by Claire Cain
“That is so completely different. I was here, doing everyday things. I wasn’t risking my life. I wasn’t surrounded by a different culture and fighting a war.”
“It doesn’t matter. It was your life, and I wish I’d been a part of it. I wish you’d been a part of mine too. But I can tell you with full conviction that dwelling on things you can’t change is completely unproductive. It won’t get us anywhere, and it certainly won’t make our relationship now any stronger.” He paused then and ran a thumb over my cheek bone, then traced the shell of my ear. “Thank you for being the kind of person who would feel the need to apologize, but please believe me when I tell you I understand what you mean, and there’s no reason to apologize.” He practically glared at me, trying to impress me with his words, trying to make sure I understood and believed him.
I did.
He lifted his hand to the side of my face and ran his thumb across my bottom lip. His eyes were that crevice blue, the depths inescapable and gravitational and irresistible. Fireflies lit up in my belly and I leaned into his hand. He leaned forward slowly, slowly, slowly until his lips were nearly touching mine. My body was pressed to his, and I tried to breathe like someone who was good at it—who knew how to take and expel breaths without conscious thought.
My mind was buzzing with anticipation, overwhelmed with his nearness after what felt like an agonizingly long day without much contact. I was just about to close my eyes when he said, “Are you hungry?”
I may have groaned.
In frustration.
Because… seriously?
“Uhhh…” I just stood there, looking at him, my chest rising and falling like I was in mortal peril, and all I could say was, “Uh.” My mind did feel a kind of peril, the kind that comes from having Luke Waterford stand that close to me and not kiss me. Especially after either watching him or sitting next to him the entire day, but not really touching him since he was in uniform and technically working.
My nerves threw themselves off a cliff.
His smirk grew into a grin that grew into a sunrise-level self-satisfied smile.
“Is that a yes?” He loosened his grip on me and stepped back just a little.
“That was mean. You know that was mean,” I said, shaking my head at him as he bounced away from me, clearly proud of himself for getting me riled up.
“It wasn’t mean. I just wanted to make sure you’re still interested.” His voice was obnoxiously confident.
“Well, I was…” I stood in the same spot and crossed my arms.
“Come come, now Al, be a good sport. I promise I’ll kiss you tonight.” He raised his eyebrows a few times for emphasis.
“Oh boy, you are full of yourself. You’d never know you’d been knocked on your butt and nearly asphyxiated in less than a minute just hours ago.” I sat in an overstuffed chair and watched him shuffling around the kitchen.
“Now that’s low. I thought you said I was a good loser?” he said in a mock-hurt tone.
“I did, that.”
“Well I’m just proving to you that losing hasn’t hurt my manly confidence. I’ve still got some left.” He sifted through a drawer and pulled out a menu.
“Yes, I see you have just a little left,” I said with a roll of my eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
We continued to tease each other as he ordered pizza and handed me a beer. We sat in his living room talking about the tournament, his coworkers, and he told me more about what he did day to day. The plan for him to take me on a tour of the post after the tournament was postponed since the rain made doing anything other than escaping to his apartment a non-option.
I finished a beer and switched to water. I’d had a hotdog about seven hours before for lunch, and I was absolutely ravenous. He didn’t have much to eat because he’d been working nonstop after getting back from his trip, and I ended up basically guzzling my beer in search of caloric fulfillment. It went to my head and I’ll just say, I got a little bold/awkward.
He was sitting in the chair and I was on the couch, but after I went to the bathroom, as I came back, I stopped right in front of where his legs rested. He was reclined comfortably in the deep over-stuffed chair after the long day, his long legs outstretched in front of him on the ground. He eyed me from where he sat and one eyebrow quirked up.
“Can I help you?” he asked and took a sip of his beer.
“Yes,” I said, my voice remarkably sultry, which served my purposes perfectly. I took a step forward between his legs to the edge of the chair. As he watched me, he straightened and sat up and set his beer down on the table next to him. His eyes never left mine.
