Flight by Lindsay Leggett Page A

sigh before answering.
    “He wanted to have dinner. Said he missed me and wanted to catch up.”
    Shelley’s eyes widen like saucers. “Oh, he did not! What else did he say?” she asks, taking a long sip of her drink.
    “He didn’t. I left. What was I supposed to do? I haven’t seen the guy in a year, and if you recall, we didn’t part on very good terms,” I reply.
    “Trust me, he’s had ample time and opportunity to move on, if you know what I mean,” she says, voice lowered.
    A slight pang resounds in my chest. Is that jealousy? I slip Shelley’s drink from her and take a big swig as she rolls her eyes. “Please do not tell me you’ve been thinking about him,” she says.
    The truth is, up until this moment, I haven’t. I’d all but forgotten him in my quest to let the past go, but seeing him, being back with the Corp, it’s all brought back memories and nostalgia. I was happy with Tor, before, I remember this. It was easy, uncomplicated. Is it wrong of me to want to hold onto the one shred of the past that makes me feel normal?
    “I don’t know, Shelley. This is hard for me. I don’t even know how I feel,” I say finally. My best friend stares at me for a moment before signaling the bartender.
    “What you need is a drink and a good night with your best girl and good music to forget about it all,” she says. I sigh as a server brings us two fresh drinks. I hadn’t wanted to, but the idea of letting all of this go, even if just for a night, is so promising that I take the glass in earnest just as the band assembles on the stage.
    Shelley’s boy Craig stands front and center, while Asher stands just to his side, guitar in hand. The crowd cheers as he strums a riff, and the familiar, chest-shaking volume of the speakers consumes me.
    “Craig said he’d be singing to me all night,” Shelley yells into my ear as the rest of the musicians test out their instruments.
    “Totally sweet!” I yell back. She laughs as she clinks glasses with me.
    “Your sarcasm is fricking palpable, babe, but here’s to a good night!”
    And then the band begins to play, and I find myself unable to focus on anything but the music pounding out through the speakers. It’s the perfect mix of everything, the lyrics tragically beautiful, the beat catchy and the guitar aching with passion. Just as he’d promised, Craig periodically glances at Shelley as he spills words about torrid romance in a decent tenor. However, I can’t seem to focus on any of the other band members. The call of the guitar brings me to Asher, whose eyes remain on me, never wavering even through difficult passages.
    For the first time I understand what it’s like to have someone focused singly on me. There’s no Corp, no Harpy threat, no radiation concerns. Throughout the first set it feels like every song is just for me, my own private concert. The world fades away, all of the anxiety, the confusion, the pain, all lost in those bright blue eyes.

    After the set the band takes a break, and at the bar, girls immediately swarm around them. I see Shelley clench her jaw and I raise my eyebrows.
    “I’m not a jealous person,” she says, struggling to keep her voice serene. I laugh.
    “Right, and Harpies don’t have wings. Come on, let’s go talk to your boy,” I say. I take her by the hand and lead her through the throng of people waiting for a drink. As expected, Craig’s eyes light up when he sees Shelley and he politely dismisses the girls crowding him to greet her. I set up shop against the cold brick wall, letting out a small smile as I watch the two flirt—all while the band’s groupies glare ferociously.
    “So, Red, what did you think?” I whirl around to see Asher leaning beside me, placidly chewing on a toothpick.
    “You’re very talented,” I reply. He tries to hide the fact that he’s smiling, but I don’t miss it. He moves his attention to my best friend with a slight head nod.
    “He likes her a lot, you know,” he says. I