"That went well, Iceman. Congrats."
Goose does not actually expect a reply to that, but he can't possibly miss the sharp look he receives in response. Not even in the dim lighting beside the bar. He has to bite back a laugh, because it is more than a little obvious that Ice isn't exactly a man accustomed to not getting what he wants, related to his career or anything else. And a quick look around shows Goose that the apparent target of the other man's interest is, for the moment, at least, no longer on the premises.
Something Pete can clearly see as well, if his own addition to the conversation is anything to go by at all.
"Guess she's not all that impressed by the competition."
"Who said that?"
"She did, Kazansky. Or did you miss the part where she told you to go back to your date?"
"Told you she was a lost cause."
Slider's reappearance is something that Goose honestly should have seen coming. As Kazansky's RIO, it's not exactly like the two wouldn't be joined at the hip. What he doesn't expect, though, is the way Mav seems to see the arrival as a challenge. And Goose is starting to wonder if that challenge might be from more than just the inherent competition to be the best pilot in the sky.
A suspicion that only becomes easier to believe as soon as Pete turns to look Slider in the eye.
"Or maybe she just isn't interested in the two of you."
"She seeing someone?"
"Not sure why that matters," Pete replies, the look he sends Goose as he answers Kazansky's question prompting his friend to blink back surprise, "Since she's not seeing you, I mean."
"She never said no."
"What?"
"Your friend never said no to the drink," Kazansky repeats, the grin he wears unmistakable despite the obvious flare of something not all that far from frustration that flashes in Pete's eyes as a result, "Guess that means it matters."
"Yeah. Not to you."
"Girl isn't a nun, Mav," Slider quips, bumping against Goose's side as he moves to lean against the bar, and popping a few peanuts from the glass dish resting nearby into his mouth along the way, "Someone's gonna get her eventually."
"Maybe we don't bet on Jo like she's got no say in this, huh?"
"Why's that, Goose? Scared your boy here is gonna lose?"
"More like wondering what the hell she'll do if she ever finds out about this."
Goose isn't blind to the appreciative look Pete gives him, but he does what he can to avoid drawing attention to it, knowing that Slider in particular will run with it as soon as he can. In truth he isn't entirely sure how in the hell this entire thing got started, but it sure seems like he can see how it will end…
"Scared of a woman, Mother Goose?"
"Nah, Sli. Just smarter than you, that's all."
"So that's a no on being the judge for our little bet."
"It's a no," Goose confirms, tossing back the rest of his beer, and setting the bottle on top of the bar not long after, "I choose life."
"There's not going to be any bet."
"Right. Because you've already had that 'no' from her, haven't you Mav?"
Even if Goose hadn't known Mav for as long as he had, he would have been able to clock the flash of anger in the pilot's green eyes from a mile away. He would have been able to register the twitch of a muscle against his jawline, in little to no time at all. Kazansky, by contrast, looks every bit the cold, calculating persona that his call sign represents. Like he's zeroed in on his target, ready to take a kill shot without hesitation, and that target is Mav.
Honestly, it would amuse him, if it didn't actually look as though Mav is about seconds away from trying to lay Kazansky out flat.
Not exactly the best way to make a good first impression on the higher ups.
"Alright, well, it's been fun, boys, but we gotta go—"
"Running out already?" Slider questions, the look he shares with Kazansky giving Goose every reason to believe the two are taking his attempt at departure as an admission of defeat. He can feel Mav's tension, reverberating through the point of contact of his hand on the other man's shoulder.
But of course, Mav wouldn't be Mav, if he wasn't attempting to have the last word.
"Maybe I'm just going to buy a pretty girl a drink."
It isn't until the two of them are halfway to the door that Goose decides to call attention to the potential flaw in his friend's statement, the volume of conversation and music in the club all but guaranteeing that there is no chance Ice or Slider will overhear. And even though he honestly thought Pete would be brought up short by the realization, even if only a little, Goose finds himself surprised when all his friend does is offer a far too self-assured smile instead.
"You do realize this whole thing falls apart if Jo comes back inside without you, right?"
"That's just it, Goose," Pete states, offering his companion a slight nudge in the side, and biting back a laugh as Goose's expression only turns more perplexed by the minute.
"I didn't say when I was going to buy her a drink, did I? Just have to do it before Kazansky does."
"I'm not gonna talk you out of this, am I?" Goose asks, already predicting the nature of his friend's answer, though even that isn't entirely enough to negate his surprise at the complete surety evident behind the words, regardless.
And if there had been even a fraction of hope that he could keep this thing from becoming an all out competition both in the classroom and outside of it, it dissolves as soon as Goose catches a look at the determined glint behind his friend's eyes.
"Not a chance."
…
"Jo?"
