“I was used to it, though, always on the go. Always meeting new people, seeing different places,” he said.
“And you missed that sense of freedom?”
He dumped the bag in the trash can and sighed before turning to face her, running his long fingers through his ebony hair, causing the trim waves to stick haphazardly. “In a way.”
In a swift move, gripping the hem of his t-shirt, he yanked the fabric up and over his head, in a way only guys seemed to be able to do without bending over, stuck in a pretzel with the collar at the chin.
Oh. My. God.
All the time Sammy had indulged herself in an introverted lifestyle, keeping to herself, she’d never enlightened herself—one-on-one—with real glimpses of the god-like male form. People came into Pablo’s and undressed themselves enough for tattoos. Lots of buff dudes, and many more wannabes.
But she’d never witnessed such delectable, exquisitely perfect taut skin over muscles. And a just-right spread of chest hair, enough to show he was a man’s man, not a hairless pretty boy. Smooth, tight strength and coarse ruggedness—what a tempting oxymoron.
He whistled.
Sammy jerked her attention to his face.
“Eyes are up here.”
Busted. God, that cocky smile. Amused, was he? Heat seared the tips of her ears.
“See something you like?”
Like? As in admiring, or wanting a taste?
“Just, ah, checking out your ink.” To punctuate her half-lie, she pointed absently at his chest, that canvas of skin decorated in mostly thick black lines, not quite tribal, but still geometric. A bold jungle of twists and dashes, encouraging her to follow the path like the finest masterpiece, or taunting labyrinth.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, glancing down at his tattoos. “And?”
His question suggested he was seeking her approval for the aesthetics. Right? “Sure. I mean, yes. It’s all very…” How to sum him up? There weren’t words. “Well done.”
Can I see more?
She rubbed the back of her neck, too warm and flattered he respected her artistic critique. “I”—she cleared her throat—“work in a tattoo shop.”
“You ran away from Concord to become a tat artist?”
She flinched. Not going there. “So you missed being on the go? That’s why you signed up to serve?”
He groaned. “No answers from you. You were never this tight-lipped before.” He sighed, giving up on eye contact. Rifling through his bag, he continued. “I think it’s just the way I am.”
The way he was? As in too lickable, touchable, so infernally out of her league? She gaped and forced her attention to the foot of her bed, blinded and scorched like staring into the sun. Lick? Touch? She could hardly hug a man, let alone feel one up. Her league wasn’t open for business anyway.
“It’s ingrained in me to move around,” he elaborated.
“Nomadic?” she said as he maneuvered around the room and then went into the bathroom.
“I prefer free-spirited,” he called out from the bathroom, the door left open. “So instead of stressing myself to figure out where I’m supposed to be and what I’m meant to be doing, I’m going to”—the sounds of spitting and gargling followed his slurred words—“have a little fun and take time to enjoy life before shackling myself to anything more than a week’s commitment.”
Including women?
The fact he was single was shocking. With his charming yet mischievous nature? She’d always imagined, despite his decision to enlist in the Army, that he’d find some lucky girl to make his own, and wouldn’t have a shortage of companions at every port. The fact he hadn’t, and didn’t have an inclination to, showed her just how available he was.
Available … to me?
Sammy wouldn’t dare make a move on him because she was terrified. And clueless. But all the other normal young women of the world… Adam had to have a line of willing ladies waiting on him in each of his adventures and destinations.
Finished in the bathroom, he reentered the room, shut off the light, and paused at the foot of the beds. In the darkness, Sammy couldn’t precisely follow the reward of him removing his pants, but she was all too aware he went to bed in … what? Just his boxers? In the nude?
The rustling of sheets played at her anxiety, both the simmering attraction heating her body, and the reality that she would be fully unconscious within a man’s reach.
Sliding her finger along the aluminum canister of Mace as a reminder of safety, she steadied her breaths enough to listen to Adam orienting himself in his bed.
This is Adam. Adam. He wouldn’t hurt me…
But he was still a man. Much stronger than she was.
When she had money, and time, perhaps she’d employ the assistance of a therapist to reset her anxiety around the opposite sex. Torn between the ease of wanting to trust Adam and the instinct to never lower her guard, she was troubled. Stir in her unexpected and unwelcome attraction to him, and she had a mess in her head.
Despite the racing of her heart, she couldn’t fight a yawn.
Adam’s chuckle reminded her of his hug—soft but firm, and caressing. “Sorry to keep you up with my rambling. You’ve been on the road all day. Night, Sammy. Sweet dreams, babe.”
Rambling? Hardly. If she could ask him to tell her more about himself without having to reply with mutual info about herself, she’d gladly listen to his deep tone all night. After years away from him, but often present in her thoughts, she was thirsty to know what she’d missed.
“Night.” She shimmied to her side, facing the shadowy outline of Adam as he lay on his back, his impressive arms under the back of his head as he seemed to stare at the ceiling.
Thinking about his comments and his lack of goals in his immediate future, she couldn’t help but compare his freedom and uncomplicated attitude to her own lifestyle. Namely, her biggest commitment—her friendship to one special, irreplaceable friend stuck in a sterile room in San Francisco.
