The Duets Page 2

  And I can’t fucking wait.

  Growing serious, Stryder rubs the back of his neck, strained and irritated by a simple request from his best friend. From the tension in his forearm, the pulse in his jaw, I have a feeling I’m not going to like what he says next. “Colby, you’re my boy, the one guy I survived this military life with, the life I didn’t necessarily want but was forced to have. I’m not sure what life will be like for me after graduation, and fuck, if I don’t make flight school, my life will be a hell of a lot worse. I need this time with you. These last few months are going to fly by, and before you know it, we’ll go our separate ways. I don’t want to pull the dick card, but I might.”

  “The dick card?” I raise an eyebrow in his direction.

  He smirks, and the tilt of his lips indicates the dick card is most likely going to change my mind. “I kind of gave you a place to stay so you didn’t have to go home and deal with Ted the Dickhead.”

  Yup, he’s pulling the dick card, and with such good timing.

  “Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Without me, who knows how many visits you would have had to endure?” He chuckles to himself, knowing he has me backed into a corner. “I’ve never asked you for anything.”

  “Not true.”

  “Tutoring doesn’t count.” He points his finger at me. “That’s your military duty, to help out a fellow cadet.” Chucking one of my socks at me, he says, “Come on, Colby. For once since you’ve put on that uniform, have a little outside fun with me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Thought goes into his answer, his gaze toward the ceiling. I know the moment he thinks of a good answer, because a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Christ, this is going to be my downfall.

  “If you don’t do it. I’ll tell my dad you want to hear about his ABCs for excellence in the Air Force again.”

  Oh fuck.

  I’m all about the Air Force and the traditions and heritage, but Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard’s standards for being in the Air Force are mind-numbingly boring, and so is the PowerPoint that goes with it. The first Thanksgiving break I spent with Stryder and his family, Lt. Colonel Sheppard sat us down the first night, propped up the projector screen, and went through a fifty-two-page PowerPoint presentation that we were quizzed about afterward. His reasoning? Trying to keep our minds sharp and knowledgeable.

  I’d rather jump out of an airplane without a parachute than sit through another one of his presentations.

  Shaking my head, I untuck my shirt. “You’re such an asshole.”

  Jumping off the bed, Stryder claps his hands obnoxiously. “You’re not going to regret this.” Taking my hand in his, he gives me a half-hug, clapping me on the back, and then motions to my clothes. “Get the fuck out of your ABUs, put on something decent, and be ready by six tonight. You’re not going to regret this.”

  Why do I have this heavy feeling inside me that I will?

  Chapter Two

  RORY

  Ryan: Are you home?

  Rory: Just got home from work. You on your way over?

  Ryan: Yes and I have salads!

  Rory: Oh yay, just what I want. <-- That’s sarcasm.

  Ryan: Kidding. I have pancakes. See you soon.

  Flopping down on my king-size bed, the monstrosity that takes up almost half my studio apartment, I remove the ponytail holder from my hair and fling it across the room to my small vanity set. Staring up at the cracked ten-foot ceilings of my tiny apartment, I let out a long, heavy breath.

  What a day.

  The gym is sucking me dry when it comes to teaching classes. Four. I taught four today. Don’t get me wrong. I love teaching and get great joy out of it, but combined with my part-time hours at the massage studio, I’m wiped out and ready for a little break.

  Thankfully I have tomorrow off. And guess what I’ll be doing? Sleeping. Yes . . . sleeping! Oh man, I’m going to sleep so hard.

  The door to my apartment flies open and Ryan, my best friend, comes barreling in, her hair a wild mess from the wind outside, and her cheeks a cherry red from the cold Colorado air wafting down from the snow-capped mountains.

  Donkey-kicking the door shut behind her, she flings her hair to the side and jumps onto my bed, holding a plastic bag in front of her. Crossing her legs, she lets out a little breath and says, “Derick gave us free bacon.”

  “Did you flirt with him to get said free bacon?” I dip my hand into the bag and pull out the warm containers.

