"So. You any good?"
"Excuse me?"
"Darts. Are you any good at darts?"
"I'm good at lots of things," The brunette replies, stifling a smirk at how the newcomer's smile only seems to grow, a clear sign he is interpreting her remark as a sign of encouragement. She fiddles with the dart held in her hand, leaning back against the counter of the bar while her gaze swivels from the dartboard to the uniformed man still grinning at her for all he's worth.
It's nothing she hasn't seen before. A guy acting like a charming smile and brazen attitude makes taking any woman home a sure thing. And even though she has absolutely no intention of allowing this guy to get anywhere near to success, she has to admit…
It might be fun to see just how far he thinks he can go.
"So uh—that a yes on the darts?"
"What's in it for me, if it is?"
"Maybe a little bet," The man offers, closing the distance between them, the grin he wears shifting to something a bit more self-assured as the woman pushes off of the bar, and straightens with a skeptically raised brow, "You win, I buy your drinks for the rest of the night."
"And if you win?"
"I get to show you what a night out with a real man looks like."
It takes everything Casey has to suppress a snort, because the line is so predictable she honestly doesn't know why it is still in use at all. But still, she elects to play along, offering this guy a better attempt at an eager smile, before offering him the dart she holds in her hand.
"You're on."
"Ladies first."
"Oh no. If you're gonna end up buying me drinks all night, the least I can do is make it look like I'm giving you a fair fight."
A low chuckle greets the quip, and Casey maintains eye contact as fingertips brush against her own when the guy takes the proffered dart, the touch lingering and forcing her to bite the inside of her cheek to restrain another laugh. He clearly thinks he has a victory. That she's either talking a big game with nothing to back it up, or that he'll somehow be able to distract her and gain the upper hand for himself, instead.
A part of her—a very small part, admittedly—almost feels bad for him, knowing he doesn't have a chance. But Casey still knows playing along in this game is far better than the alternative.
It is far better than thinking of what brought her back to this bar in the first place. Thinking of how everything can so easily fall apart once the truth is out in the open for good.
And whether or not it is entirely smart, Casey is more than a little willing to take any chance she can find to temporarily forget what led her here, regardless of any consequences that may come about as a result.
"Wait. One more thing."
"What's that, sweetheart?"
"I make it a point to avoid going up against someone when I don't even know their name," Casey says, tilting her head back just enough to look her would-be competitor in the eye, "Bad manners and all that."
"Jake Seresin."
"Call sign?"
The guy—Jake—laughs, then, walking backwards towards the dartboard and twirling the dart Casey had given him between his fingers. A few others have gathered to watch from the looks of things, and Casey is aware of another, far more familiar figure near the bar taking an interest as well.
She pushes all of that aside, though, focusing instead on the task at hand, her posture straightening as she watches Jake take aim before turning to look her way with yet another self-assured grin.
"Hangman."
"Okay, Hangman. Show me what you've got."
…
"What the hell is she doing?"
"Holding her own."
"Penny—"
"Reminds me of someone else I know," The woman behind the bar persists, placing the case of beer recently procured from the back room on the floor by her feet, and turning to face the pilot seated nearby, "Don't act like she doesn't get this from you."
"I don't recall flirting with my fellow pilots."
"No. You just flirted with nearly every woman who walked through the door."
"And the occasional admiral's daughter."
Penny hides a smile at the comment, and turns back to the case of beer, the steady pickup in business giving her an ample source of distraction that she needs far more than she cares to admit. She hadn't expected to see the man again. Not with how often his assignments seemed to shift. But here he is. Sitting at her bar. Talking to her like nothing had changed.
But everything had changed. It had changed years ago, and Penny had sworn then and there that she wasn't going to let Pete Mitchell reel her in, only to walk away like he always did ever again.
A shout from the direction of the dartboard diverts her attention, and she straightens with two bottles of beer in hand to look towards the source, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she watches her daughter saunter over to the board, plucking a dart straight from the center with a satisfied grin. The pilot she is playing with—Hangman, Penny recalls—is making a show of appearing upset, but the act falls flat almost immediately in favor of an expression that seems to be reluctantly impressed.
Casey is leaning up to whisper something in the pilot's ear, drawing back with mischief sparkling in familiar green eyes. But just as Penny is preparing to holler something of an encouragement, the pilot seated behind her speaks again, effectively regaining her attention whether she truly wants him to or not.
"How long has she been back?"
"Two days."
"She say anything about why she's here?"
"Apparently she was feeling a little homesick."
"Nothing more than that?"
"I didn't push," Penny admits, her expression shifting from mild amusement over her daughter's actions, to something that almost dares the man seated nearby to question her judgment in seconds, flat, "If I did, she would probably just—"
"Leave."
