare, the slower time seems to move. Each second, I can feel myself aging. Maverick's chewing stills, one side of his face field out at the cheek, stuffed with food. He raises his brows, a new smile tugging at his lips. A smug, near flirtatious grin. The water freezes my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I cough. The ice cold water sloshes down my throat and I choke.
Just for a second.
But it feels like a lifetime.
Goose's eyes drift up to me, concerned, but I wave him off.
I press my fist to my chest and close my eyes, trying to free my airway by sheer will, though it's about as likely as me running into a T-Rex on the freeway.
Good Lord, girl, Maverick's already making you choke?
VIXEN!
I gasp.
The fist on my chest flies up to my face, slapping over my mouth.
I said her name.
Her callsign.
Finally, she sighs dramatically. Took you long enough.
"Stirrups?" Goose asks, leaning on his elbows. "You good?"
"Fine, I'm -" I cough a final time, successfully ridding my windpipe of the water residue. Air rushes down my throat, warming the ice cold, half strangled flesh and I sigh into my palm. My breath tickles the semi sweaty skin. Shit. I rip my hand off my face and awkwardly lay it on the table. Maverick and Goose watch me closely, doubt evident in their worried expressions. Goose looks shocked, like he's never seen a girl inhale water before. His mustache twitches as he munches on, eyes trained on me. Maverick on the other hand is scooted so far forward in his seat, you'd think he was watching a thrilling scene of a movie. But his expression is far from thrilled. His dark brows are deeply knitted, drawn tight together in the center of his forehead, above narrowed, glistening eyes, brimming with three obvious emotions: worry, sympathy, and...
Starts with an L.
Concern.
I said L not C.
Or maybe care?
Close enough, she sighs.
"Went down the wrong pipe?" Maverick asks carefully, like he's interrogating me and wants me to know that whatever I say next, he'll pick apart and examine inch by inch.
"Yeah," I force my voice to stay strong.
Maverick's eyes narrow, like slits. He nods, but I can tell he's seen right through my half truth. He knows there's more behind my coughing fit.
It genuinely scares me how clearly he can see through my facades.
"Whenever you're done having a staring contest, we can talk about Carol -"
"Who?"
"His wife," Maverick replies, nodding at Goose.
Goose hums. "Yep, my woman, my -"
""Mighty fiiiiine woman."" Maverick teases, pulling an uncanny impression of his RIO.
"Disrespectful," Goose scolds. He knocks Maverick upside the head who merely chuckles and goes back to eating.
I laugh at their antics, but redirect the conversation. "So her name's Carol. What's she look like, this 'might fine woman' of yours, Goose?"
"Drop dead gorgeous."
"Lies," I gasp. "No decent looking woman would marry either of you idiots!"
Goose howls like a wounded dog, "Offended!"
Maverick shakes his head and smiles. "It's all true, Stirrups. Seen her plenty of times. She's a beaut."
"So, you'd drop dead for her?" I inquire, lifting my chin high, a teasing smirk drawn across my lips.
Maverick's eyes hold me hostage as he pronounces each word with the conviction of a saint. Every syllable leaves his lips, ripe with meaning. Emotion drips freely from his tongue like honey. I fall into his vibrant green eyes, desperately mopping up every drop as his hypnotic, rich voice reverberates in my ears...
"There's only one woman I'd ever drop dead for..."
The world around me fades. The chorus of aviators' voices dampen into nothing, a gentle hum, like the bubble of a backyard creek. I focus my eyes on Goose, reading his lips as he tells me about Carol coming to visit the base, bringing his son with her. His son? I open my mouth to ask, to accuse him of being a secretive little shit, keeping his freaking family from me, but hardly a squeak comes out. Regretfully, I back down, close my mouth and in lagging movements, eat the rest of my lunch. Even after devouring a whole sandwich, a soggy pile of peas, and dry slice of cake more bready than it is sweet, I can't seem to hear more than a few snippets of Goose's monologue about his wife and child. All I hear is the sickly sweet, velvety voice of the pilot across from me, promising one woman his life.
Who in the Hell that is, I'm not sure...
But even as I think that, my heart lurches, and my RIO snickers.
Really, Stirrups, really?
As we leave the mess hall, Goose and Maverick leading the way to Charlie's lecture, I hang back and mouth as well as mentally chide:
Stop, please...
She hesitates.
...and then, Stirrups?
Yes?
She sighs. I liked it when you said my name.
I suck in a startled breath. Ice. Hundreds of pounds of it crash onto my chest, pinning me to the floor as I drag my feet and breathlessly blurt, I did too.
I love you, Stirrups, you know that.
Tears hide behind my smile. I love you, Vixen.
And suddenly my feet don't feel as heavy.