"Out here."
The call draws Linda's attention to the porch, and she slips outside not long after, the sight of her niece curled up in one of the wicker chairs reading a book provoking a smile. Taking the chair beside her, Linda watches for a moment, while Jo marks her place in the book, and sets it on the small table resting between them.
It shouldn't really come as a surprise that her continued silence would spark Jo's inherent curiosity, one of her eyebrows lifting almost instantaneously before she speaks.
"What?"
"I had a call from your mother this morning," Linda confesses, aware of the soft laugh that shakes Jo's shoulders, because clearly the brunette could have seen this coming from a mile away, "She asked me if you'd met anyone yet."
"Oh?"
"I might've told her you had at least three pilots eating from the palm of your hand."
"They were hardly eating from the palm of my hand, Aunt Linda," Jo disagrees, frowning almost as soon as she recognizes her aunt's somewhat mischievous grin, "But apparently you see it differently?"
"I just think you might have your blinders on, sweetie."
"Blinders."
"It's just that you're so—so sure that no one will be able to accept what you want out of life. So you go into everything expecting it, and I think it makes you miss things."
"Except that you know what Pete Mitchell is like."
"I do."
"I think Slider might actually be worse."
"And the other one?" Linda persists, the slight furrow of Jo's brow giving her every reason to believe at least one of the pilots from the previous evening had rattled her niece every bit as much as she had rattled them, "What did you think of him?"
"He's—cocky."
"Aren't they all?"
"That's not really what I mean," Jo sighs, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, her body angling in the wicker chair to face her aunt, rather than the beach resting just a few feet away, "It's just—they all want the same thing."
"And what might that be?"
"To buy a girl a drink, and then—"
The sentence trails off into nothing, but Jo can tell that her aunt is filling in the blanks with little to no trouble at all, the worried frown she wears causing the younger woman to avert her eyes while her fingers pluck at a stray piece of thread on the fabric of her jeans. Truthfully, she is still more than a little unnerved by her reaction to the pilot in question. By how easy it had been for him to get under her skin. To rattle her.
Leaving Pete out of it because of how long she'd had to grow accustomed to his own tendencies, even Slider hadn't been that difficult to avoid. Jo had turned him down as easy as breathing.
Tom, by contrast, had been something entirely different. And even if Jo tries to tell herself that he probably would only turn out just the same as all the rest, even if it took a little longer for him to prove that fact, she cannot entirely convince herself to believe it.
There is still a part of her that doesn't want to believe it. Because if it's true? If he really is just like the rest?
What room does that leave for hope?
"It's not like it matters, anyway," She says then, forcing herself to look her aunt in the eye, despite the obvious concern she can see in the older woman's gaze, "I mean what are the odds I'll see him again?"
"Do you want to see him again?"
"My mother would probably be over the moon if I said yes, but I—I guess I don't know."
"Well that's better than a no, isn't it?" Linda inquires, one corner of her mouth ticking up in response to Jo's obviously resigned groan, "Which actually brings me around to my next question."
"Which is?"
"What would you say to letting the son of a friend take you out to dinner?"
"Aunt Linda—"
"I've met him a few times. He's solid. Smart. Got a good head on his shoulders."
"Is he a pilot?"
Just a look at her aunt's face is all the answer Jo needs, and she slumps back in the chair with a sigh that is caught somewhere between amused and resigned. She wants to protest. Really, she does, because she can already see at least half a dozen ways for this to go wrong. But she also knows that her aunt is only trying to help. That Linda is attempting to push against her assumptions about men as gently as she can.
Jo doesn't want to consider any other reason why she is reluctant to agree. She doesn't want to believe it might have anything to do with one pilot in particular. Tom Kazansky.
She'd declined his offer for a drink. It really should just end with that.
And like she said. What are the odds she'll ever see him again?
"So he is a pilot."
"There's more to him than that. I promise," Linda assures, reaching across the table between them to offer her niece's hand a gentle squeeze, "But if you aren't interested, I understand."
"Would you—would you absolutely hate me if I said I wasn't interested?"
"Of course I wouldn't hate you, sweetheart. But I'd feel a lot better about the decision if you'd consider telling me why."
Frowning, Jo considers her aunt's request. She considers the idea of divulging any of what happened that pushed her to visit in the first place. She mulls over the distinct possibility that said reason will find its way back to her mother.
As much as she already hates the idea of turning down what had clearly been a genuine offer, the idea of actually lying to her aunt sends a jagged shard of guilt twisting through her gut.
If only that were enough to convince her to actually come clean.
"It's just—I want to spend time with you. Uncle Mike, and the kids."
"You didn't come here to find a man."