I moved to straddle his legs, resting my knees on the outside of his hips in the chair and ran my hands over his chest. I tried to ignore the tantalizing dips and swells under his t-shirt as I gave him my most predatory look and bit my bottom lip just a little as I leaned forward. His hands came to my hips, and I could feel his heart beating increasingly fast under my hand. I leaned down and brought my face to just an inch from his.
I had to swallow down a gust of nervousness as I looked in his eyes, now hooded with desire, because his face was intense. I had meant to tease him. I had planned to whisper in his ear and then do something obnoxious, but his eyes stilled me. I felt the heat between our bodies, now ironed together, and thought about moving, about pushing off his chest and stepping back, but I couldn’t convince myself to do it.
Being that close to Luke was like being caught in a rip current—it was all fun and games until you were caught, and then the only thing to do was swim sideways with all your might. But here I was, realizing I had forgotten how to swim and felt myself being pulled out into the depths.
He was determined not to move. He sat there, watching me intently, unnervingly. His hands hadn’t moved from my hips, but as we stared, so close together, our breathing increasing even though nothing else in the world around us was moving, his hands slid up my sides, over my shoulders, and settled at the base of my neck. He pulled me the last inch to meet his lips, and then we were kissing like it was the end of the world—his hands in my hair, on my back, on the backs of my thighs, pulling me closer even though that was impossible.
Somewhere in my mind I heard a sound, an annoying one, and wished I had a flyswatter, or some way to make it stop. Then it registered—doorbell!—ringing to tell us the pizza was here, and we’d have to stop or starve. I pulled back from Luke, and he loosened his hold on me, but his eyes were searching mine for an answer.
“Doorbell,” I said, blinking away the fog of desire and excitement and stepping away from him.
He stood up and grabbed his wallet, and he must have paid and thanked the pizza delivery guy, although I don’t remember him doing that. I was staring out at my car, the rain still pounding, trying to slow my jackhammer heart.
“You ready to eat?” he asked, and my distracted staring ended as my stomach growled in response.
“Yes please.” I piled pizza onto my plate and refilled my water. No more beer if I was driving home in this, or at all.
“Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?” he offered and took a place on the couch. I walked over to the living room, and before I could opt for the chair and gain a little space from him, he took my plate and set it down next to his on the coffee table in front of the couch. Ok, so we were going to sit together. Fine. Good.
“Sure.” It wasn’t like I was not excited to sit next to him, because I was. But being next to him apparently made me a little crazy.
As he fiddled with remotes, I saw him give me a glance or two.
“What?” I asked.
“Uh, well, I wanted to ask you something, actually,” he said, and I could tell he was nervous when he brushed his hands over his jeans.
“Ok. Ask me,” I said.
“I have this thing…”
“Another ball?”
“No. It’s a dinner, actually. It’s not a formal event—no gown required. But it’s for the battalion, and it’s kind of tur
ning into a big deal, I guess. It’s called a Hail and Farewell, which is where they say goodbye to the soldiers leaving the unit and welcome to those who are arriving. It’s a catered event at Lieutenant Colonel Wilson’s house. Major Flint has told me like five times to bring a date so I didn’t look like a ‘sketchy single captain,’ as though he isn’t a sketchy single major.” He raked his hands through his hair and then gripped his neck, and I noticed he was sitting up, his spine straight, even though his words seemed purposefully casual.
“Ok. Well for one, you’re not a sketchy single captain—you’re just a sketchy captain,” I said and gave him a smile. He gave me just a ghost of a smile in return, and I knew whatever this was, it was important to him. “Of course I’ll go.”
As he pulled up the movie and chatted, I could tell my agreeing to be at this dinner with him was significant. I couldn’t tell why, and he didn’t say any more about it, but I was glad he asked and glad I had a chance to say yes.
“Alex,” I heard a far-off voice say in my ear.