  Ryan and I both live in Manitou Springs, a small town that sits at the base of the mountains right outside Colorado Springs. It’s touristy, cute during the summer, and houses two main attractions for the area: the Pikes Peak Cog Railway that takes you up Pikes Peak—a fourteen-thousand-foot mountain, and the Incline—a one-mile hiking trail straight up the side of a mountain. Pure torture, if you’re into that kind of thing . . . like I am.

  Living in Manitou has its pluses and minuses. One of the minuses being our restaurant choices are slim pickings given the small Main Street strip filled with an eclectic combination of gift shops and little Mom and Pop restaurants. On the plus side though, we have Uncle Sam’s Pancake House with the world’s best pancakes and a manager who likes to be flirted with. Flirt with Derick and you’re bound to get free bacon.

  “Of course I flirted with Derick. And guess what he told me while I was flirting?”

  “That next time we come in, we can get free biscuits?” I pop open one of the recyclable takeout boxes and close my eyes as a wave of pancake goodness and butter hits me square in the nose. It’s not very often I allow myself to indulge in pancakes.

  Well, maybe once a week. But the rest of the week I eat like a rabbit. So pancake night is cherished.

  “No free biscuits, but I can ask next time.” Ryan hands me three syrup packets and starts to open her own, drizzling the yumminess all over the fluffy, buttermilk pancakes in her box. “Do you remember Tom from high school?”

  Mouth full of heavenly pancake, I think back three years to high school. “Tom, uh, does he have a last name?”

  “I can’t remember it, but Tom with the log house.”

  “Oh, rich Tom with the log house.”

  Ryan points her syrup-covered fork at me. “Yes, rich Tom. He’s having a party at his log house in Woodland Park tonight.”

  Uh-oh, I think I know where this is going.

  “Uh-huh.” I give her a pointed look. Ryan knows tomorrow is my day off, and she knows how much I cherish my day off because I don’t get many. She knows my days off usually consist of lying around in bed watching movies on my iPad, and ignoring the world, well . . . most of the world. There is one phone call I will always pick up, one fire I will always put out, one person I’ll drop everything for.

  Shyly, Ryan looks up through her eyelashes and bites her bottom lip. Is she . . . trying to flirt with me? I know that look. Good luck, sister. It’s not going to work on me.

  “Want to go?”

  “No.” I don’t even take a second to answer her. The answer is automatic. Going to a party has zero appeal to me right now. Because listen, this is what has to happen if I decide to attend this party. I just finished teaching a workout class, which means, the rinse off I gave myself at the gym is not going to be sufficient. I’m going to have to take a full-on shower and scrub everything, because if I’m anything, I’m thorough. And since it’s a party with former high school people, I’m going to have to look good—you know, saving face and all—which requires a full dose of makeup and curled hair. And to top it off, I’m going to have to dig through my clothes to look for something nice to wear, and something nice isn’t always comfortable. And boy, do I want comfortable right now.

  “You didn’t even think about it.”

  “I don’t have to. You know tomorrow is my day off, I don’t want to spend it hungover.”

  “You don’t have to drink.”

  I give her a get real look. Even with one drink I feel terribl
e the next day. I think it’s all the rabbit food I eat.

  “You know if I’m there, I’m going to have at least one drink to lessen the annoyance of all the other drunk people around me.”

  “That’s true.” She bites the side of her cheek. “I bet there are going to be a lot of hot guys there. Derick said Stryder Sheppard might be there.”

  “Who’s Stryder Sheppard?”

  Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up straight to her hairline, forkful of pancakes halfway to her mouth. “Rory, you know who Stryder Sheppard is.”

  “You know, if I did, I probably wouldn’t have asked you.” I scoop a pile of pancakes into my mouth.

  Rolling her eyes, Ryan says, “He’s the boy who Dani Barton took to prom. He went to Coronado High School. The super hot guy who ended up going to the Air Force Academy.”

