"Thought she said she wasn't drinking."
"I thought so too."
"Guess that changed."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it did," Pete agrees, the flatness to his tone provoking a sidelong glance from Goose, though his own laser focus never once wavers from Jo. He's just watched her down two shots in rapid succession. Shots he hopes Kazansky didn't actually buy.
It's stupid. He knows it is. The worrying, and something else. Something that feels just a bit like jealousy. Just another notch to add to the rivalry that already runs thick between himself and the other pilot. But he can't seem to shake it. The visceral reaction that grabs him by the throat when Kazansky puts a hand on Jo's waist. When she tilts her head back to laugh at something he says.
Pete can't drag Goose into this. He isn't even sure what this is. And his friend is entirely too preoccupied splitting his own attention between his son, and the pretty redhead that is currently occupied behind the bar.
Something he should at least try to take advantage of, if for no other reason than to distract himself from the instinctive tightening of his jaw when Kazansky pulls Jo just a bit closer and she only seems capable of offering the pilot another smile.
"So. Mickey."
"What about her?" Goose inquires, leaning back against the table they stand beside, clearly trying to feign an air of casual indifference that is only betrayed by the slightest twitch at one corner of his mouth.
"You like her."
"Well, yeah, she seems like a nice—"
"No, Goose. You like her."
"I never said—"
"Didn't have to. The staring said it all for you."
Unable to fully hold back the grin that threatens, Pete is mostly able to suppress the twist in his gut that comes as a result of glimpsing Jo, still dancing with Kazansky, only now with her arms slung around his neck as the current song blaring from the speakers shifts to something a little slower. He tries to ignore it. Tries to pretend he doesn't care that she is still sporting that same, easy smile. A smile that had previously been reserved for him. For her family.
Seeing that same smile leveled at a pilot she barely knows almost threatens to douse his enthusiasm for teasing Goose. Almost. But his friend's suddenly uneasy stance pulls him back from the current direction of his thoughts, particularly when the taller man darts yet another furtive look at the pretty young thing standing behind the bar.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Staring," Pete supplies, trying to ignore exactly how much effort it takes to pull his attention away from Jo, and fix it upon his friend instead, "Why don't you just go over there and ask her out?"
"She's busy, Mav."
"That's never stopped you before."
"I think you mean it's never stopped you," Goose counters, turning to lean against the table beside him after ensuring that Bradley is still completely absorbed in his coloring book, even with Slider as his only company, "And I was not staring."
"Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that."
"I will."
"You know, if you're not careful, you'll miss your moment."
"Who says I haven't seized it already?"
Surprised, to say the least, Pete takes a moment to mull over exactly when Goose might have done such a thing, particularly since the man had been at his side for essentially the entire evening so far. For a moment, he considers the fact that his friend may be joking. Simply pulling his leg, but the look on Goose's face says otherwise.
It is a look that says he actually did do exactly what he claimed, and Pete cannot help but feel a little swell of pride for his friend, even if he wishes he could say it had been the same for him. That he had been the one that pulled Jo into a dance before Kazansky took the opportunity for himself.
"When the hell did you do that?"
"Maybe I asked her to dinner while you were busy scoping out the competition."
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Goose."
"Oh really. Well while you're busy living in the land of denial, I'm gonna go rescue my son before Slider traumatizes him for life."
"Probably a good idea," Pete admits, somewhat startled that he is capable of managing a laugh, even in light of the way he almost wants nothing to do with the act at all. Objectively, he can be happy for his friend. Ecstatic, really, all things considered, because if anyone deserves another shot at happiness, it's Goose.
Still, there's a part of him that wonders if he's been wasting time all along. He wonders if all of his teasing at Goose's expense about settling down with a family so quickly will turn around and bite him in the ass.
He'd convinced himself that he wasn't ready for a family. Not yet. That there was still time. No one was holding a gun to his head and frog-marching him down the aisle. But something about continuing along as he has been for the last who knew how many years suddenly doesn't seem like the best choice, anymore.
Pete still isn't sure if he wants anything more. That his thoughts are the result of anything other than instinct, as opposed to actual, genuine desire. He's still not sure if it's something he even has time for more, all things considered.
Yet somehow, that still doesn't make the idea of missing out any easier to take.