"Much to my mother's disappointment—"
"Well you know who to come to if you change your mind. I'll tell my friend you said no, as long as you're sure."
"I am," Jo nods, hoping that the reply will seem at least somewhat sincere, even in spite of the slight twist of uncertainty in her gut, "Taking a step back from all of that—stuff—is probably for the best, anyway."
"I'm not exactly sure that's the best outlook to have, honey."
"It's better than hoping for Prince Charming, right?"
"Okay, that's it. Even if I'm not allowed to set you up on a date, I'm going to find you a romance novel or three to read," Linda teases, squeezing Jo's hand for one final time, and then standing to head back indoors not long after, "Stay here. I think I have a few that haven't already been lost in Mike's attempt at moving everything we don't usually use to the attic."
Unable to resist a laugh, Jo drops her head back against her chair, her eyes sliding closed while a slight breeze rustles against her hair and clothes. It would be a lie to pretend she isn't doubtful of what her decision might entail. Particularly given the lingering fear she feels over the prospect of truly ending up alone. But how can she even attempt to feign interest in whoever this guy is that her aunt wants her to meet, when she would be going into it already preparing for the end?
She can't.
And that is more than enough to tell her that no matter how disappointment may twist painfully inside of her chest, she already made the right choice.
…
Sitting in the same room as the day before, with Slider at his side, Lieutenant Tom Kazansky realizes something he never honestly anticipated.
For the first time in who knows how many years, he is distracted. The laser focus that is usually in full force is simply—gone. Slider has to have noticed. Hell, Viper might even be aware of it by now.
Still, he cannot seem to pull his thoughts away from the bar last night. From the woman he had tried—and failed, apparently—to win over. Josephine. Jo. Their instructor's damn niece. He'd spent so much time accustomed to women practically playing right into his hands that the idea of one of them not being impacted at all by the effort is honestly ludicrous.
And somehow, Jo's refusal to give in only makes him want her that much more.
Women at the club were usually easy to navigate. The woman he'd been with prior to Jo's arrival certainly proved that in spades. But in contrast to that woman's desperation—her eagerness to please—Jo had been the opposite.
All of the tricks that usually worked, hadn't. Or at least they hadn't seemed to, the only hint that he might have been getting somewhere being a slight flush on her cheeks once his aviators were removed and he could look Jo in the eye.
Blue eyes. Dark hair. Sun-kissed skin, and a smile that was nearly blinding. Tom can't get a single bit of it out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.
Still, he had been determined to prevent his observation of her features to allow her to gain the upper hand with distraction. That simply isn't his style. He'd been rather satisfied that it hadn't been until Jo had snagged Mitchell's shot and downed it in one go that all the blood in his veins had rushed straight below the belt.
But if he's not careful, the same thing is only likely to happen again.
Here. In the damn orientation room. With her uncle a few short steps away.
"Pull it together, Kazansky—"
It is difficult. Far more so than Tom is truly comfortable with admitting, and a part of him is beginning to wonder if he is losing his touch. It isn't something he ever would have expected. Especially not because of a woman.
The thought is finally enough to drag him completely back to the present, a sidelong glance at Slider giving him every reason to believe his wandering thoughts have definitely not escaped notice. And he would curse himself for that, but for the fact that a vaguely familiar blonde is now walking towards the front of the room.
"Isn't that the woman Mitchell was—"
Slider's question trails off, because it is suddenly more than a little obvious the answer is a resounding yes. Mitchell is sinking down in his seat, leaning towards Goose as though he can offer some form of escape.
Suddenly, the idea of Maverick's discomfort is far more alluring than any continued thoughts of his own distraction. And Tom seizes on that with everything he has.
He seizes on it because it means Mitchell is going to be thrown off-kilter. Just as much, if not more than he is, himself. The blonde woman—Charlie—is, for the moment, at least, seemingly unaware that the man who had hassled her less than twenty-four hours ago is in this room.
A smile pulls at the corners of Tom's mouth as he shifts a bit, and his fingers almost immediately fall to the task of spinning a pen between them. Another glance at Mitchell shows the man now wearing aviators, an extra effort at masking his face.
For a minute, Tom catches himself wondering if the half-assed attempts will actually work. But just as quickly, the blonde woman is distracted by the hushed conversation Mitchell seems to be having with Goose, whatever she had been saying falling off into nothing as she addresses the dark-haired pilot, instead.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant. Is there something wrong?"
"Yes ma'am. The data on the MiG is inaccurate."
A roll of the eyes is all Tom can manage in response to that, a sentiment he clearly shares with Slider if the snort he gives is any indication at all. But Maverick's show-boating is only proving what he suspected all along.
Mitchell really is distracted. Off his game, even if he is making quite the effort to appear otherwise.