“Al.”
There it was again. I took a deep breath and tried to roll over but I was trapped, and I couldn’t move. My eyes sprang open and I sat up. The room was dark, but I could feel warmth—Luke all around me. There was a leg next to me, his chest must have been behind me, and his hands on my arms, pulling me back toward him where I was nestled before I jerked into consciousness.
“What time is it?” My voice was rough from sleep.
“It’s two. We fell asleep watching the movie, I guess,” he explained as he ran his hands up and down my arms and then gently through my hair. I swung my legs to the side of the couch and stood up.
“I’m sorry. I should definitely get going.” I grabbed my long-forgotten plate with the discarded crusts and glass and walked to the kitchen. I moved as quickly as I could in the darkness lit only by the small clock display on the oven and muted light outside the shut living room blinds.
He scrambled up and after me and took the dishes, setting them on the counter. “No, you definitely shouldn’t.” He held on to my arms to keep me in place.
“No, I should go.”
“No, you’re not driving an hour back to Nashville at 2am. Not happening. Plus, it’s still raining. That’s insane.” I heard his words, and they made sense, but I felt a mounting sense of panic.
“Well… I mean, I can’t stay here,” I announced, like that was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was, wasn’t it? That would be… significant.
“Of course you can.”
“Of course I can’t.”
“Why can’t you stay here?” I heard the edge in his voice and saw his impatience in the bunch of his shoulders.
“It’s just… I just… you’re just…” I stuttered and struggled to find some sense, some explanation that could verbalize why the thought of staying at his apartment made me feel like the bottom had dropped out of the room under my feet.
“You are a grown woman. We are in a mature relationship. We live in the modern age. You can stay at my house overnight, and you can leave in the morning unscathed.” He crossed his arms and was smirking at me like my nervousness about staying the night was some small thing. I felt a little annoyed with him. Ok, no, I felt a little embarrassed, and a lot a bit pissed.
“Don’t patronize me. I know I’m a grown woman. I’m not worried about my reputation or some such nonsense. I’m a big girl and make my own decisions. What I am a little worried about is…” And suddenly, I felt foolish. In my newly awakened mind, I’d forgotten who Luke was. Perpetually looking after me, even to the point of making me insane at times.
“Don’t stop talking. Finish your thought.” He seemed genuinely concerned with what would come next.
“I just don’t know what your expectations might be. I feel so dumb saying that, by the way, but there it is.” I tried not to crumple up into a little ball and throw myself in the trash like a bad first draft. He still held my arms so I couldn’t move anywhere.
He smiled at me, a painfully sweet, adoring smile, like I was a delightful little creature he’d found in a glen. I huffed an exasperated breath. “It’s not like I’m going to jump you and steal your virtue in the night,” he said, and I could hear the twinge of a laugh in his words.
“That’s not what I—never mind. Fine. I won’t drive back tonight.” And then I felt it. My insides hit an ethereal boiling point and turned to a roiling mess of nervousness.
Luke must have sensed my anxiety, and he steadied me with his hand on my arm while he flipped on a light. “Al, chill. We’re going to sleep.” He stopped there and leveled me with his most reassuring look, his flaming blue eyes pouring into mine. “We’re going to go to bed, and we’re going to sleep, and then in the morning we’re going to go to breakfast and fill you up with pancakes and coffee before you drive back to Nashville.”
Luke’s bedroom. Not a place I’d ever been after the age of ten, but honestly, it was a place I may or may not have imagined myself being in a few (hundred) times over the years. It was strange walking in and seeing it. He had a dark wood queen-sized bed with a navy comforter and crisp white sheets. He had a night stand on one side—presumably his side—with a reading lamp set on it. The room was a decent size and had a large closet that took up one wall. He had a window covered in blinds, and a few large black and white nature photographs framed around the walls—ones I recognized as scenes from back home.
