One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

by Allison Gatta

  He looked down at her hand as she rubbed away the residue, and when she saw the astonishment in his eyes, she threw the towel on the table between them before resting back against the padded booth.

  What the hell was wrong with her? What had come over her that she just did something like that automatically? She wouldn’t have done that to Myla. Or would she? Maybe she would. Maybe…

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she wiped the corners of her mouth.

  “I know better than to think you can be trusted to clean up after yourself.” She tried to mask the sudden insecurity spreading over her, but that look in Holden’s eyes didn’t go away. It was the same one he’d had when he looked at her in her bed…the same one that sent panic and fear racing through her bloodstream like poison.

  “Anyway, we should probably get going. Like I said, the slot tournament starts soon, and we don’t want to miss the chance to see the old ladies fighting over who gets the Dolly Parton machine.” She dropped some money on the table, scooted from the booth, and started to leave the restaurant, but when she turned to talk to Holden again, he wasn’t with her. Instead, he was sitting in the booth, his billfold open as he reviewed its contents.

  She stalked back to the table. “What are you doing?”

  “Paying the check.” He pulled some bills from the wallet and placed them on the table, then picked her money up and handed it back to her.

  She stared at his outstretched hand, but didn’t move. “No, you’re not. I already took care of it. Tip and everything. The slots—”

  “Can wait. Now don’t be silly. Take it.” He extended the money farther toward her, but she sidestepped him. “Why don’t we split it, huh? I’ll cover—”

  “Avery.” The lightness in his tone was gone now. She glanced at him to find the Holden that his fellow Marines probably saw.

  “Holden.” She put her hands on her hips.

  “Either you can accept that I’m paying this bill, or we can stand here all night. I have no preference.”

  “Why do you have the sudden need to cover my bill? We always split the check. You never—”

  “Just accept it.”

  She looked at him for a long moment before she snatched the money from his hand and stuffed it back into her purse.

  “Fine. But I’m going to be really frivolous with this money.”

  “Good.” He nodded, sliding from the booth to join her.

  “I mean super irresponsible.”

  “Even better.”

  “Rodrigo might get some kitty costumes out of it.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be adorable.” Holden said, then he looped his arm around her waist, and she startled again as a jolt of awareness traveled up her spine and fizzled through her.

  She walked a little faster, and his loose grip on her fell. “We’re going to have to hurry if we want to make it—”

  “Actually, I’m not sure I do,” Holden said.

  Avery stopped just outside the restaurant’s doors to turn and face him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not sure I want to go to the slot tournament.”

  “But it’ll be so much fun. They even have a Power Rangers machine and—”

  “Oh, I’m sure it would be fun, but I didn’t fly across the country to play slots. I came to see you.” That look was back again, all dark and smoldering and ready to weaken her knees until she buckled.

  She blinked. “We’ll be together, though. We can even make a game out of it. You’ll see, we can—”

  “No,” he said. “We’re in California. Let’s go to the beach.”

  “It’s almost dark,” she argued.

  “Even better.”

  Avery chewed on her bottom lip, considering. She’d had a wild week planned for them—full of clubs and casinos and adventure. Maybe one night on the beach wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if the tide was forgiving enough, they might be too busy riding the waves for her to see that look in his eyes again.

  It was possible, right?

  “Okay, let’s go back to my place and grab our suits—”

  Holden shook his head. “No, come on. The beach is only a couple of blocks away. Let’s just walk over.”

  “But if we can’t swim—”

  “We’ll walk along the shoreline, collect seashells, maybe. I came all this way. I want some time to talk to you. To be with you.” The slightest smile touched his lips, and her heart gave a little flutter.

  This was no good, no fair. He was playing dirty. He had to know by now what his smile did to her, how she felt knowing that he wanted something, really wanted it.

  He had to know that it was almost impossible for her to deny him anything when he looked at her that way.

  “Yeah, uh, okay. We can go to the beach. We should probably hurry, though. The sun will be setting soon.” Her stomach clenched as she pictured them, walking side-by-side on the shore, the orange glow of the sun’s last rays catching in Holden’s blond hair. It seemed so…intimate. So romantic.

  She sucked in her cheeks. This was a colossal mistake. If it wasn’t too late, there was a chance she could take it back, though. If only she could—

  “All right, let’s go.” Holden grinned and started toward the door. And with a deep breath, she followed along behind him, swallowing all her protests in one terror-filled gulp.

  Chapter Six

  Fred Fitzgerald.

  Holden barely managed to swallow back a snort of disgust. What the fuck kind of name was that, anyway? Sounded like a trust-fund brat…or maybe an insurance salesman.

  Whatever the case, Holden hated his guts already. Which was pathetic, considering the poor bastard was probably in the same spot he, himself, was right this minute.

  Crazy for Avery Forrester with almost no chance of having her.

  Sure, he’d had her in the biblical sense—he refused to wonder whether or not Fred Fitzgerald could say the same—but having Avery and holding her were two totally different things. But today was the day. Today, he was going to make his move. Win, lose, or draw, it was worth the risk. Then he’d finally know, for sure, how she felt. Worst-case scenario? She’d shoot him down, and he could comfort himself with the fact that at least he’d gone out swinging. Best-case scenario?