  Ohhhhh . . .

  “See, you remember.” Ryan triumphantly shakes her fork in the air.

  “He was the one who looked like a model and had those seriously amazing blue eyes, right?”

  “Yup. The crystal-blue ones that spoke of such naughty things whenever he made eye contact with you.”

  Oh yes, I remember Stryder Sheppard at the prom. He was the only boy in the ballroom who filled out his tux impeccably. Broad shoulders, full biceps, strong legs. Back then he looked like a machine ready to honor and protect, I can only imagine what a few years in the Air Force might have done to him.

  “And you know what, I bet he’s not coming alone.” Ryan obnoxiously wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “Bet he has some hot Air Force friends with him.”

  “Hmm . . . I do like military men. There’s something so hot about giving a piece of their life to serve and protect.”

  “That’s my girl.” Ryan cheers and shoves more pancakes in her mouth. “So are you in? I’ll drive.”

  Taking a few seconds to think it over, I consider all the pros and cons.

  Cons: Knowing Ryan, we’re going to be out until the early hours of the morning, so I’m most likely going to regret my decision tomorrow morning when I’m not feeling good. I’ll also have to go through an entire “getting ready” routine that I’m so not in the mood for.

  Pros: I might meet someone.

  Call me a romantic, but I’m twenty-one and way past my single-lady days. I’m over it. I want something more, something meaningful, something like my parents have. I want to love somebody, take care of someone, and if I’m honest, I want to have someone take care of me.

  I think that is something people are often reluctant to admit.

  I want a man.

  My life is complicated. I’ve given up a lot, and for once, I really want to search out something that makes me happy.

  A relationship. Love. Comfort. Protection. Someone to talk to at night about my day.

  Someone to share this life with.

  And maybe a party in the mountains at rich Tom’s log house is not the place to find love, but then again, I’m not meeting anyone worthwhile at the gym or anywhere else I go. Might as well give this party a shot.

  “You’re going to have to drive, because my little bug is not going to survive those roads if it snows tonight.”

  “Eeee!” Ryan cheers. “This is so exciting. Thank you. I swear you’re going to have fun.”

  “I better or you’re going to be buying pancakes for the next couple of weeks.”

  “Deal.” Taking a sip from her water bottle, she scans my closet and asks, “What are you going to wear and can I borrow something?”

  Figures. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my best friend.

  “Leggings and boots. The top is yet to be determined at this point.”

  “You’re not going to wear a dress?” Ryan curls her lip at me.

  Gesturing toward the window, I say, “It’s thirty degrees out. It will be at least ten degrees colder in the mountains. There is no way in hell I’m wearing a dress. I’m going to go for the whole cute ski bunny drinking hot chocolate at the lodge look.”

  Eyes widened, a robotic nod to her head, Ryan says, “Yes, that will be super hot actually. Oh, wear your light grey off-the-shoulder sweater. That thing is killer.”

  Hmm . . . she’s right, it is killer. I very well might wear it.

  Chapter Three

  COLBY

  “No way, you got him to come?” Hardie walks up to me and claps me on the back, Joey following closely behind.

  Looking like a cocky motherfucker, Stryder puffs out his chest and says, “Told you I was a Colby whisperer.”

  Shaking her head at me, disbelief etched in her eyes, Joey says, “I can’t believe he convinced you to come.”

  “Looks like he got to you, too,” I mutter, taking in the house around me.

  It’s massive. The grand entrance opens up to a warm and inviting living room, a cobblestone rock-faced fireplace climbing the height of the wall. An open-concept kitchen decked out in natural oak is to the right, brimming with partygoers all holding red cups in their hands. Windows span the back of the house, a deck lit with lanterns and heaters hangs off the rear, and a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs provides a convenient place to sit and roast marshmallows.

  I come from a very humble upbringing, and this house is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Until now, the nicest house I’ve ever been in was Stryder’s, but Tom has him beat. Big time.

