The Left Side of Perfect

  * * *

  “Seriously, the best donuts ever.” I wipe the grease off my fingers and pat my belly, my sweatshirt-covered belly. Like the good man he is, Colby bought me a Pikes Peak sweatshirt, and I bought him one of the visitor center’s world-famous donuts.

  The donuts are regular cake donuts, but there must be something about the altitude that makes them so damn good because if you take them home, they’re not nearly as good as they are at the top of the mountain. It’s a tradition to get one whenever you’re at the top of Pikes Peak. Today was no exception.

  “They’re all right.”

  I’m mid-wipe when I pause and lean closer to him. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve had better.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe.” He picks up a napkin and wipes the corner of my mouth with it before crumbling it up. “You had mushed-up donut on your lips.”

  “For how long?”

  “Five minutes at least.” He laughs.

  I shake my head. “And it took you this long to do something about it? Wow, great friend you are.” I gather our trash and take it to the garbage can where I deposit it, Colby hot on my heels.

  “I was hoping you’d lick it away, but every time your tongue went the opposite direction, I knew I’d have to do something.” He was watching my tongue?

  “Well, thank God you finally stepped up.”

  I lead us toward the exit with one thing in mind, the outlook.

  The sky is completely clear today, giving us the perfect view of Colorado Springs from over fourteen thousand feet.

  I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve been on the top of this mountain many times, too many times to count. And yet, no matter what, I’m still in awe when I step up to the fence of the outlook and take in the view.

  Mountain range after mountain range is below us, the peaks resembling waves, and I’m reminded how lucky I am to live here. The natural beauty of the state is incredible, and the climate is amazing.

  I wish I felt like I belonged here—like there was more for me here—instead of the constant empty feeling in my heart.

  “Hard to imagine we grew up here and never ran into each other. Any of us for that matter, and yet we’re all connected somehow.” Colby grips the fence and stares out toward the mountains, a contemplative expression on his face.

  “I know. I wonder if you and I were ever on top of this mountain together before without knowing it.”

  Growing sober, he shakes his head. “Probably not. I didn’t do a lot as a kid. I really didn’t get to the top of Pikes Peak until I was at the Academy and Stryder dragged me along with him, Hardie, and Joey.”

  Duh, I should have known that. Rory told me about Colby’s troubled childhood and the horrible pain he lived through.

  I remember what she told me so vividly, because I remember thinking, it almost felt too close to home for me.

  Instead of responding, I keep my gaze focused on the mountains. We stand there for a while, not letting any words pass through us but letting the silence speak for itself. Families and couples pass by, taking pictures, laughing, and talking about the souvenirs they bought from the shop. Mugs, T-shirts, stuffed animals, and of course, the donuts.

  It’s moments like these that I remember what a touristy town Colorado Springs is. So many tourist attractions that bring people from around the world to our city, and I don’t blame them. Looking out toward these mountains, they give you a new perspective on life, reminding you that there is so much more out there in the world than what exists in your small block radius.

  “I could stay up here all day,” I admit, pulling my hair to one side.

  “Me too. It actually reminds me of being in my jet. The calm, the peace, the scenery. It puts me at ease.”

  “Is flying everything you’ve ever dreamed of?”

  “And more,” he answers quickly.

  “So you’re happy?”

  Colby and I have never been friends as such. He’s kept his distance, understandably. So, as he drapes his arm over my shoulder and pulls me in close to his side and says, “Yeah, I’m happy,” I feel a little wobbly.

  This man? I like him.

  Chapter Six

  COLBY

  “You’re right, this is so much better than eating at the restaurant.”

  Ryan is sitting on my hotel bed, wearing the skimpiest set of pajamas I’ve ever seen and is licking salsa off her fingers.

  After being asked to make our way down the mountain by the staff of Pikes Peak, we decided to stop and get some Mexican food from one of my favorite places in the Springs, Salsa Brava. I suggested we take it back to the hotel so we could watch a movie and relax.

  Why I’m hanging out with Ryan, all day, I have no clue, but I like it. She’s fun and good company. When I booked my ticket for Stryder’s wedding, I thought maybe I would spend the Sunday after their wedding with them, but boy, was I wrong. They took off for their honeymoon to Bermuda right away, which left me here in the Springs with no one to visit.

  The afternoon started off on a rough note, but thankfully Ryan spoke her mind and called me out on my shit. I would have been stewing all day, otherwise.

  I didn’t understand what was taking her so damn long in the bathroom, and when I saw her step out, looking fine as fuck, I got a sick feeling in my stomach.

  I can’t look at her that way.

  Not because she’s my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. It doesn’t matter given who my ex-girlfriend is married to now, but I know about Ryan’s dating history. It’s shit. She’s gone through man after man, never able to find someone who deserves her. They’ve all been idiots, real losers in my opinion, at least the ones I’ve known of. And although I knew there was no chance Ryan saw me as a possible new boyfriend, it still startled me how long she’d taken to get ready for our day out. I had no point of reference, and therefore jumped to the most stupid assumption: she’d made the effort for me.