  He wouldn’t even allow himself to think about it.

  “Wait up,” he called after her, lengthening his stride until they were side-by-side again. “Jesus, Avery, where’s the fire…other than in my mouth from those hot wings?” he asked with a laugh.

  Good. Keep it casual. And the best way to do that was to disarm her with small talk. Keep it light and then, BAM! Drop it like a bomb before she knew what hit her.

  “Oh Lord, you’re such a baby,” she said, shoulder checking him gently as they walked. “Hey, if you still can’t take the heat, I can give Fred a call and tell him to bring his firehose—”

  “Nope,” he answered sharply. “It’s all good, I was just kidding.” Because fuck Fred and his firehose. His blood instantly went hot at the second mention of the fire captain, and it took him a minute to get his head right as they walked in silence.

  He’d just mentally put together the opening to the speech he’d been working on for the past twenty-four hours when she let out a gasp.

  “Wow, check it out!” She ran ahead again, and he followed her path with his gaze.

  A dozen yards away, the form of a massive turtle made out of sand covered an eight-foot section of the beach. Avery slowed as she reached it and turned back, shooting him a wide grin over her shoulder.

  “It’s amazing. Hurry up, slow poke.”

  Despite his irritation at yet another interruption, he had to admit she was right. The display of sand art was definitely expert level. The shell was massive and looked so lifelike, he wanted to reach out and touch it. Best of all was the animal’s face. It looked like the turtle was smiling, which clearly delighted Avery to no end.

  “This must have taken hours,” he said, not sure what was more c
ompelling, her ecstatic face or the sand sculpture. It was hard to stay irritated with her when she looked so goddamned beautiful.

  “It probably did, but I bet whoever did this had a blast.” Her green eyes snapped with fire as she closed the distance between them and tugged him off the dry sand over to the cooler, sea-soaked shore. “We still have a solid hour until sunset, so let’s make our own sand sculpture. Look, there’s an old cracked bucket right there,” she said, her face as animated as a kid’s on Christmas morning. “And we can use some big shells to scoop the wet sand into it.”

  He eyed the cruddy yellow bucket as she picked it up and shook his head slowly. “I’m pretty sure they had better tools than that when they made the turtle,” he replied with a chuckle.

  “Maybe, but who cares? Ours will still be cooler. Come on, Holden, don’t poop on my party.”

  Her voice had taken on a slightly desperate edge that had him searching her face for clues as to what he was missing. She either really wanted to make a sand critter, or she was having some sort of nervous breakdown. In either case, he found himself nodding in agreement and scanning the beach for shells.

  But as he watched her scurrying ahead of him, her feet kicking up sugary sand as she ran, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow tipped her off to his plan. She’d been acting strange all day. Earlier, at the restaurant, the impromptu wing-eating contest had made conversation near impossible. Even now, his lips burned from the heat of the sauce. Then, afterward, she’d been babbling a mile a minute, as if her constant chatter would hold him off or something.

  Not going to happen.

  A welcome sense of calm overtook him, and the steely resolve he usually reserved for battle settled into his bones. If she was on to him and thought he was going to be sidetracked, she was sadly mistaken. He’d let her squirm away from the truth for far too long. He was a man on a mission.

  And Holden Morris never failed a mission.

  “Okay, so what’s the plan? Did you want to make an animal or—”

  Avery’s whole body seemed to relax as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but that’s beyond my skill level. What about a castle? It’s probably the easiest thing to do, and we can get it done before the tide comes in.”

  Maybe waiting a little longer was for the best, anyway. She was twitchier than a Marine in a minefield today. At least once the sun had set, they wouldn’t be in the harsh light of day, able to see every emotion, every thought, passing over one another’s faces. If she had to let him down, it would be easier for her if she didn’t have to see his face. Because the last thing he wanted to do was make her sad.

  He threw himself into the task at hand, managing it like he did any other. Unfortunately, Avery did her version of the same, so for every perfectly calibrated, even turret he formed with their broke-ass bucket, she was right next to him making one that looked like it had come out the backside of a grizzly.

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked, as she lifted the bucket up to reveal yet another malformed mound of sand. “What kind of castle could that foundation possibly support? One little siege or dragon attack and the whole frigging thing is going to come down. And besides, you just plopped that shit-pile right on top of my moat.”

  She laughed, propping one hand on her slender hip. “Oh my God. Could you really be that much of a control freak? You seriously need to get a grip, soldier boy.”

  “Fine.” He eyed the dilapidated castle and cocked his head, taking it in, in all its pathetic glory. “I’m going to think of it as abstract, then. Art over function,” he said, shooting her a wink. He snagged the bucket from her and filled it, then dumped out a second pile, just as fucked up as hers. “See, I can adapt.”

  She gave him a thumbs-up of approval and began collecting more shells for decoration.

  “Myla and I built a sandcastle one time on a trip to Puerto Rico. Actually, scratch that,” she said with a laugh. “We built half a sandcastle. Then, we got super drunk from sucking down mojitos in the sun and wound up pretending we were Gulliver and stomped all over it and the Lilliputians hiding inside.”