Clare would still be in the hospital, she reminded herself, at least until the infections were things of the past. Throughout the day, she’d texted Sammy goofy memes about old people falling and not getting up. Crude, inappropriate jokes on herself. Clare might have been the sweet, doting, grandmotherly type, but she still loved to laugh and snicker, even self-depreciatingly.
Must be bored out of her mind in that little blinding-white room. Tomorrow, she’d find some silly crap to text her while Adam drove.
“You still awake?” Adam’s voice was hushed but clear in the room.
Stilling herself, she chickened out of answering, opting out of a continuance of their too-personal chit chat.
A heavy sigh punctuated the quiet, and Sammy remained unmoving as he wrestled into a position to slowly ease into soothing, light snores.
Chapter Six
As far as habits went, Adam supposed his morning runs weren’t the worst things he could be addicted to. Besides, it wasn’t as though he was battling a hangover from the previous night. Partying was getting old, anyway.
Like I’m getting old? He huffed at his own nagging thoughts.
Letting himself back into the hotel room, he blinked the sweat from entering his eyes and tempered his breaths to slow. Darkness blanketed the room, the lone illumination glaring from the numerals on the clock between their beds.
Sammy’s soft snores sounded a soothing rhythm as he silently shut the door behind him. The fact she still slept didn’t surprise him. Not everyone woke before seven AM.
He gathered his stuff and showered as noiselessly as he could. Freshly cleaned and dressed, he risked turning on the light positioned the farthest from her.
With a barely-there groan, Sammy woke up, stretching her limbs north and south, arching her back. Unable to resist watching her before she was too conscious of her surroundings and therefore back to her guarded stiffness, he turned to the dresser and stuffed his belongings in his bag.
What he wouldn’t give to feel her next to him,
still warm and lazy in the comfort of fading slumber. Maybe in such a relaxed state, she might not be as standoffish, something more like the compassionate girl he’d once known. Maybe she’d simply talk to him, instead of being cool toward him.
“Rise and shine,” he said softly, so as not to startle her. She grunted once and he chanced facing her. “Sleep well?”
Swishing back the sheet a bit, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and set her feet on the floor. Black t-shirt and off-white linens covered her body. Modesty, or something more, he had to wonder.
“Yeah. You?”
“Like a rock.” He hefted his bag to his shoulder and smiled. “I’m ready to go. Bathroom’s all yours. I’ll meet you at the car?”
She gave him a small smile and nodded. “Perfect.”
Perfect? Complete solitude was fine in stretches. But flat-out hiding all the time? It was as though she couldn’t compute how to fit him into her presence. He couldn’t let go of the mystery of who she had become in those few years since he’d been gone.
As he deposited his bag in the car and let Ink wander in the sparse grassy space next to the car, he tried to convince himself it shouldn’t matter. Who Sammy was wasn’t his enigma to solve. They were only reuniting for a shared carpool from point A to point B. Right?
People changed. He, better than most, should have known that. It should have been a stark signal—the girl, the young woman he’d always kept on his mind since he’d enlisted, she simply wasn’t the same anymore. So she kept to herself more than she had as a kid. Nothing nefarious in her being more introverted.
Bullshit. Gut instinct warned him something was off.
With Ink in the car, windows down, he leaned his ass against the driver’s door while he waited for Sammy to join him.
Twenty minutes later, he raised his brows, stunned.
Crossing the pavement, aiming for him, well, the car, Sammy strode in a sure gait. In a dark-gray tank top and not-as-baggy denim shorts, she blew his mind. Still so bland of attire, but she was actually sporting clothes more her size. And the flesh she dared to bare—holy shit. Sure, she was a slender little thing. Petite, but packed. Feminine to the nth degree, she had curves, but she also had some muscles. Not ripped, but goddamn, she was hot. Nothing more alluring, or challenging, than a woman who could hold her own, a vixen with some honest-to-God meat on her bones. An oxymoron of appearing docile and sweet, but warning she’d cover her own ass.
“Fuck me, Sammy.” He shook his head, reverently in awe of her. “You look like goddamn Sarah O’Connor.”
She smirked. “Still a Terminator fan?”
Hey, it’s still a good movie. She’d never held back from ribbing him about his fandom of Arnold.
“Too hot for the hoodie?” he asked.
Even though her eyes were shielded behind the reflexive aviator sunglasses perched on her nose, he could quite seriously feel the scorch of her glare as her face turned toward his.
Way to go, asshole. He hadn’t meant to be so snide, but he really had expected to see her covered head to toe again. Besides, walking on eggshells around her was losing its welcome. Years ago, they’d slip into a silly, easy bickering at differences of opinions. It was obvious her concealing attire was a touchy subject, but he couldn’t still resist making the jab, hoping for an answer why she hid from the world.
She made no reply as she tossed her backpack through the rear window. “Who’s driving first?”
“I will. If that’s okay with you.” He glanced up at the bleak morning sky, some bits of blue peeking out from behind ominous, pregnant clouds. “Hopefully we’ll stay ahead of the storm.”
