To the Limit

by Jo Leigh

  He saluted his senior officers and introduced himself to those he hadn’t met. The welcome was warm but the bona fide questions started immediately. What had he flown, where, who’d been his commanding officers, and did he know this pilot or that instructor? The spotlight moved to the next new guy, who turned out to be a new female instructor, a cargo pilot late of Wright-Patt. She was given the same grilling, and by then, the full complement of instructors had arrived, and Colonel Stevens took the controls.

  Halfway through the speech, Sam knew that this life would eventually become his life, that he’d make friends, discover his strengths and weaknesses as an instructor. Make mistakes, do the right thing, give his all. He’d tackle the challenges as they came up, and he hoped that in the end he’d be proud of his service.

  But the sounds of fighter jets taking off was a dirge, a constant reminder that if he hadn’t been a vain, arrogant idiot and just dealt with the glasses and contact lenses, he’d still be where he truly belonged.

  8

  SHE’D BEEN BOWLING for over a year now, and Emma hadn’t been this nervous her first night, when it would have been a miracle if she’d hit even one pin.

  Now she had her own ball, shoes and shirt. Her team was called the Three Rs, and they had three English teachers, two math teachers and one engineering teacher, who’d signed up late. Tonight, Carla was with her sister, who was having a baby, so Sam would take her place. Carla was a lovely woman—Emma liked her a lot—but she was a crap bowler. The team wouldn’t be the same without her, though, because she told the most spectacularly dirty and hysterical jokes.

  Emma slid her bowling ball case under the bench seat and kept staring at the door. Other teams’ members were arriving in dribs and drabs, and she waved and chatted a little. They were all teachers from UNM-A so it was nice and friendly.

  A lot of spouses came, too. Just for fun. After they bowled the three games that counted for the league, a lot of folks went to the lounge and hung out playing pool or darts. She usually went home.

  Sharon was standing near the bar, talking to Leo, and she, too, was wearing her embroidered Three Rs retro bowling shirt. They were dark blue, had their individual names emblazoned over the pockets, and a cartoon logo on the back. She didn’t have a shirt for Sam, but that was okay. He probably would’ve hated wearing one, anyway. No. She allowed herself a small smile, knowing he would’ve flat-out refused.

  She couldn’t stand it, and went into the ladies’ room for a few minutes. Sam was due, and she was still reeling from their phone conversation yesterday. After she’d hung up, she’d looked up the motorcycle he’d talked about on Google, and it was exactly what she’d feared. The top speed was over a hundred and eighty miles per hour, which was insane right there. That should have been all the information she’d needed: that Sam was considering buying one told her everything.

  But she couldn’t let go of last Saturday night. She should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. The urge to talk him out of his recklessness had messed with her since yesterday. It was a fool’s errand. The bike was only a symptom, and even if he did eventually agree with her, he’d end up doing something else equally dangerous.

  The need for speed. It was a joke among pilots, but it was no laughing matter. She’d known pilots who weren’t in the least rush-hungry. Not the way Danny, John and Sam were. The weird thing was, they were the most careful of pilots in their fighter jets. Seriously, they were all about safety first. It was just that flying Mach 2 wasn’t enough.

  She thought back to what Sam had told her about Danny being the most reckless of the three of them. She wondered if that was true, though he’d had no reason to lie to her. And in fact, he’d obviously regretted bringing up the subject. No use giving the matter any further consideration. Sam wanted that insane bike. That was all she needed to know.

  She fluffed her hair out, ran her hands down her recently ironed shirt and went out to the lanes again. Sharon was already in her shoes, hands on her hips and a glare in her eyes. “Why’d you run off like that?”

  “I went to the bathroom, where did you think?”

  “You could have at least said hello. I gather your friend isn’t here yet?”

  “Nope, but he should be arriving any minute.”

  “Who, your pal?”

  Emma turned at Gary’s voice. He’d come from the direction of the desk, carrying their score sheets. “Yeah. He’s never late to things. Oh, there he is now.”