A glance back at Goose shows him rejoining Bradley at the table. Taking over Slider's spot, while the other pilot ventures over to the bar. And even if he knows it will hardly do him any good, Pete allows his attention to drift back to the dance floor. To where Jo is still dancing with Kazansky.
She's laughing again at something he's said. Kazansky is actually smiling. Not a smirk. Not the 'I've got you now, asshole' expression that Pete is so used to seeing after time in the air.
The realization is more than a little discouraging, but Pete does what he can to ignore that particular feeling. Perhaps most especially because Slider is already headed his way, beer in hand.
And there is absolutely no way he is going to let that guy have a clue what is going on inside his head.
Not when he is fairly sure it will make its way straight back to Ice.
…
"Well someone looked like she was havin' a good time!"
"I—no, that was just—we were just dancing."
"Sure wasn't what it looked like from here."
Mickey would have to be a fool to miss Jo's defeated sigh, but she pretends to anyway, if for no other reason than to watch the flush that is spreading across her friend's cheeks grow by the minute. Instinct has her filling a glass with water and ice, because it is more than a little apparent that Jo needs it, all teasing aside.
Just dancing or not, Jo seems flushed. Slightly off center. And it takes all the willpower Mickey possesses to restrain a knowing smile as she hands the glass of water over, and Jo almost immediately moves to take a sip.
"So. Did Prince Charming win you over, yet?"
"Prince Charming?" Jo repeats, one eyebrow cocked in such a way that has Mickey's grin breaking out in full force in next to no time at all, "That's what we're calling him?"
"Seems like it kinda fits, don't you think?"
"Not particularly."
"Uh-huh. Then what's with the blush?" Mickey questions, leaning forward to place both elbows on the bar, while Jo, in turn, takes the movement as leave to bury her own face in her hands, "That's what I thought."
"It's just—I had two shots. That's why I'm flushed."
"Sure it is."
"It is. And then it's—it's insanely warm in here."
"Right."
"You know, you could at least try to sound like you believe me," Jo quips, risking a peek out from behind her hands, and emitting a groan almost as soon as she takes note of her friend's almost sly smile, "It's what a friend would do."
"Really? Because I always thought a real friend would be tellin' you to take that man by the belt loops on those tight little jeans of his, and—"
"Mickey!"
"What? I'm just tellin' it like it is!"
"You're trying to kill me is what you're doing."
"Maybe that'll give your man over there a chance to save ya, then."
Another groan is the only response Mickey receives for the remark, not that she truly expected much different, and while Jo takes another sip of her water, the redhead takes the liberty of risking a glance over to the far side of the bar, where the remainder of the pilots in question are now gathered around the table they seem to have commandeered for their own. Business has slowed down a bit since she first started her shift, at least where the bar itself is concerned, and after several hours already on her feet running back and forth between tables prior to that, it would be a lie to pretend she isn't grateful for the small reprieve.
Even if it isn't giving her the chance to wheedle more detail on exactly what had just transpired from Jo, Mickey would've enjoyed the chance to take a breath. To slow down.
And if her enjoyment comes because of a few more chances to eye one Nick Bradshaw, well, who is she to complain?
Or rather, Nick Bradshaw and his son…
"I'm starting to wonder if I'm not actually the one that needs to be saved."
"Hmm?" Mickey murmurs, tearing her attention away from the little boy who is now leaning against his father's side for long enough to realize that Jo is eyeing her with something not all that far from a knowing smirk of her own.
"You seem to be the one that actually wants to grab someone by the belt loops, here."
"What on earth gave you that idea?"
"Probably the way you haven't stopped casting longing little glances over at Goose ever since I turned up, for a start."
"I haven't—oh honey, no, that's not what—"
"He's nice," Jo persists, seizing rather eagerly on this sudden avenue for a change in the topic of conversation, despite her own attempt at a subtle, sidelong glance that clearly does not go unnoticed by one pilot in particular, despite her efforts to avoid it, "Doesn't seem as cocky as the others. Or like as much of a lady killer, for that matter."
"Jo, I was not givin' him longing glances!"
"Good father. Serious about his career. And he has to be patient if he's put up with Mav for this long—"
"Kinda sounds as though you're tryin' to sell him to me like he's a car right now."
