I turned my attention back to the weights, anxious to lose myself in the burn. “No deal, just watching out for her.”

“Or just plain watching her.”

My eyes shot up to his in clear warning.

“Hey, I’m not judging. Sam is gorgeous, and funny, and…damn.” He took a long drink while he watched her lean across the counter to clean it.

“What the hell would you know about Sam?” My fingers dug into the dumbbells.

He raised an eyebrow. “Feeling touchy? I spent some time with her at the barbecue while you were home doing…whatever it is you do when you go home. She’s a firecracker.”

My veins ran thick with something hot that tasted a lot like a jealousy I had no right to. “No. Just… No, Carter.”

The West Point prick had the nerve to grin at me. “Oh, this is going to be fun. You scared you’ll be second choice this time?”

“She is not a game.” I leveled him with a glare, and he leaned back.

“Relax. I have no intentions of fighting over a girl ever again.” He sighed. “Ever.” He took another drink and eyed Sam. “Besides, she’s the first person I’ve seen get under your skin in the year I’ve known you, Masters, and that’s saying something.” He looked back at me and waited for a response.

“We’re not having a moment, Carter. This”—I motioned between us—“is not happening.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Someone needs to warn her what an asshole you really are.”

Grace’s face sprang to mind, not like I’d seen her this weekend but before it happened. Her smiles, laughs, the way she’d slide over in the Mustang to lay her head on my shoulder. Then…after. The way she’d looked through me when I’d held her…when she’d stopped seeing me.

I took a deep breath and let the pain sweep across me, scalding a well-beaten path. I’d learned long ago that pushing it away only made it come back with a vengeance. Then I glanced over to where Sam leaned over a book with Avery and laughed at something. “Yeah, someone really should warn her.”

If I were half the man I should have been, I would have.

“Welcome to the AH-64 course. I’m Mr. Wolfton, and I’ll be your academics instructor.”

The Wednesday morning light streamed through the windows, reflecting off the shiny surface of the tablet in front of me as the other pilots filed in. There were thirty of us in this class. Statistically speaking, that many of us wouldn’t graduate.

“First rule in my class is to turn off your cell phones. I hear it go off, and you owe two dozen donuts the next morning. No exceptions, because it’s rude to distract your classmates”—he smiled, his graying eyebrows shooting up—“and because I really like donuts. You’ll all note that you have tablets in front of you that will serve as your pubs.”

“Hey, Masters,” Jagger whispered next to me.

I slid my eyes sideways at him.

“This”—he pointed to the power switch—“turns it on. You know, in case you wanted to have a prayer of beating me for top of the class.” He finished with a cocky grin.

“Funny, I remember kicking your ass in Primary,” I remarked without taking my eyes off the instructor.

Jagger laughed under his breath. “It’s a new ballgame.”

I swallowed. I needed to be top of the Order of Merit List for two reasons. The first was to get top choice of duty stations after we graduated. Fort Bragg was only five hours away from home. I could make the drive every weekend instead of the once or twice I made it home a month right now. What the hell was I going to do if I got stuck all the way across the country, somewhere like Lewis, or worse, Korea?

But what was my life going to look like if I succeeded and wound up at Bragg?

A sour taste filled my mouth. I washed it away with the Powerade I’d brought to class and tuned back in to the instructor. I wrote down the dates he listed, trying hard not to think about the second reason I needed to graduate at the top of the OML—so no one would look too closely at me.

But I could do this. I just had to study my ass off and use the gym to keep my brain focused. No distractions. No extras. I made it through Primary, and I could make it through the Apache course as long as I worked twice as hard as every other pilot here.

“As you know, on Friday you’ll take your first 5&9 test. If you don’t pass, it will also be your last.” He leveled us all with the I’m-not-fucking-around glare. “You. Will. Pass.”

“Good thing Gandalf isn’t teaching,” Jagger muttered. “You shall not pass!”

“Shut up, or trade seats,” I answered. “Unless you’re going to let me borrow that uncanny memory of yours.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Someone’s on her cycle.”

The instructor made it easy to ignore him.

“Once your academics are over this week, and your 5&9 test is perfect, you’ll head to the flight line on Monday to meet your instructor pilots.”

He walked us through our tablets and the general course requirements. Now death-by-Powerpoint was handheld, but it cut down on the amount of writing I needed to do, so I was all for it. My brain fumbled a few times, but I fought through it.

By two p.m. I felt like mush, trying to store the incredible amount of information that had been dumped on me.

“We’re going to end our day early here”—Thank God—“but there’s one last thing.” Fuck. “Turn to the man next to you and introduce yourself.”




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