"Another thing she inherited from you, I think."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right," Pete agrees, unable to resist the grin that threatens when Penny's expression shows clear evidence of surprise and satisfaction at the unexpected admission, "You gonna try to get her to stay?"
"Wouldn't you?"
"I think we both know she'd never listen to me if I did."
Penny frowns because she knows that Pete is probably on the right track. If there is anyone Casey will avoid listening to more than her, it would be him.
The two of them are so very similar. Bold. Stubborn. Reckless, but with a heart of gold underneath it all. To be honest, Penny had been dreading the day when Casey would decide to follow in Pete's footsteps. To channel that inherent craving for adrenaline into a career in the Navy.
Fortunately for her and her daughter, however, that day had never come.
Instead, Casey had spent most of her adulthood traveling. Reveling in spur of the moment adventures, and eagerly sharing what they were like whenever she returned home. But something about this return seems different. Instead of seeking to share everything that has happened since the last time she was around, it feels like Casey is trying to avoid full disclosure instead. Like she is more focused on finding a secure landing space, rather than preparing to launch off again because she is usually always existing with one foot halfway out the door.
Penny has no idea if Pete is picking up on that feeling as well, or if she is simply hearing alarm bells that only a mother would recognize.
Regardless, though, she turns to glance at her daughter again, aware of the laugh that shakes Casey's shoulders as she responds to something one of the other pilots—a man with sandy blond hair and glasses—is saying. And even from this distance, she can spot the telltale signs that the expression is not entirely sincere. She can see the way Casey's smile falters, before falling back into place. The way a certain tension lingers between her daughter's shoulders, and makes a home in the curvature of her spine.
Penny is hardly about to push, not wanting to drive her daughter away entirely. But even so, she resolves to keep a careful eye on Casey throughout the night, if for no other reason than to ensure that her attempts at pulling one over on the cocky pilot she is with right now do not go awry.
…
"Looks like I owe you some drinks."
"So it would seem."
"What'll it be?"
"Club soda," Casey deadpans, already anticipating the shock and disappointment that make their way across her companion's features, another laugh escaping in response to his almost immediate protest.
"Seriously? I thought you came here to have a good time."
"Who says I can't have a good time without booze?"
"No one. But you can have a lot more fun with it."
"Maybe I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"No way," Jake disagrees, shaking his head as he steps just a fraction of an inch closer, his eyes traveling the length of Casey's frame for a beat before he meets her gaze head-on, "You don't look the type."
Casey almost manages to reply, but before she can, the sound of the bell beside the bar cuts her off, her eyes widening a bit as she realizes exactly who it is that has just been unwittingly roped into buying a round of drinks for the rest of the patrons inside. She catches the man's eye, and lifts a brow at the unmistakable resignation and wary amusement that is so apparent in his expression. But as soon as she realizes Jake is moving to stand at her side, following the direction of her gaze, Casey looks away, not wanting to broadcast her connection to the man at the bar if she can stand any chance of avoiding it at all.
"Looks like someone just saved you from buying, Hangman."
"Timing is everything."
"Then you might want to get over there before you miss your shot," Casey teases, reaching over to give her companion a nudge in the direction of the bar, and exhaling slowly as he moves off without argument. Her heart leaps into her throat when the door opens, and three more pilots file in, but she relaxes just as quickly when none of them prove to be the one person she is most anxious to see.
Whatever confidence she had when the game of darts first began falters for a moment, but she forces herself to pull her nerves together as best she can, managing another smile as Jake spends only a moment or two at the bar before he is heading her way with a bottle of beer and glass of club soda.
Casey does what she can to keep that smile—the same ease she had been feigning during the entirety of their interaction thus far—in place as she takes the first sip of the soda, and prays with all she has that it will aid in making the nausea that is a near to constant companion go away.
She honestly has no clue what the hell she is supposed to do if it does not.
…
*scuttles in from a dusty, cobweb-laden corner*
Hi there, everyone! And welcome to a new little plot bunny (a very rabid one) that catapulted its way into my life within seconds of watching Top Gun: Maverick over this past weekend with my parents. (Yes…I am behind, since this came out last summer. Oops? Better late than never?) Needless to say, I fell in love with pretty much everything about the movie, the plot bunny went rogue, and after trying to convince my dear friend ChiTown4ever to talk me out of this (and failing ;) )...here we are.
I really do hope at least some of you found something worthwhile here! And I sincerely appreciate each and every single one of you that decided to give it a chance! I hope to be able to crank out another chapter soon, but in the meantime, if you are so moved, I would really love to hear what you think so far!
Until next time, darlings…
MOMM