Then she mentioned that she flew the same hardware that two generations of relatives before her had. After that, the conversation never veered back to her or her past. Army aviation all the way up.
Once the debrief ended, Trisha having burned everyone’s butt except theirs, they’d walked through the chill of the predawn darkness until she pointed out a building. “That’s you.” Then she turned on her heel and headed off toward a different section of base housing.
If she’d done that after the flight, he’d have been pissed. But he had learned a few things about her over dinner. If he was right…
“Hey—” He almost called out Hook Girl. Hook was a common nickname for a Chinook helo; partly the shortening of the name and partly the immense loads it could lift with its cargo hook. For once, he heard how bad that would sound before he said it aloud. “Goodnight, Wokka Girl!” He’d done plenty of cross-training with the SAS; the Brits loved the wokka sound of their CH-47s.
Abby froze in her tracks, covered her face with her hands and emitted a small groan of purest frustration before turning to face him. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.” She was almost in tears.
He’d been right; no social skills at all. Over dinner, everything would be running aces as they discussed a technique or mission, then, within a heartbeat, Captain Abigail Rose went away and Abby would stumble onto the scene and become thoroughly awkward, even suffering serious foot-in-mouth disease—repeatedly.
Derek stepped up until they were as close as the moment she’d turned aside. He wondered what she’d do if he pushed forward into her personal space: scamper or try to scupper his ass. While it would be tempting to find out, neither would suit him much. Instead, he waited with his hands jammed in his jacket pockets. It kept him from reaching for her.
When she still didn’t speak, he prompted her with, “Sorry for what?”
She flapped a hand helplessly about her indicating nothing that he could identify. “For not even saying goodnight? For being a hopeless conversationalist? For being an utter train wreck of a woman? Take your pick.”
“Apology accepted.”
She just gawked at him.
He put on his best Okie accent. “Though to be truth tellin’, next time I’ll be pissed as a hog without a waller if’n you don’ say g’nite like a proper lady.”
“That’s it? What about the…other stuff?”
“Well, from my view, you’re apologizing for the wrong things, so I don’t see any particular reason for me wasting time accepting such nonsense.”
“Nonsense?”
“I enjoyed talking to you more than I’ve done any woman in a long time.” He gazed up at the last of the stars and thought about it before looking to her again. “Any person in a long time. You’ve got a very interesting and sharp mind, Wokka Girl.”
“Well, I guess that’s a sight better than Hook Girl.”
“I could get to seriously like that you don’t miss a thing. You’re interesting as all hell, WG.”
“Except for being a train wreck of a woman.” She sighed and looked down at her boots.
“You seriously need to be a-getting’ you’self a mere.”
“A mere?”
“A mirror, Abby.”
“A mirror?”
So, the amazing Captain Abigail Rose, who could make flying a twenty-ton helo look as easy as a kid flying a paper airplane, didn’t see the amazing woman he’d just spent a three-hour dinner with. Three hours in a DFAC. Army dining facilities weren’t exactly mood-making sorta places, but neither of them had cared. At least he sure as shit hadn’t.
“Abby…” How was he supposed to explain how wrong she was? The woman shone so bright he was afraid to touch her.
“What?” She looked up at him. She did like her questions.
Well, Delta had taught him how to walk through fear—by asking why. Why was he afraid to touch her? That was easy once he thought about it. The chance that she’d choose scamper over scuttling his ass if he got any closer. He’d bet one-to-three odds on those options. As he’d taken plenty of hard hits over the years, he decided it was his kind of a good bet.
He took a step in, rested a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her.
He kept it light, and she let him draw it out. She wasn’t wholly on board but the vote on his bet was still out. When she shifted back, not stepping away, just a shift, he let her.
“Looking to get laid?”
