Unexpected Oasis

by Cd Hussey

  The huge number of empty chairs makes it feel like Trey is sitting in my lap.

  I try to focus on eating instead of his nearness. I have no idea how I'm going to get through the next few weeks without making an ass of myself. Or melting. With him so close, I swear my skin is twenty degrees warmer.

  I clear my throat.

  Trey glances at me in question.

  "Nothing," I say quickly, chastising myself for being unable to control my body. Next I'll be muttering unknowingly to myself.

  Luckily, Trey not only eats more than a teenage boy, he eats like one too. Completely focused on his plate, he finishes the mass of food before I'm two-thirds through my own.

  Pushing the empty plate away, he leans back, the chair groaning in straining protest. I half expect him to belch, but he merely stretches, the bottom of his shirt lifting in the process. I catch a flash of hard, toned abs with a trail of dark hair disappearing into his khakis.

  Every muscle from my belly button to my toes clenches and I snatch my gaze away, take a few more bites, and then also push my plate forward. I purposefully take a drink, trying to focus on watching the water as it flows toward my mouth. I can't help it though, and I sneak another peak toward Trey. He's still stretched out like a damn Tomcat, arms folded behind his head. This time, the hard etching of the muscles over his hipbones catch my eye, and I nearly choke on my water.

  With a cough, I set the glass down and wipe my mouth. I can barely make out Trey's face in my peripheral, but I swear he's grinning at me. Great. He knows he's sexy and he knows I know it.

  Once my napkin and utensils join my plate, one of the Thai men leaves his seat at the opposite end of the canister and comes over to retrieve the dishes. Trey says something to him in Thai—I assume it's "thank you"—the man nods and then disappears behind a partition into what must be the kitchen.

  I hear Trey's chair groan and then he's inches from me. "Want to dine and dash," he whispers in my ear. "I'll go first."

  I smile. The joke is exactly what I needed and my unease is squashed. "Just let me go to the bathroom first," I whisper back.

  He laughs and stands up, offering his hand to me once he's on his feet. I take it even though I'm fully capable of getting out of my chair unassisted. I blame the sudden rise of body heat on heartburn.

  Or it could be the flames that immediately catch my attention when we step outside. A bright orange glow in an otherwise pitch-black sky. "Oh my God! What's on fire?" I start toward them. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but I need to check it out.

  Strong fingers wrap around my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I glance at Trey in question.

  "No worries. It's a bonfire."

  I glance toward the flames. Now that he mentions it, I can see how contained it is. I can also see a few men standing casually nearby. "Oh."

  "We can still check it out."

  Kaihan and his workers are the men standing around the fire. Trey greets them in their native tongue and with wild hands, they exclaim in surprise when they see him. Kaihan takes Trey's shoulders and kisses the air by his cheeks not just once per side, but several times. Trey repeats the gesture, not only with Kaihan, but with every man. When they've greeted eachother thoroughly, and it's quite a thorough greeting, they turn to me. I'm so surprised that a big, masculine, military man like Trey isn't put off by the local customs that it takes me a minute to realize my scarf has fallen to my shoulders. I quickly return it to its place.

  Kaihan doesn't kiss anything near me, but he does shake my hand. So do the other men. And then, with broad swooping gestures, they usher me to a fold out camp chair.

  "Thank you. Thank you," I say as they urge me to sit.

  Once my butt is firmly planted in the chair, one of the men holds out the empty chair next to me, while the other talks rapidly to Trey, pushing him toward it. Since the local is a good foot shorter and probably one hundred pounds lighter than Trey, it's humorous to watch him attempt to herd him into the chair.

  Trey puts up no resistance, smiling and even laughing as the man practically shoves him into the chair. Once he sits, the man gives a satisfied nod and Kaihan appears with two steaming, ceramic mugs.

  "Tea," he says, handing Trey one mug and then me the other. "Tea," he repeats.

  "Thank you."

  Trey says something in their native tongue. Kaihan nods enthusiastically, and then rejoins his friends.

  "Tea," Trey repeats once we're alone.

