Beached.

Jekyll and Hyde

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed and a text message that Jake had taken a rideshare back to the base. Included with the message was a photo of Jake with a whole apple sticking out his mouth and wearing what appeared to be one of my cropped sweatshirts. He apologized for raiding my fridge and closet before his departure.

Later in the day, I learned Jake used the shirt to give his detachment a laugh. Natasha sent me a video of Jake wearing the shirt while deadlifting. With it, the message, "Are you missing a sweatshirt?" I responded with a sarcastic quip about searching for it high and low this morning.

Natasha and I continued to chat throughout the day, and by 7 p.m. she and I were sitting in my backyard, sipping Bud Lights.

We talked about a variety of topics, including how a gesture, like Jake taking my sweatshirt, could be so sweet yet so alpha. Let's be clear that he didn't wear my shirt to the gym just for laughs—he wore it to stake his claim. I hated the idea of being "claimed," which led us into a conversation about gender roles versus biological behavior.

Given the conversation, we delved into the situationship between Natasha and Rooster—or as I now knew him: Bradley.

"Nobody knows. Well, aside from me and Bob." I assured Natasha her secret was safe.

"Bob?!" She panicked.

I looked at her. "Nat, of course the man knows. He's an immense people-watcher. He's also your weapons systems officer—I would hope he'd pick up a detail like that."

She sipped her beer and stared into the fire to come to terms with my comments.

"It's not like Bradley is showing up to the gym wearing your clothes, so I think you're in the clear." We both laughed.

My suspicion was confirmed when she explained the rules of fraternizing with other pilots—it could jeopardize their careers. She and Bradley initially met at the Naval Academy. They continued to cross paths throughout their careers and as the "accidental" drunken nights continued to rack up, they realized there was something more between them.

Honestly, it was a sickening sweet saga that would have a happy ending once one, or both, of them ascended the ranks beyond pilot. In the meantime, they enjoyed each other when they could.

I couldn't help myself and asked Natasha about Jake. She was hesitant but I encouraged her not to hold back. Natasha shared that Jake, Bradley and her were all in the same TOPGUN class, where they finished one-two-three, respectively.

Jake and Bradley's mostly friendly, but bordering hostile, rivalry took a turn toward archrival territory during this detachment. Jake stumbled upon information about Bradley and used it to publicly call him out. He revealed Bradley and Pete had a not-on-good-terms relationship.

Pete and Bradley's dad were best friends and flew together. They had come to TOPGUN as a two-man crew, and Bradley's dad passed away during a training exercise.

Her hesitancy about agreeing to not weaponize information about Jake now made sense.

By the time Natasha finished her story, my jaw was nearly on the floor. I wasn't sure what was more shocking: that Pete and Bradley had a long tenuous relationship or that Jake was so ruthless. I had the pleasure of being courted by Dr. Jekyll, not Mr. Hyde.

We had one more beer before calling it a night, which I stretched by peppering Natasha with questions. Every question she gave me the same answer—ask Jake. I respected her forethought of knowing answers were best from the source.

Natasha's rideshare arrived, and I opened the door to see her out. We hugged and I told her to text when she made it back to base. I waved as the vehicle pulled away.

I was tidying the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. I glanced at the oven clock and then headed for the door. I peeked through the sidelight. I was relieved and confused to see Jake waiting for me.

"Hey, stranger," I greeted him as I pulled the door open.

"I hope I can get a greeting better than 'stranger,' especially with what I'm about to do." Before I could ask more questions, his lips were on mine and his hands on my hips, guiding me backward into the house.

I pressed my hands against his chest as a gesture for him to stop, which he did. "What is this?" I asked. The dark gaze in his light eyes was a little startling.

His hand went from my hips into the back pockets of my denim shorts, and he pressed my pelvis to his. I could feel the bulge in his pants. "I need your help."