“This is a good-sized bedroom. Mine is a little smaller,” I said and ran my hand along the comforter. It was soft.
As if it needed to be soft for me to want to be in there.
Right.
“I’m guessing everything is a little smaller in the city,” he said conversationally, and he stepped in to the bedroom. He’d given me a toothbrush and a t-shirt and some shorts, so I was dressed in his clothes that smelled like his fabric softener, standing on the side of his bed in his room. And there he was, stepping out of his bathroom in basketball shorts and a loose t-shirt, his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes tired but warm as they looked at me.
He let out a breath, then turned on the lamp, and threw back the covers on his side. “Don’t be shy. We used to have sleepovers all the time.” He smirked at me again, and I willed my heartbeat to slow. I was exhausted, but at that point it was hard to imagine actually sleeping.
“True, but we were four,” I qualified as I pulled back the covers and slid between them. My leg brushed against his, and he turned and shut off the light. I lay there, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling, unseeing in the new darkness.
“That’s true. It’s a little different now.” His voice was soft, but tired, and the sound of it made me relax.
“Goodnight Luke,” I said quietly as I rolled on my side and enjoyed how incredibly comfortable his mattress was. Way better than mine. I’d have to ask him what kind he had and jot that down for future reference.
“Goodnight, Al.” He was silent then, and the room was silent until I heard the rasp of his skin against the sheets and felt his hand grab mine. He laced our fingers together, and I felt myself relax even further, sinking into the sheets and mattress with full abandon.
I woke up before Luke and let myself lie in the bed that was warm with our shared body heat, let myself savor the sounds of his relaxed breathing, memorized the way he curled into himself on his side and how his dark eyelashes looked even longer than they usually did when his eyes were open. I left as quietly as I could and showered, then changed back into my own clothes. My chest felt tight, and I tried to ignore the feeling as I jerked on my pants and brushed my teeth.
He woke up looking handsome and sleepy and basically perfect, and I felt another jolt of frustrating pressure in my chest but swallowed it down and willed myself not to think about all the things grabbing for my attention. I had an hour-long car ride and the rest of the day to mull over things.
He took me to breakfast at a local diner and asked me to let him order something for me with
a little twinkle in his eye. He ordered sweet potato and pecan pancakes with maple butter and real maple syrup for me and eggs benedict for him, and then we split them evenly. How could he have known I liked something savory to balance out sweet things in the morning? Likely because he was discerning about food too. Everything tasted like heaven, and he was charming and adorable and just the right amount of affectionate, and I had to give myself a talking to in the bathroom so I wouldn’t cry.
I was totally and completely undone by the last twenty-four hours, and each bite of those damned sweet potato pancakes drilled home what I knew I knew but didn’t want to acknowledge. Couldn’t yet. Not ’til I was alone.
When I came out of the bathroom feeling more than ready to leave, he gave me a serious look.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and I knew he could see I was flustered, or crazed, or whatever it was I was.
“Nothing. The food here is mind-blowing. I don’t know how you’re not here every weekend,” I said, covering the intense inner turmoil I was experiencing with a too-wide smile.
He studied my face and squinted just slightly.
“I meant to ask you last night—what did you and Megan talk about yesterday?” He said it like he’d accidentally forgotten, but I could tell he’d been waiting based on how not-casual he sounded.
“She told me about the combatives stuff a little, about how good Harrison is, and introduced me to Captain Jackson. Man, she’s beautiful,” I said, swirling the cold coffee in my mug.
“She’s a coworker.”
“I didn’t assume she was anything but. Just making the observation.”
“You seemed pretty serious at one point with Megan.”
“She was talking to me a little bit about… you know, about what it’s like to be an Army wife, or whatever,” I said and felt the linoleum floor shift under me. I studied my coffee.
“Oh really?” The tone of his voice made me look up at him, and I smothered a smile when I saw him working hard to seem nonchalant. His bouncing knee under the table and his death grip on his coffee mug gave him away.