  "Tea." I take a sip. "Mmm. Chai. It's good."

  "Always is."

  "So what was that all about?" I ask after taking another sip of the spiced tea.

  "The chair herding?"

  "Yeah. Not that I'm complaining," I add quickly, patting the arms appreciatively. "They are comfortable…"

  "You don't want to know."

  I frown.

  "Oh, it isn't bad," he adds with a chuckle. "They think you are beautiful and…" He pauses, shaking his head. "Never mind."

  Beautiful?

  "No wait, you can't do that. And what?"

  He starts to responds and then stops. He tips the mug to his lips and very purposefully takes a drink. "Naw."

  "That isn't fair," I protest.

  "I know," he says and disappears behind the curve of the chair's back.

  "Hmph."

  I settle back into my chair and let my head fall back into the cradling canvas. Above, a million stars are splattered against a cool, black sky. The mountains surrounding us are bathed in pale light, and the moon sparkles in its rippling lake reflection. My modest irritation is immediately forgotten. "It is so nice to be out from behind those adobe walls at Merritec," I murmur.

  "Yes it is." Without turning to me, he holds out his mug in a toast and I meet it with mine. Simultaneously, we both take a drink. The fire crackles merrily and the soft conversation of Kaihan and his men, with its unfamiliar inflection, is like foreign music to my ears.

  "When I first got there, to Merritec Village, I nearly lost it," Trey says after a minute. I turn to look at him. His expression, glowing warm in the firelight, is thoughtful. "The monotony, the feeling of captivity… It was hard to adjust. For a while I thought I was going to crawl out of my skin if I had to look at the same scenery another day. And technically, I can leave any time. Grab some heat, hit the streets. I don't know how you civilians handle it."

  It's nice to hear I'm not the only one.

  Kaihan picks up a goblet shaped drum—I think it's called a doumbek—and begins to beat out a series of crisp notes and rolling riffs.

  "How long have you been there?" I wonder.

  "At Merritec? Two years. I've been in the region for five."

  "Wow, you must really like it. I thought most people only stayed for six months, maybe a year."

  "It's okay. It's all I can seem to do, though. When I got out of the military I tried civilian life. I really did. I was a fireman for a while, joined the police force…"

  "You didn't like it?"

  He shrugs. "For the pay, the work isn't exciting enough. Too many restrictions."

  "The compound seems pretty tame."

  He gives me a mischievous, half-cocked grin. "You'd be surprised." And then as if realizing he probably shouldn't let me, the civilian he is paid to protect, know our quiet, safe little compound isn't as safe as I think, adds, "I mean, it's tame ninety percent of the time."

  I'm sure that's a lie for my benefit. "Well, good. I know it's probably boring for you, but boring is safer."

  "Yeah…" His voice trails off and I glance over at him. He's staring toward the mountain range and I can only imagine what adventures he's remembering.

  "What did you do in the military?"

  "Mostly Recon. Some Special Ops stuff. Three tours."

  "So you definitely liked that."

  He turns to me and grins. "Oh yeah."

  "What made you quit then?"

  He taps the side of his head. "I collected some shrapnel from an I.E.D. They decided pushing papers b
ack on base was where I needed to be."

  "I'm sorry."

  He shrugs again. His shoulders are massive and heavy and I can only imagine how spectacular they are under the thin fabric of his shirt.

  "The war was winding down anyway. It was a good a time as any to attempt to live in the real world. Get married. Do the whole family thing."

  "But it didn't work out?"

  "Not remotely."

  "I can relate."

  "I thought you might."

  I wonder if I'm that transparent or if he's just a good judge of character. I like to think it's the latter.

  Trey pulls a flask from his shirt pocket. He's discreet about it, but he isn't hiding it either. He unscrews the top and offers it to me.

  I hesitate.

  He laughs. "It isn't Pakistani. Trust me. Scotch. Single malt. Glenmorangie to be specific."

  "Okay. As long as it isn't jet fuel, or piss, as D described it…" I take the flask and a small sip. "Oh. That's good." I start to hand it back and he holds out a hand to stop me.