  Poking me in the side, Joey says, “You have to live at some point, Colby. I’m glad you decided to come out.”

  Sticking my hands in my pockets, I take a look around, trying to see if I recognize anyone. Hardie and Joey went to the same high school, so they’ve been friends for a while. Stryder went to Coronado, while I, unfortunately, went to William J. Palmer. Not sure many kids from William J. will be here. Feeling a little out of place, I follow everyone to the kitchen where we get drinks.

  For a split second, I consider grabbing a water but think better of it, not wanting to be on the other end of the ribbing of my friends, instead I go for a cup of beer straight from the keg.

  Hardie and Joey break off, running into someone from high school, leaving me alone with Stryder. I like it that way, the less people the better. Even though Hardie and Joey are my good friends, I can feel their watchful eyes on me and it’s fucking annoying.

  “Not bad, huh?” Stryder says, taking a sip of his beer next to me. “This place is dope. I wonder how many bedrooms it has.”

  Above the grand room, there is a breezeway that connects both sides of the house, most likely leading to the bedrooms and bathrooms.

  “Not sure, but I bet they’ll be full tonight.”

  Stryder nudges me with his elbow. “Think you’ll be in one of them?”

  “No. No distractions.” I sip my beer as Stryder laughs.

  “Jesus, dude, might do you some good to occupy one of those damn rooms. Come on.” He nods toward the balcony. “Let’s check outside.”

  The grand room has a plush sectional wrapping around the space, a matching ottoman in the middle, all covered with people. Some girls are sitting on guys’ laps, some are bundled up close to their friends, some are a little shy, trying to join in on the conversation.

  None grab my attention.

  Not that I’m looking.

  When we reach the balcony, we realize it not only wraps the length of the house, but it also extends to what looks like a man-made lake. The deck must be as big as the great room if not bigger, and it has not one, but two fire pits, a section for a pool table, and a spacious outdoor seating area.

  “Damn, no wonder Tom decided to have a party. This place was made for it.”

  “Have you even seen Tom?” I ask, scanning the area, cheers erupting around the pool table.

  “Nah, but I’m sure he’ll pop up at some point. Always does.” Stryder walks toward the end of the deck and takes a peek into the dark wilderness, the moon glistening off the lake’s water.

  The temperature has to be in the low twenties, but with the heaters surrounding the area, it doesn’t
even feel like we’re outside.

  Surprisingly, what I thought was going to be a rowdy party with booming music actually is more chill, laid-back; more grown-up than I expected.

  Leaning against the rail, I take in my surroundings. Exits to the left and right, exit straight through the house to the front door, and if worse comes to worst, I can jump off the deck into the lake.

  There are four surefire ways to escape.

  Always have to know how to exit, always need to have an action plan, always need to have a way out. It’s what they teach us. It’s what we need to know. It’s what I know as well as the back of my hand. Never be unprepared.

  Taking a deep breath, I sip my beer as Stryder nudges me with his elbow. “Check out the girls playing pool over there.”

  I look at the pool table, which is surrounded by partygoers cheering on what seems to be one hell of an epic battle between two teams. One is made up of two guys who look somewhat familiar. Do I know them? And the other team is made up of a blonde and a brunette.

  The blonde has shoulder-length hair tousled to the side, as if she’s been running her hands through it all night. Her lips have been painted with bright pink lipstick, bringing out the glow in her complexion. She is hot, really hot.

  But she’s not the one who’s caught my attention.

  Stick in hand, laughing at something one of the guys said, the brunette’s smile spreads across her face, lips full and natural, a light gloss highlighting them. Her long, brown hair falls over her bare shoulders in waves, blanketing her in a gorgeous waterfall of silky strands. Her body, fit and small with a light swell in her hips, tapers down to toned legs. There is an air of exuberance surrounding her, a bright beacon in the dark night. Her smile, her laughter . . . it lights up the night, drawing attention to her from everyone around her. There’s no denying her beauty or the way she so easily captures people. But I’m not sure she’s aware.