They may have been in the same company, but the first time they really met was during Easy’s first training jump. He was right behind him in the stick, the only smiling face in a plane full of straight faces. Then he jumped, his lines fouled, he veered off course, his chute crumpled, and he started to plummet. He sure wasn’t smiling then.
He came down right on top of Joe, thumping onto his chute and riding it like an airborne surf board all the way back down to Mother Earth. He and Joe hit the ground one second apart—
—and Joe was fit to be tied. He raged around blindly, plowing through folds of puffy white silk as he sought out the moron who’d almost gotten him killed. He could hear the dumb bastard laughing, and when he wrenched aside the final fold, the only thing that stayed his violence was the prettiest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen.
His fist went slack. “Woah.”
“I know,” David Webster grinned. “We’re pretty lucky, huh?”
Then Joe lunged forward and started throttling him.
He never imagined that after the war they’d find other ways to roll around under silk together.
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