  They all faced the door. Poor Quentin, who’d come in just ahead of Sam, thought the rousing welcome was for him, and he seemed so pleased, she and Sharon both waved.

  Sam looked around until he spotted her, then smiled. It was like being stuck by an arrow, straight to the heart. What the hell had she done to herself?

  “This is your old friend?” Sharon asked. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “He was a friend of my late husband’s,” Emma said, wishing Sharon had left out the commentary in front of Gary. “They went to the Academy together.

  “Another pilot,” Gary murmured, his brows furrowed. “He must be happy to be assigned to the Raptor.”

  “He is a pilot,” Emma said, walking to the rows of bowling balls against the wall where she met Sam as he came down the three stairs. “Any trouble finding the place?”

  “The huge Bowl-O-Rama sign made it reasonably easy. Should I go get shoes first?”

  “No, come on and meet the rest of the team.” She almost reached out for his hand. Instead, she led him to their lane. “Gary Lyden, Sharon Keeler, Quentin Helberger, this is Sam Brody, here to take Carla’s place.”

  There were handshakes all around, and for a minute she thought there might be some tension between Sam and Gary, but that was silly. They were adults, and she’d made it clear to both of them, in different ways, that she was in it for the friendship and nothing more.

  That she suspected she and Gary were possibly headed down a different path hadn’t been discussed. Implied maybe, but not discussed. Which made it even more important for her to be circumspect with Sam, despite the pull.

  Sam eyed their shirts. “Did Emma tell you I’m not much of a bowler?”

  “That’s okay,” Sharon said. “None of us are going to be winning any trophies, unless we take best shirt design.” She turned around so he could read the back.

  “Nicely done.” He left it at that, but the look he gave Emma said, Don’t even think about putting me in one of those, which of course nearly made her giggle.

  “Pretty soon, we’ll be getting the first round of beers,” Sharon said, still sizing up poor Sam. She didn’t mean anything by it, but he wouldn’t know that. “So you might want to go suit up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Emma. “So shoes now, then ball, then I’ll meet you back here?”

  “I’ll come with you. I want to pay the rental fee.”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “Really?” Then he walked away, shaking his head.

  “Where’s Deanna?” Quentin asked.

  “Late, as usual,” Gary said, but he was looking at Emma. When she met his gaze, his expression turned quizzical, like it had yesterday in the faculty lounge.

  She simply smiled and sat down, certain that once the game started, everything would be fine. Completely fine.

  * * *

  THE ENTIRE PEP TALK Sam had given himself on the way to the bowling alley about how this friendship thing was going to be difficult but doable had already gone down the toilet. He’d only been there five minutes and he was in trouble. Although he’d realized the truth the moment he’d seen Emma in her oversize bowling shirt with her shining hair and her beautiful smile.

  All he could think of was what it had felt like to be inside her. The sound of her climax, the taste of her sex. His cock twitched in interest and it was a good thing he couldn’t follow his in
stinct to pull her into his arms.

  Friends. Yeah. It was going to take some serious commitment to pull this off. Not just tonight, either. The kind of commitment he’d already pledged to his career transition. Did he even have the fortitude to tackle both? Or should he cut and run from Emma? Maybe losing her entirely would be easier in the end.

  The thought made him ill.

  “Size?”

  Sam paid for his shoes and went back to the torture of being so close and yet so far. He’d felt a lot like this when Danny had been alive, but she’d been completely off-limits, so the discomfort then was more like a paper cut compared to the knife in his gut now. Still, he smiled as he looked for a decent ball, trying to recall if he’d prefer the fifteen pounder over the sixteen.

  When he joined his team, another woman had arrived, which brought their party to six. Sharon, who was sitting next to Emma chattering away, looked to be in her late thirties, and reminded him of the woman who played Leonard’s mom on The Big Bang Theory and wore bright red socks with comic cow faces on them.

  The new arrival came at him with a smile. “I’m Deanna,” she said. “Have you met everyone?”