"And it sounds to me like you're protesting just a bit too much to be a simple, uninterested listener."
"I don't—I don't like you, you know that?" Mickey grumbles, feeling her own cheeks beginning to warm as Jo directs a look her way that says in no uncertain terms that her comment was received exactly as intended. As a joke, and nothing more.
"You let me borrow your shirt."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Spend enough time around Pete over there, and you'll learn it actually means quite a lot."
Aware of how Jo's gaze seems to linger on the men they are currently discussing, and suspecting that one, in particular, may hold her friend's attention just a bit more securely than the rest, Mickey suppresses yet another smile, a hand reaching out to snag the mostly empty water glass the other woman had been drinking from to refill it before she has a chance to protest. She'd seen enough of what happened moments ago to pick up on the presence of—something—between Jo, and the tall, blond pilot she cannot seem to tear her gaze from no matter how hard she tries.
And though she still hardly knows the woman sitting across from her, Mickey can't entirely resist the urge to try to get more information on her own.
"What if I offered you a little deal?" She suggests, sliding the water glass back towards Jo, the slightest flickers of intrigue in the brunette's expression proving she already has her answer, despite never once hearing it out loud, "I tell you a little piece of information about something that just happened, and you answer a question that's gonna kill me if I don't get it out in the open."
"A smart person would probably say my answer depends on your piece of information."
"But you're just a little bit on the wrong side of tipsy, and you really wanna throw your friend a bone, here—"
"Oh I am, am I?"
"Definitely. So what's it gonna be? Do we have a deal?"
"I should probably still say no," Jo muses, only halfway serious, though judging by the look on Mickey's face, she is absolutely set against taking any sort of chance at all that the opposite may, in fact, be true.
Something that becomes even more apparent in the way the redhead folds her arms across her chest before saying the one thing that she clearly knows will have Jo backtracking in seconds, flat.
"Well alrighty then. Guess I'll just call Prince Charming over here to convince you otherwise."
"Okay, okay. Fine! We have a deal!"
"That's what I thought," Mickey deadpans, unable to fully hide the satisfaction behind the words, and returning to her former position leaning against the edge of the bar while Jo manages another sip of her drink, "So. My question for you."
"Wait, I have to go first?"
"Are you arguin' with the terms?"
"Not if you're going to use Tom Kazansky against me, I'm not," Jo assures, automatically holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender that clearly proves to be more amusing than anything else, "Shoot, I guess."
"You sure?"
"Do I really have the option not to be?"
"Not really, no."
"Okay then. Go ahead."
"What, exactly, are your intentions for Prince—Tom?" Mickey asks, hastily correcting the nickname she'd chosen as soon as she notices the return of Jo's skeptically raised brow, "Or maybe I should be askin' what his intentions are for you?"
"You're serious right now?"
"As the grave, honey."
"You're asking me what my intentions are. Or what his are."
"Unless those two shots you downed somehow twisted my meanin', yeah, that's what I'm askin'."
"And are you aware you sound like a mom right now?" Jo teases, her own amusement only growing as she takes note of Mickey's answering huff, and the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth that belies an oncoming smile, "I don't think he has any intentions at all, honestly. At least none other than being—"
"Bein' what?"
"Oh I don't know, he just—"
"He's sexy as all get-out?"
"No."
"Wears a pair of jeans like he was born for 'em?"
"Definitely not."
"Could probably get a girl naked with just one look over the rim of those shades?" Mickey presses, unable to resist the laugh that breaks free in response to the barely passable glare Jo gives her in retaliation for all of her joking, "Could he get you naked with just one look—"
"No one is getting anyone naked, Michelle!"
"Is that so?"
The sudden interjection into their conversation forces Mickey to bite down on her lower lip—hard—to restrain any further attempts at laughter, because the look on Jo's face suggests her friend is seriously considering trying to sink into the floorboards beneath the bar. In truth, she'd clocked the pilot's approach somewhere around her own remark regarding his sex appeal, but something had kept her silent.
Something had prevented her from giving Jo any sort of head's up as far as the possibility of him overhearing their conversation was concerned, and now? Now, the way in which the other woman's eyes have widened almost comically while the flush she'd finally evaded renews its fervor against the skin of her cheeks just might be worth the silence.