  I freaked out and took it out on her, because that’s what I do.

  I’m not as emotionally stable as I wish I was. It’s something I’m aware of and something I’m working on.

  But now we’re back in my hotel room and Ryan is comfortable in her little pajama set, I’m starting to think this was a bad idea again. I don’t think she’s going to do anything, but I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off her body.

  I really need to fuck when I get home. Bent and the boys go out every weekend, and I’m going to follow their lead and find someone to hook up with, because I’m fucking hard up right now. Talk about blue balls.

  Ryan pops open a takeout box and stares at her quesadilla. “There is no way I’ll be able to eat all of this.”

  I pull a slice from her box and say, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

  “Hey, I didn’t even get a chance to take a bite.”

  “Call it payback for stealing my steak last night.”

  She chuckles. “I didn’t steal it. You were sharing.”

  “Funny thing about sharing. The person sharing actually has to want to participate in the sharing in order for it to be considered sharing.”

  “You said sharing way too many times.”

  “To prove a point.”

  I scoop a chip full of salsa and plop it in my mouth right before I open my to-go box of steak enchiladas. “I can’t remember the last time I had Salsa Brava. I might embarrass myself as I devour all of this.”

  “Have at it. Who am I to stop a man from making love to his enchiladas?”

  I pat her knee, her soft knee, and say, “You’re a good woman.”

  “What kind of food do you have out there in Las Vegas?”

  “Me personally, or the state?”

  She takes a big bite of quesadilla and talks with her mouth full. “Both.”

  I wipe my mouth with my napkin and say, “Well, normally I eat proteins and vegetables. I’m pretty damn good at grilling. Granted, Bent had to teach me, but I picked it up quickly.”

  ?
??Bent is in your squadron, right?”

  I nod. “Squadron leader. I would say he’s my closest friend there. Colt and Rowdy are loud and obnoxious, where we’re more reserved.”

  “Bent, is that his real name?”

  “Call sign.”

  She nods. “It’s hot. What’s your call sign?”

  “Flyer.”

  “Let me guess, because you’ve always wanted to fly?”

  I take another bite of my enchiladas and smile. “Yep.”

  “It’s a shame no one gave you a ridiculous name like Tea Bag.” She presses her hand against her ear and says in a deep voice, “Tea Bag, coming in. This is Tea Bag, round up all the hot water you can find because I’m ready to steep.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and takes a sip from her water bottle.

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Thank fuck I wasn’t named Tea Bag, because that was the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She softly bows. “So what about the food out there . . . not the rabbit food you eat in order to maintain that physique of yours.”

  My ears heat from her semi-compliment. I know what it takes to not only be a fighter pilot, but to maintain the kind of body I have. I’ve only gotten stronger and more defined since I graduated from the Academy. Bulking up and shredding. Can’t complain.

  “Las Vegas has everything. I can’t pinpoint a particular cuisine. Unless huge portions count.

  “Mmm, I love huge portions and pretty much anything that has carbs in it. It’s my downfall.” She pops another chip in her mouth.

  “I like candy,” I candidly admit.

  She lifts her head and examines me. “Really? Could have fooled me.”

  “I didn’t say I eat it often, but when I do, it’s a binge.”

  “Yeah? What’s your sin of choice?”

  Wiping my mouth again, I don’t hesitate when I say, “Kit Kat bites. I can down an entire bag in a minute. They’re dangerous.”

  “Huh.” She nods. “Never expected you to say Kit Kat. You look more like a Reese’s man to me.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, Kit Kat all the way.

  * * *

  “Why are you here again?” I ask Ryan who is getting under the blankets of my hotel bed.

  “Because I didn’t want to go home. Figured you’d want some company as well since you’re here by yourself.”

  I was surprised when she changed into her pajamas, claiming we’re having another sleepover. I was too worn out to even bother arguing with her, and to be honest, I don’t mind the company. It’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t have a dick for a change, especially when they smell as good as Ryan.

  “What’s it like?” she asks, turning to her side to face me. Food has been set aside and now we’re settled on the bed, watching mindless TV.

  “What’s what like?” I keep my body above the sheets. I’m still wearing my jeans and T-shirt from today. I didn’t bring pajamas with me, as I didn’t think I would need them.

  “Flying.” She shifts and puts both hands under her cheek. “In my mind, it’s magical, kind of like you’re floating through the sky where no one can touch you.”

  “Floating is definitely not the right word. Maybe if I was in a glider, but not in a Raptor.”

  “Ooo, is that what you fly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have a picture of your plane?” I look away, feeling embarrassed. A picture. I must have a least a thousand. Call it an obsession. Playfully she pokes my side. “You do, don’t you? You have a picture.”

  “I have a few.”

  “Let me see.” She sits up and scoots closer. “Don’t be shy.”

  Rolling my eyes, I pull my phone from my front pocket and unlock it, turning the screen away. She doesn’t need to know how many pictures I have of my plane. I find a good one and turn the screen toward her.