“I checked the weather. It looks like a massive storm chasing us. Just let me run in and grab some coffee before we head out.”
Not trusting himself to say something else to piss her off, he remained silent as she left for convenience mart next to the motel. Waiting, he tried to remember if she was ever a morning person. Sure, he’d spent plenty of time with the Millson siblings, but he’d never woken up in Sammy’s proximity. Of course, if she’d been near her parents at breakfast after his sleepovers with Jake, any grumpiness would have been frowned upon, anyway.
Such a controlled life both kids had to tolerate until they were free of their parents’ attention, which luckily for them, was often.
When they’d first gotten to know each other, that summer before school when Adam had moved to Concord, he originally envied them. Sammy and Jake had a complete pair of parents, living in the same house, always there—physically, at least. Not like his brooding, sad mom, freaking out her husband might not return from action, or the depression that struck whenever she had anchored herself in a community only to be told they were going to be relocating—again—soon. The Millsons were a complete package, a united family. Though it took time for Adam to comprehend that even though the Millsons were present parents, Sammy and Jake lacked love and support.
How many times had Adam wondered if his mom would have been truly happy if Dad had stayed home more, even chosen a different career?
Dad, not in the service? Ha.
Even in wishing for more stability in his own home, Adam realized too early that commitments were tethers like double-edged swords. Why should Dad have left the service to appease Mom, when it was clearly where his heart lay? Patriotism and a fundamental sense of belonging had rooted Dad in the Army, and Adam had long ago respected that for what it was.
Sure, Mom was devoted to Dad, always the loyal Army wife, but by concealing her own contentedness in life, by putting her dreams and wishes on the back burner, she’d only done a disservice to herself, Dad, and Adam, too—modeling to him that commitments, whether to a spouse, a job, or a home, were as destructive as they could be nurturing.
Better to have true freedom—as a single agent in life—making decisions to complicate only his life and well-being without messing up the joys of anyone else.
Ink yipped at a wussy, Maltese-poodle-looking thing taking a leak in the hotel’s fenced-in dog area. Distracted from his musings, Adam resigned to keep the past in the past, and not study too intensely at what should, or should not, lay in his future.
He glanced at the convenience mart, wondering what was stalling Sammy. It didn’t take that long to get a cup of joe. And it sure as hell wasn’t a gourmet café where she could have delicately ordered some fancy-ass latte with a gazillion alternatives for additives.
Clicking the remote lock on the car, he hoped Ink would stay in the vehicle. He walked to the mart and entered, searching for Sammy.
She stood in line, a standard travel cup of coffee in one hand, a bag of jerky in the other. Above her white-knuckled grip on the package of dried meat, her arm was ramrod straight. Narrowing his eyes, he witnessed the beefy man next to Sammy lean closer to her, nudging his massive shoulder to her slim one, lingering long enough to rub against her.
One look at her face was enough. Pale, wide-eyed, and with set lips, she seemed to be frightened by a ghost, enraged at a monster, and nervous of an Armageddon all at once.
Adam rushed forward and slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her closer in a hug. “Hey, babe,” he said and pressed a kiss to her temple. “What’s taking so long?”
Claiming propriety over her seemed childish, but there was no doubt in his mind she was terrified of the customer in line.
Harmless lie, but would she push him off, or welcome his save?
As soon as she blinked and peered at him, she inhaled deeply. Like a flush of fluids washing over her, she seemed to calm. Her arm relaxed against his side, her back eased its stiff posture. Leaning into him, he wanted to believe she was grateful for his ruse.
He didn’t blame her. That was one menacing motherfucker. And if he’d been harassing Sammy, hell, Adam wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for her, but he’d do so knowing he was writing his own epitaph. Being in the military granted him a heck of a physique that he still rigorously maintained, but he wasn’t stupid enough to t
hink he had anything on the giant in line.
The man nodded at him and stepped back a foot.
Sammy didn’t speak, and Adam snaked his arm farther around her waist, pulling her to look at him. He took the coffee cup and motioned for her to hand over the jerky too. With her items in one hand, he slid his free hand down to grip hers. It was faint, but a tremor still shook her fingers.
“I got it,” he said, stepping forward in line with her. I got you.
He paid for the purchases, not letting go of her hand, and then they exited. Only when she was within reach of the car did she release his hand.
Without another word, Adam struggled to be patient and to give her space. She hadn’t been receptive to his probing questions. He tried to respect her quiet. Too bad he only lasted long enough for them to drive out of the parking lot. “Sammy? You all right?”
She nodded, closing her eyes, her kickass sunglasses hanging from the collar of her shirt.
“You were fucking shaking.” He bounced his gaze back and forth between the road and the terrified woman.
Frowning, she studied her now steady hands. “Sorry.”
Sorry? For what? “Why?”
“I … I was scared.”
He glared at the road, scrunching his brow. “Why are you sorry for being scared?”
In a harsh huff of air, she exhaled. “I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“He was just… He freaked me out. He was huge.”
“Was he hitting on you? Did he touch you?” Jesus, it was broad daylight, in public.
“No, no. He … made me nervous is all.”
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