  “Everyone but you.” He put down his shoes and shifted the ball to his left hand. “Sam Brody. Friend of Emma’s here to fill in for—”

  “Carla.” Deanna shook his hand. “I’m getting the first round. What would you like?”

  “Heineken if they’ve got it.” He reached for his wallet, but Deanna stopped him.

  “We pay to the kitty. Gary’s in charge of that.”

  Sam’s attention moved to him. He was certain this was the man who ran with Emma in the mornings. He was reasonably good-looking if a woman didn’t mind the geeky type. The horn-rims were now a thing, so he could just be a hipster, but nope, his jeans weren’t tight enough for that. Besides, he was older. Mid-thirties? Cheap haircut, not military. Didn’t have the posture for it. Wore an ironic half smile, but it was too soon to tell if that was a trademark or merited by the conversation.

  Sam didn’t like him.

  “What’s that frown?” Emma said, coming up on his right side. “We haven’t even started yet.”

  “I hadn’t realized I was frowning.” He sat down to switch shoes. He found this part of bowling creepy as hell, but he didn’t say anything about it. Until he got a load of Emma’s feet. “Are those bowling shoes? They look like running shoes.”

  “Ah, yes, they are. They’re mine. They match my ball.”

  The shoes in question were black and neon pink. The stitching on the back of her shirt had that same pink, and now looking over at the return, he knew which ball was hers. It was just like Emma to go all-out, to make a statement that was as vibrant as her personality. “They suit you.”

  “I can’t say the same for yours, sadly.”

  His rentals were tan and ugly and looked as if they’d been made in the ’50s. “True.”

  “Hurry, though, because we’re about to start. You can have two practice shots. You’ll go after Quentin and before me.”

  “Okay. I’m also supposed to pay for the beer?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She stood up. “I’m going to help Deanna with the drinks, but I’ll be back in a flash.”

  Sam checked out Quentin, who wore a wedding ring, like Sharon had, although he doubted they were married to each other. Gary didn’t have any jewelry but a watch. Quentin was a tall guy, very thin, had a little goatee thing happening.

  Deanna was closer in age to Emma. She was a pretty brunette, full figured and knew how to work it. He got a good vibe from her. If things started to get weird between him and Emma, he might feel safe talking to Deanna.

  Then there were beers all around, and he was surprised to find Emma had gone for a Miller Lite instead of her usual soft drink. But he clicked his bottle to all the other bottles. The overhead lights dimmed, except to illuminate the lanes themselves. Some guy said a short welcome to the crowd, then the music started. It was classic country, not as loud as that midnight alley he’d been to, but you had to raise your voice. Also not his favorite.

  He didn’t embarrass himself on the practice runs, which was great, but he wasn’t going to increase their average, either. Gary got a strike.

  When the real games started, he found himself seated between Emma and Deanna. That was fine by him, although Deanna sat a lot closer to him than Emma did. Every time she put her hand down on the plastic bench, he wanted to squeeze it. When she went to take her turn, his gaze never wavered. She captivated him with her stride, and, Jesus, when she bent over in those jeans, one leg crossed over the other as her arm made a perfect arc, he really struggled.

  His game was okay. He wanted to be better than Gary, but he wasn’t. Damned if he’d pout about it, though. He smiled, talked to everyone, ordered a second beer.

  So did Emma, which was not like her at all. Maybe this friend business wasn’t so simple for her, either. She’d been acting cool, keeping things light, not touching. Making sure they didn’t accidentally brush shoulders or hands or anything.

  The way Gary looked when she started on her second drink told Sam more than he wanted to know. Gary knew that beer got her tipsy quicker than the hard stuff. His gaze was downright proprietary.

  If Emma thought Gary was simply a friend, Gary didn’t share the sentiment. He wanted her. God knew, Sam understood, but it still made his blood rise, because Gary was already in Emma’s intimate circle. Had been for a while.