It's definitely worth it, even if Mickey can already recognize the slight spark of mischief in Jo's eyes as she holds her gaze. Clear proof that her friend's embarrassment is not quite strong enough to render her incapable of answering the pilot's question, even if her response is shakier than she might have liked.
"Does that disappoint you, Tom?"
"Maybe I'm just curious what brought it up in the first place."
"Oh. I—I don't—"
"She was just listenin' to me go on and on about this bartender who works here Thursday nights," Mickey cuts in, aware of how Jo's shoulders almost immediately loosen just a bit in obvious relief, and taking that as her leave to go on, "I mighta let my imagination run wild on me."
"Uh-huh."
"Well you don't sound very convinced."
Mickey can't help but feel at least a glimmer of satisfaction over the slight uptick at one corner of the pilot's mouth, particularly in light of how she takes it as a sign that she might have caught him off guard, even if only by a little. He'd certainly already done that with Jo, and regardless of how much Mickey wants to believe it is a promising confirmation of her suspicion that there is something more between them, she isn't quite prepared to allow that to go unanswered.
She can pick up on the ego Jo mentioned in seconds. Tom Kazansky is nothing if not confident, and apparently that applies to other areas outside of the cockpit of a plane.
Jo's got her own brand of confidence, too, though it comes through in very different ways. And Mickey isn't about to allow one drop dead gorgeous man to undermine that, aviator or not.
"You gonna call a lady a liar?"
"Not when the lady's in charge of making drinks."
"Smart choice, Lieutenant."
"Thought you'd say that."
"Need some refills, then?" Mickey offers, already moving to grab the beverages in response to the pilot's nod, though the task is not enough to distract her from realizing that Tom is turning back to Jo, his taller frame angled closer to her friend than he'd been mere moments before.
"Mitchell says he's leaving."
"Oh. Well I can just—"
"Someone else can get you home if you want to stick around."
"No. No, I—I'm good," Jo insists, already backtracking away from the bar, at least until Mickey holds out a hand to stall her in her tracks.
"Hold on, honey. Let me jot down my number. We can do lunch sometime," The redhead instructs, waving Jo back over as she scribbles a few things on a stray napkin, not the least of which is the previously mentioned little detail that sat at her end of their deal. The fact that Nick Bradshaw had actually asked her out on a date, "And don't worry, I didn't forget what I promised."
Jo's brow furrows for a moment before comprehension dawns, and Mickey offers her friend one final grin as Jo takes the napkin, before turning to walk away, once again leaving Tom Kazansky lingering in her wake. His expression appears unreadable, but Mickey is not blind to how his jaw seems to tighten just a bit as Jo reaches Pete's side.
Before she can fully consider it, she catches herself reaching across the bar to offer the pilot a light squeeze on the arm, and even when he turns to grant her a slightly raised brow, Mickey does not allow it to dissuade her.
Not when she is more certain now, than ever, that Jo is obviously every bit as drawn to this Tom Kazansky as he is to her.
"Better luck next time, honey."
"Yeah. Thanks."
…
"You feeling okay, sweetheart? Seem a little distracted."
The question does not come as much of a surprise, because in spite of her best efforts, Jo has spent the entire day so far hardly capable of anything other than remain entirely lost in her own thoughts. Watching a movie with the kids earlier that morning had been a bust. She hadn't been able to focus on the book she'd been trying to read to save her life.
Absolutely nothing seemed capable of tearing Jo's mind away from the events of the previous evening, and honestly, she is more than a little stunned that her aunt didn't pick up on that sooner.
"Sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," Jo replies, honestly more than a little reluctant to go into detail on the real reason for her seeming inability to remain focused, particularly because she is hardly sure she can explain it to herself, "Really, Aunt Linda, I'm just—"
"Tired?"
"Something like that."
"Does this have anything to do with last night?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Oh, just a lucky guess," Linda shrugs, sliding into the porch seat beside her niece, and allowing her brow to furrow as soon as she realizes Jo never once pulls her gaze from the waves crashing against the beach nearby, "Something with Pete?"
"No. No, it's not—it's not about Pete."
"But something did happen."
"It's not—I don't know. I'm probably just being silly."