If nothing else, Tom can use that to his advantage. If he can get his own wayward thoughts under control and keep them there, the odds will be firmly on his side.
In the end that is all that should matter. The pretty girl at the bar will simply have to wait.
And there is always plenty of time after training to allow distraction to take over yet again.
…
"Jo?"
"Hmm?"
"Someone's at the door for you."
"I don't—I'm not expecting anyone."
"Well he's kinda cute, so if you don't want to talk to him, I will."
Confused, to say the least, Jo dries her hands on a dish towel before handing it to her cousin so the younger girl can take over cleaning up after dinner. Her brow furrows, because her heart is suddenly pounding against her ribs. She cannot explain it, but it is absolutely impossible to ignore.
For a moment, she wonders if it could somehow be the pilot from the club. She isn't exactly sure how access to personal files is handled. It seems unlikely that a lieutenant would be able to find a commanding officer's address.
Still, the thought kicks her heartrate up another few notches without her consent. And Jo slips into the foyer while simultaneously wiping her suddenly sweaty palms against her shirt, praying that there isn't anything from dinner or doing dishes smudged on her clothes, or her face while she opens the door, muttering under her breath the entire way.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid, pull yourself together, Jo—"
"Hey, Jojo."
"I—oh," Jo stammers, blinking back surprise, because she can sense almost immediately that Pete has picked up on her lackluster reception in next to no time at all, "Sorry, I um—what are you—"
"What am I doing here?"
"Yeah."
"Trying to take a girl out. But it looks like that girl might've been expecting someone else."
"What? No! No, I—well technically I wasn't expecting anyone."
"You know, you're cute when you're all flustered," Pete admits, a laugh escaping as Jo's mouth drops open in response to the obviously unexpected words, "So? You gonna let me do it?"
"Do—do what?"
"Are you gonna let me take you out?"
Shaking her head, Jo tries to force herself past her shock. Past the strange sensation in her gut that might not be all that far from disappointment, because she adores Pete more than words. She always has. And it makes sense that it is him, standing on the porch. It makes sense because of course the other pilot—Tom—couldn't possibly know where she is staying.
She shouldn't want him to. She shouldn't be feeling any of this at all.
And unlike Tom Kazansky, her friend is standing right in front of her, his amused grin fading because Jo still isn't speaking.
"Stupid, stupid stupid, Jo, pull yourself together already!"
"Not the club."
"What?"
"If you're taking me out, can we just not go to the club?" Jo clarifies, forcing a smile in hopes of hiding the slight tremor behind the words, though it seems to be largely wasted, judging by the look on Pete's face, "What?"
"Why can't we go to the club?"
"No reason, I just—"
"You just what?"
"There's too many pilots there."
"I'm a pilot, Jojo, did you forget?" Pete laughs, the sharp look Jo gives him in response to the comment proving to be slightly reassuring, even though he can still tell something isn't quite right, "Seriously. Why not the club?"
"If you're looking for another round with that blonde from last night, maybe you should just go by yourself."
"The blonde is a civilian contractor."
"What?"
"Yeah. Not uh—not one of my finer moments, I guess."
"Oh my—wow," Jo breathes, a hand lifting to cover her mouth because in spite of herself, the revelation has laughter bubbling up before she can stop it, "Wow, Pete."
"Laughing at me. That's—that's nice."
"No. No, that's not what I'm doing. I just—this is a consolation outing, isn't it?"
"It might be," Pete shrugs, cocking his head to the side to take in Jo's amusement—how it shines in her eyes and seems to light up her skin from the inside out, "So what's it gonna be? Are you in or out?"
"No club."
"Okay. No club."
"And you're buying."
"Well, we'll see about that."
"Want me to drive?" Jo suggests, already predicting Pete's answer, just from the eye-roll he gives her on its own, "It's just a thought."
"You prefer the bike and you know it."
Sighing, Jo has to admit that he's right. That there's a certain freedom inherent in it all that she's always enjoyed. Pete knows it. He's always known it, and it isn't exactly a secret that he loves finding any chance he can get to poke fun at her for it as well.
A part of her hates the idea of giving Pete even the smallest hints of a win, but even with that in the back of her mind, Jo can't completely resist.
Not even if she could have clocked the smirk he gives her from a mile away.
"I'll go get my purse."
…
Well hello there, darlings! And welcome to another new chapter! I'm so, so excited to see what you all think of this, since I had maybe a little too much fun re-reading all of Jo's musings over Tom, and his musings over her, tweaking bits here and there along the way. And I hope that even if it's only a bit different than the initial posting, you're still all along for the ride! More changes are on the way in coming chapters! I promise it will all make sense soon!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! I am so very grateful for your kindness, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the last!
Until next time, dolls!
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