  "You can take a healthier drink than that."

  I do. I didn't expect to miss "real" alcohol, but its warmth slides smoothly, deliciously, down my throat. I return the flask. He takes a long drink and then slips it back into his shirt pocket. Letting his forearms rest heavily on the arms of the camp chair, his body visibly relaxes and I hear him sigh.

  "So, what's your story?" he asks after a bit.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why are you here?"

  I feel my entire body stiffen at the question.

  "Everyone has a story," he continues. "I'm here because I can't cut it in normal life. A beautiful woman like yourself doesn't come here without reason."

  There's that word again. Beautiful.

  He glances over at me and once he takes in my expression, hands over the flask. "Relax Andrea. We don't have to talk about it."

  Nodding tersely, I force the muscles in my face to relax enough to take a drink. I can still barely swallow.

  He gives my hand a squeeze as I hand back the flask. "We don't have to talk about it," he repeats.

  "Okay. Thanks."

  His smile is reassuring and stunning.

  While Kaihan plays the doumbek, we continue to pass the flask back and forth until it's empty. After a while, the men begin to dance—planned steps that remind me of a Greek line dance. When the drumming and dancing stops, we watch the flames dance until I'm as exhausted as the fuel.

  On my third yawn, Trey stands up. "If I don't get to bed," he says. "I'm going to fall asleep in this chair."

  I haven't seen him yawn once, but I play along. I take his outstretched arm and let him pull me to my feet. "Well, I wouldn't want that. You might end up with a scorpion as a bedmate. I can escort you home."

  He grins. "I'd appreciate that."

  We head back toward the rows of converted containers. My steps aren't quite as stable as they should be and I have to carefully maneuver my feet to keep from tripping. It gives me something to focus on, which is good since I'm way too aware of Trey's closeness.

  I can only imagine what it would be like to be under all that glorious weight and muscle.

  And push the thought away. It's too soon.

  Right?

  Too quickly we're standing at the door to my room. My heart jumps to attention. Like a dog that has escaped the confines of its fenced yard, it's running frantically down the street while its angry owner chases behind.

  What if he tries to kiss me again? There's no way I'll be able to resist.

  "Thanks for the whiskey and the company," I say, hand gripping the doorknob tightly.

  "Any time." He pauses, but doesn't move. I can feel his eyes on me but I suddenly can't look at him. I drop my gaze to the ground and keep it there.

  Oh God. What do I do?

  "Keep your door locked. And if you need anything, I'm in the adjacent room. You still have the Walkie-Talkie?"

  "Yeah."

  "Keep it on."

  I nod and turn toward the door. If I linger much longer I'm going to do something stupid.

  The knob turns in my hand.

  "Good night, Andrea," he says as I push open the door.

  There's something to his voice that makes me turn. Moonlight paints his face, his expression wistful. God, those eyes…taking me in, devouring me. Oh. Jesus.

  I swallow. "Good night," my voice squeaks from a constricted throat.

  Door halfway open, one foot inside, I'm frozen in place. I want to touch him so badly and I know it's all over my face. I can see it in the way he's looking at me. If I invite him in, he'll accept, I know it. And I want to, my entire body burns with the mere thought.

  I swallow again. Loudly this time.

  He takes a step forward. "Andrea—"

  That's it. I panic. "Good night!" Not only does my voice squeak again, the high pitch and rapid flow of words seem to echo across the camp. I shove my way into the room and slam the door behind me, falling against the metal and breathing so heavily it's like I just closed the door on a serial killer.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds as it flops forward on my neck. Someone kill me now. Please. Just put me out of my misery.

  It takes all of four steps to reach the bathroom. I pause at the back wall, the one separating me from Trey's room. Pressing my hand to it, I resist the urge to also press my ear to the sheetrock. I wonder what he's doing. Is he just as confused as I am?

  Unless he's been blindfolded, spun in circles, and shoved from a moving van, probably not.

  Ah, well, maybe with sleep will come clarity.

  I snort out loud at my own joke.