  As Sam was making his approach to release the ball, it occurred to him that he was the interloper in this drama. It startled him into a gutter ball, but he didn’t give a damn about that. What if Gary was the right kind of guy for Emma? For all Sam disliked him, he might be a hell of a nice fellow. A steady man with a steady job, who didn’t yearn to be something he couldn’t. Who lived a nice nine-to-five life, and had mutual friends and shared a love of teaching.

  What if Sam had walked in, and this chemical reaction he and Emma had for each other was a kink in the machine, a fly in the ointment? No, Emma had married a pilot. The total opposite of the type of man Sam imagined Gary to be. Surely she wouldn’t settle for another teacher.

  He looked at her sipping a drink she shouldn’t be having. Her gaze bouncing from him to Gary to him. Sharon was talking to her, but Emma was only paying slight attention if any. She was nervous. Not just because of what they’d done Saturday night.

  The last thing Sam wanted was to make Emma’s life worse. If nothing else, she didn’t deserve any more grief than she’d already gone through.

  Maybe he just needed to leave her alone. The idea didn’t go down easy.

  It was his turn again, and this time he did well. Emma followed, and tension was high, mostly because the team was close to breaking their own record, which was all due to Gary’s excellent play. And the fact that Emma was drunk. Not falling down, but she definitely wobbled.

  The first ball went straight to the gutter. Sam stood and walked closer, concerned that she might fall. She took her time with the second, and much to everyone’s surprise, she got a spare. Every pin down.

  Before he knew what was happening, she had jumped into his arms and he was swinging her around as she laughed with absolute glee, delight making her shine while he grinned like an idiot. His steps slowed, and their eyes met. The music dimmed as well as the lights, along with everything that wasn’t Emma. He wasn’t spinning anymore, except for his head, dizzy with wanting her. Needing her.

  She leaned toward him, and he tilted his head.

  The next sound was a gasp like a thunderclap, and it was bright and loud and real, and they’d almost...nearly... He let her down. Her blush tried to match her bowling ball, and he had to duck his head until the heat dissipated.

  “Good game, everyone!” Sharon was standing between them somehow, leading Emma away. “I don�
��t know about anyone else, but I’m too tired to go to the lounge.”

  “Me, too,” Gary said, not sounding at all happy about their triumph. “I’ll wrap things up here, and, Emma, I think I should take you home. You shouldn’t be driving.”

  “That’s all right,” Sam said, practically speaking over Gary’s words. “I’ll get her home safely.”

  Emma looked at him, then turned to look at Gary. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened but no response came out.

  * * *

  “THANK YOU,” EMMA SAID as she and Sharon walked out to the parking lot. Sharon had stepped in before Emma’s inability to say or do anything had become a heretofore unknown level of awkward.

  Things hadn’t improved much during the ten minutes it took for the bowling portion of the evening to end. Sam had played it cool, acting as if he’d never offered her a ride, as if everything was hunky-dory. She’d thanked him for filling in for Carla, and he’d been gracious about that, too. Gary had done almost as well, but there had been a rather accusatory gaze just before she’d left. At least she was used to feeling sick with guilt, so she knew what to expect.

  Sharon pointed her remote at her four-door sedan behind them. It was so quiet Emma heard the locks click open. Emma hurried to climb into the passenger seat and buckle herself in. While Sharon was busy reversing out of the stall, Emma glanced around the parking lot until she saw Sam approach his Mustang. He’d been late and parked on the street. Gary was nowhere she could see. Emma wondered how she ever could have thought inviting Sam along was a good idea.

  Sharon grinned. “Well, that was fun.”

  Emma moaned. “It was horrible.”

  “Relax, it wasn’t all that bad. You’ll be fine.”

  Emma laid her head back and closed her eyes. No, it wasn’t fine at all. “We could drive around the block and come back for my car after everyone is gone. Believe me, I’m not tipsy anymore.”

  “And miss my chance to find out about Sam? No way. I have you captive, and I’m taking full advantage.”