"Josephine."
"Mm?"
"Give me one example of any time in your life when you were just being silly."
"The majority of the third grade?"
Linda's laughter seems to be enough to finally drag Jo's attention away from its tenuous grasp on the shoreline resting just a few feet away, and she allows herself a moment to center her thoughts around that lone reality, and nothing else. She still isn't sure she wants to tell her aunt what she's really been thinking. She isn't sure that she can.
It really is stupid. With so many other things to think about—so many other things to do—the fact that Jo cannot seem to drag her mind away from someone she is now almost absolutely certain she should avoid seems ludicrous.
Yet here she is. Still feeling the warmth of his hand against her hip when they danced. The weight of his other hand in her own, while his callouses brushed against her palm. She remembers the slight jolt she'd experienced when she stepped closer to him without fully understanding why. The entire time she'd been with Tom Kazansky, she'd been lightheaded. Off-center in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the two shots she'd consumed without a second thought.
It's terrifying. Jo hates to even think about it, but it's true. She is terrified.
Her teeth begin to dig into her lower lip almost without her own conscious awareness, and that is when Jo realizes that her silence has already stretched on for far longer than she initially thought.
Something her aunt's next words prove in little to no time at all.
"I'm guessing this would be a bad time to mention I spoke to my friend about her son."
"Her—her son?"
"The pilot that wants to take you out to dinner?"
"Oh. Oh, no, it—this isn't a bad time."
"It is if you want someone else to take you out to dinner."
"I don't," Jo denies, wincing because she is almost immediately aware of how the words ring false despite her best efforts to the contrary, "When was—when did he want to go out?"
"Honey, if you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I can just say you changed your mind. Simple as that."
"No. No, I want to—I want to do this."
"Are you sure about that?"
The question lingers in the open air, and Jo tries to provide an immediate answer. She really does. But the longer she sits there, struggling, the more difficult the task becomes.
On the one hand, this guy is just another pilot. Another man who probably sees women as nothing more than conquests. And Jo really doesn't want to consider even attempting to pretend that is something she can go along with, even if he is the son of one of her aunt's close friends.
All of that said, though, if he can offer a distraction—something to keep her mind from venturing back to someone else—maybe giving him a chance will actually be worthwhile.
God, how desperate must she be to actually be thinking about this? Using one man to make herself forget about another?
Does it make her any different from the type of man that she is actively trying to avoid? Is she the same?
Or is she, in fact, even worse?
The answer to that question is something Jo cannot even begin to bring herself to consider, and so she seizes on the next best option, instead. She forces her guilt aside, and tries to offer her aunt a smile, even if the gesture falls short.
Even if her voice shakes just a bit, regardless of whether she wants it to or not.
"I'm—I'm sure. When did he want to go out?"
"Jo," Linda cautions, the understanding that is so apparent in her expression only strengthening her niece's resolve enough to repeat the question yet again.
"When does he want to go out?"
"Tomorrow night, if you're free."
"I'm free."
"Okay then. If you're really sure about this, I'll let her know."
Nodding, Jo manages a slightly more successful smile when her aunt leans over to give her hand a squeeze, before standing and heading back indoors, likely to make the aforementioned call to her friend. And even if Jo is still hardly certain of the choice she's made, she does what she can to put it from her mind.
If only forgetting all about Tom Kazansky could be that simple.
…
Hello my loves! And welcome (finally) to another new chapter! I think it probably goes without saying, but I intended to get a lot farther here than I did, but hopefully that reality isn't too disappointing? Jo and Mickey kind of got away from me in the middle, and rather than add another segment that might make ending the chapter seem rather jarring, I decided to cut things off here. I promise, next time, we'll get to hear more from our favorite aviators (and Ice, in particular), and we'll get to see who it is that ends up taking Jo out! As someone who usually writes maximum angst, I'm more than a little terrified of the idea that this story seems rather boring and drawn out by comparison. But I promise things will start to pick up soon! And thank you all for sticking with me, throughout!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read this story and give it a chance thus far! I appreciate all of you so much more than you know (and this goes doubly for FirstToKnow for putting up with all of my idea pelting!) I truly hope all of you enjoy where the story continues to go from here!
Until next time…
angstytalesrx