  And then promptly yawn. Well, sleep will bring rest if nothing else. And as Scarlett O'Hara so profoundly declared, tomorrow is another day.

  If only it came with a new brain.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Instead of clarity, or a new brain, or a fresh outlook on life, butterflies have set up house in my gut. When I wake up, they've established a colony, fluttering, whispering, "You're going to spend all day with Treyyyyy." They are unwelcome guests and I do my best to evict them with reason.

  First of all, I am Trey's charge. Really, I am his job. It isn't like he beat up the competition just for the opportunity to hang out with me. It's what he's paid to do.

  Second, I have no business fantasizing about him. I'm not even sure I'd know what to do with him. Jesus, he's like sex-on-a-stick and obviously I am not.

  Third, I'm emotional garbage. Not just an empty-wine-bottle-thrown-away-after-a-date-with-a-sad-movie-and-some-Kleenex empty garbage, but a handle-of-vodka-tossed-among-a-dozen-empty-pizza-boxes-and-a-cake-pan-after-a-week-long-bender emotional garbage. More like emotional refuse.

  No one needs to deal with that. I don't want to deal with it. So even if sex-on-a-stick Trey has an inkling of attraction to me, I can't do that to him.

  Still, I rush through my crammed morning shower, speedily prepare my face and hair, and face the day with butterfly driven anticipation.

  I get to spend the day with Treyyyyy.

  He's waiting for me outside. Leaning against the building, sunglasses pulled tight over his eyes, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his khaki cargos, light blue fishing shirt hanging gloriously on the beautiful curves of his muscles… I try to play it cool as I step from my room and he moves to greet me.

  "Hey," I say as I tuck loose bits of still damp hair (I didn't have the patience to dry it fully) under my headscarf—the headscarf he bought me.

  I have to suppress my giddy smile.

  "Sleep okay?"

  "Not bad. You?"

  "Meh," he says dismissively. "It's like sleeping on a camp cot, but could be worse."

  We make our way to the cafeteria. The food reminds me of a free continental breakfast at a cheap hotel: oatmeal, some packaged pastry products, coffee and powdered creamer. I grab a croissant and coffee and head for the offic
e. Trey follows with a much larger assortment.

  He sits at the nearest empty desk and busies himself on the computer. There are a total of five desks in the cramped room, but we're the only occupants. I hope for the project's sake, they fill the vacancies soon. At the moment though, I'm happy to enjoy Trey's company…alone. Doesn't matter if we talk or not.

  Which we don't. For the next several hours, we work in silence. Although early on, he requests to "put on some tunes".

  I fully expect heavy metal or gangster rap. Instead, Sinatra pours from the computer speakers. Remembering the one-eyed, scarred up dog keeping guard at the compound, I laugh.

  "I miss that ugly son-of-a-bitch," Trey admits.

  "He is ugly." I flash my teeth at his scowl. "And a very nice doggie."

  "That's better."

  Two hours pass before we speak again. While I've been answering emails, going over the construction schedule, familiarizing myself with project updates, he's been clicking away intently at his desk. Finally, I ask, "What are you working on?"

  "Just checking the level of heat in the area."

  By "heat" I figure he means hostile threat. "How is it?"

  "Tame."

  "They have that on the Internet?"

  "They have everything on the Internet."

  "I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse."

  "I guess it depends on whether or not you have something to hide." He grins. "In this case you should feel better." Glancing back at the computer screen, he frowns. "Although…"

  The image of some terrorist stronghold just over the mountain pops into my head. "Although what?"

  "The weather looks a little iffy." He shrugs it off. "Potential for some storms today. We should be okay."

  I'm not sure I like the use of should in his sentence. But there's no point dwelling on it. The weather is the last thing I can control.

  The morning passes quickly and before I know it, it's time for lunch. More curried beef. It might even be left over from dinner.

  I find Trey extremely easy to be around. For someone who initially filled me with so much trepidation, I'm surprised by how quickly I feel comfortable in his presence. For a man that can have such a commanding air when he wants to, he also has an easy, casual vibe to him.