  Now this is something I’ll never understand, why people find it necessary to not only take your phone in their hands, but to scroll through your pictures without asking. Ryan is totally one of those people, and I should have known.

  “Oh wow, look at this monster.” She glances at me. “You have a lot of pictures.”

  Yeah. It’s my plane.

  “Oh, I like this one.” She turns the phone toward me. A picture of me saluting the tactical aircraft maintenance crew before I make my way to the runway is on the screen, one of my favorite pictures as well. “You look comfortable, like you were meant to be in that position your whole life.”

  “Thanks.” She hands me back my phone where I place it on the nightstand.

  “So you love it? Was it everything you dreamt it would be?”

  “Yeah. It’s more than I expected.” I lean my head against the headboard. “We flew at the Academy, but it was nothing like what I do now. There is so much more knowledge that rolls around in your head. You have to constantly be aware and focused. It’s a challenge, one that keeps my mind sharp.”

  “Have you ever bombed anything?”

  I press my lips together and give her a look.

  She holds up her hand. “Sorry I asked.” She’s silent for a second but then asks, “Do you ever regret parts of your job?”

  I think about that for a second. Do I regret anything? Not really. My only regret is that my grandpa didn’t get to see me fly, that he never came to the airfield and watched me do my thing, the same thing we talked about so many years ago.

  “No, not really. If I think about it too much, I’m not doing my job. I’m given a mission, I execute the mission, then I move on. I can’t think about every detail that doesn’t directly pertain to me, because I signed up to be a fighter pilot for the United States Air Force, to protect and serve my country.”

  Eyes unreadable, she gives me a questioning look before saying, “That’s pretty hot, that little spiel.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Shaking my head, I turn back to the TV and flip through the channels.

  “I’m serious, is that how you pick up all the ladies?”

  Ladies?

  “No.”

  “Really? Because I bet you could get a handful to line up just from saying that.” Cooking show, no thanks. Ghost hunting show, I’ll pass. “What’s your move?”

  “What?” I lull my head to the side to give her my attention.

  “Your move. What do you do to score the ladies?”

  I turn back to the TV and continue flipping. “I don’t have a move.”

  “Come on, you’ve got to have some kind of technique.”

  “Nope.”

  Silence.

  But I can feel her studying me. Those blue eyes burning a hole straight through me, raking up and down my body until . . .

  “Ohhhh, I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  She motions with her perfectly painted nail at my body. “This is your move.”

  I scan my body, taking in my jeans and plain black T-shirt and then look back at her. “What is my move?” I’m so confused.

  “The short answers, the broody attitude, the dark and mysterious vibe.” She starts clapping her hands. “Well done, Colby Brooks, well done.”

  I push her hands down to cease the clapping. “That is not my move.”

  Reaching to her nightstand, she takes a sip of her bottled water and nods, “Oh, that is so your move.”

  * * *

  “Why is there nothing to watch on TV?” I toss the remote to the side and slouch on the bed. After almost half an hour of flipping through the channels and finding nothing worth my interest, I give up.

  “Finally, you give up.” She takes the remote and opens up the guide. “Let’s watch a movie.”

  “It’s nine o’clock.”

  I regret the words the minute they fall out of my mouth, because Ryan is turning toward me, propping up her body on one arm, a disgusted look on her face. “Okay, old man. Are you going to turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of twelve?”

  “No, I was . . . just making an observation.”

&nbs
p; “It’s not too late for a movie.”

  “I have an early flight,” I counter.

  Shifting on the bed, she crosses her legs, her knee touching my thigh. “You’ll be fine. We’ll find a short one. What are you into?”

  I’m about to answer when she says, “Ohhh, porn!”

  “No.”

  “Oh, we are so watching porn.”

  I turn toward her and try to grab the remote. “We are not watching porn.” Fuck. No. Not with my case of Ryan-induced blue balls.

  She holds the remote out to the side, out of my reach . . . unless I want to climb across her barely covered body.

  “Ryan,” I say sternly, which seems to have no effect on her, because she laughs.

  “What’s the big deal? It’s just porn.”

  What’s the big deal? The big deal is I’ve been trying to keep my head forward for the past couple hours, avoiding Ryan’s pebbled, braless nipples pressing against her thin tank top. I’ve tried to keep my mind off anything about sex, because I’m bordering dangerous territories here.

  I’m horny as fuck.

  Ryan is sexy as sin.

  And I’m trying not to get a hard-on sitting here watching regular TV, let alone porn. There is no way I’ll be able to make it through that.

  But how do I answer her? I don’t want to watch porn because it will turn me on even more, resulting in me having to take another ice-cold shower?

  Not a conversation I want to have.

  “Oh look, an office romance. Bet they do it on the boss’s desk.”

  “Ryan,” I warn, not really sure what I’m going to do.

  “Not into office porn? Okay, let’s see if we can find something you do like.” She starts scrolling through all the options as I squeeze my eyes shut, hating every moment of this.

  “Why do you want to watch porn?”

  “Because it’s fun,” she answers easily. “Don’t even lie to me and tell me you don’t watch porn. Every guy does.”