  Her smile was soft with the memory, but her tone held a hint of sadness.

  “Is everything okay with you guys?” he asked, pushing a spiral shell into place on the face of their castle and then wiping the sand off his hands.

  “Yeah, we’re great,” she said, a little too brightly. She paused and lifted one shoulder. “I mean, we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to. She and Oliver are falling all over each other. New love and all that, but that’s the way it goes, you know? I’m so happy for her. They’re a great couple.”

  He could tell she really believed that, but there was no doubting she missed her friend.

  “So, what do you do for fun when I’m not here to drag around the city?” He wanted to cut his tongue off for a second, because he was just begging for more tales of her sexploits with Fred Fitzgerald. Luckily, she let him off easy.

  “Well, Rodrigo and I have grown extremely close. He’s my TV binge buddy. As long as I’m willing to scratch him behind the ears, he’s willing to sit on the couch and pretty much let me see any show I want. So, we watch a lot of the Travel Channel. I actually made a corkboard map with little pushpins of all the places I’d like to go,” she said, her cheeks growing a little pink at the admission.

  “Traveling is the best,” he agreed. “It’s one of the best things about the military. I’ve gotten to see so much of the world already.”

  She shot him a questioning look and opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut, turning her attention to the scallop shell she held in her palm.

  “What?” he asked. “What were you about to say?”

  She chewed on her lower lip for a second before meeting his gaze. “Do you love it?”

  He eyed her thoughtfully and let the question roll around in his head. “The military?” he asked, to buy some time.

  “Yeah. Like, is it your true calling? Do you feel like it’s what you were born to do?”

  He faced the rolling waves for a long moment and then nodded. “I love the camaraderie, needed the discipline, and I appreciate the experiences I’ve had. My calling? I think it is.”

  “I’ve always wondered,” she said softly. “I mean, I know you’ve made it a positive experience, and you’ve thrived there. But if your family hadn’t pushed you so hard to enlist, do you think you’d have chosen that path?”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. It wasn’t a question anyone had ever asked him, and one he’d never bothered to ask himself. He’d joined the Marines like his father and his grandfather before him. It wasn’t a choice, it just…was.

  He watched her closely as she plucked a seagull feather from the sand and stuck it into the top of the highest turret.

  “What do you mean? Do you think I should’ve done something different with my life?”

  The question hung between them for a long moment, and the air seemed to grow thicker. It felt like a crossroads, one where they would set aside the jokes and the casual banter and get to the meat of something. Maybe they’d even have their first argument. It was twisted that he almost looked forward to it. Because it meant she cared, and that they had something real, something worth fighting over.

  Something worth fighting for.

  “I don’t really have the right to say, one way or another.” She shrugged.

  “Don’t you?” he asked.

  She looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. “I don’t know what you want out of it, I guess. I just always thought it was for them.” She frowned at the idea of his parents, and Holden hesitated. It seemed like the perfect moment to tell her. And even if it wasn’t, he had to get it off his chest.

  “At first, I wasn’t sure, either,” he hedged. “I had to sit down and do some serious thinking about what my life would be. So, I put together a list.”

  “A list?” She raised her eyebr
ows. “Very practical.”

  “It’s more of a plan. A ten-year plan, you know? How long I want to stay in the service, what I want to do afterward, what I want my personal life to be like.”

  “Whoa, heavy stuff.” She focused on the sandcastle, straightening a leaning turret.

  “Maybe. But I’m closer to thirty now than twenty. It’s time to grow up, think about marriage, children. Everything.”

  “And those are the things you want? Marriage and children?” Her tone was lofty, and she still didn’t look at him, but he knew all of her attention was focused on what he’d say next.

  “Yeah, I think it is. What do you think about that?” he asked.

  “Well…it’s your life, and—” She broke off and let out a squeal as the tide rushed over her bare feet in a foamy wave.

  “Our masterpiece,” she yelped as the water continued on, lapping at their shoddily constructed castle, dragging half of it back into the ocean as it receded. “Aw, man. Well, it was cool while it lasted,” she said with a shaky smile. “But your shoes are soaked now. We should probably go…”

  He glanced down and noted his damp boat shoes dispassionately. He hadn’t even felt the cool water. He was too busy absorbing the casual shot to the heart she’d just delivered.

  Because she’d finally answered the question that had been burning inside him for years without him even having to ask. It was his life. And she obviously had no interest in sharing it with him.

  Fuck.

  …

  The expression on Holden’s face made her want to throw up. He looked like he’d been punched in the esophagus. And the worst part? She was the one who’d done the punching. This whole day had been a clusterfuck, and there was only one person to blame.

  She aimed internal, invisible thumbs in her direction. This girl.

  She was acting like a full-on psycho, talking nonstop one second and then running off like a golden retriever after a squirrel sighting. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Even now, looking at his stricken face, the panic crawled up the back of her neck. She wanted to go to him, curl her arms around his neck, and pull him close. Comfort him and tell him it was all right.