Not for Matthew, oh no.
He just sat there, draped around her, while Allie was on the verge of being crushed to death.
Her arms wriggled free of his death hold and slipped around his waist. He was warm. His muscles solid and strong. But he was so damn broken.
“Hey,” she breathed. “It’s okay. Whatever it is. It’s okay.”
She felt him nod against her shoulder, and then, with a shudder, he pulled back.
“Sorry,” he murmured while he loosened his grip. Green eyes met hers for the first time since he’d come out of the therapist’s office.
“It’s fine.” She drew him down to her mouth before he could leave her arms and placed a slow, soft kiss against his lips. As his mouth opened to hers, she tried to put all that she couldn’t say to him into the kiss they shared. While he was closed off from her emotionally at times, the way they connected with their bodies could put more emotion between them than any words could. The press of hands and fingers, the tightening of arms around her waist as his tongue conquered hers showed Allie everything he was feeling but couldn’t bring himself to say. He was lost, afraid, and needed her.
Thinking about their relationship, she didn’t get why he’d chosen to be with her, and even more central: let her in when it was so difficult for him. What had he found in her that so many other girls hadn’t had? She had wallflower written all over her. Nothing special, except when she was with him. Then they each orbited around the other, the only ones in their own little universe.
When he pulled away some of the pain in his face had been replaced by desire . . . and something else. Something that looked a lot like love.
She cursed herself inwardly. Don’t start thinking that way or you’ll be destroyed. She wasn’t stupid; hadn’t forgotten that he’d never told her he cared about her on any kind of deeper level. But, damn it. The way he looked at her right now made her want to share their little world for eternity.
Calm down, Allie. You stupid sap. This isn’t a freaking soap opera. “You’re sure you’re okay?” She dropped her eyes, afraid to let him see too much of what she’d been thinking a second ago.
He nodded.
“Want to talk about it?” Okay, so she was pressing a little.
When his eyes flared, she wanted to kick herself.
“I . . . no.” His throat worked his Adam’s apple up and down. “No. I’m good.”
Allie sighed and tried to mask her discouragement the best she could. “Ready to go?” She forced her lips up into a half-smile.
“Yeah.” He opened her door and helped her up into the cab of the Escalade.
When he was inside with her and the SUV was purring she turned sideways in the seat. “So . . . I don’t know if you’ve got plans, or work, or whatever”— Geeze; why was she so nervous? —“but, I thought . . . since you say I’m always getting myself into trouble . . . you could teach me to be a big, bad, motherfucking SEAL.”
He looked over at her, his mouth hanging open and caught somewhere between shock and amusement. After a few seconds of blinking, he hit her with a full out, mega-watt, split-your-face-in-two grin that just about took Allie’s breath away. “A big, bad, motherfucking SEAL, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say fuck before.” His thumb worked over his chin while his teeth kept up with the flashing.
“Yeah, well, it’s not twatwaffle or anything creative.”
“Oh, my hell.” He actually snorted this time. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Facebook.”
As he laughed, the atmosphere dissipated of all its melancholy and was instantly lighter.
“What exactly constitutes training for becoming a big, bad, motherfucker like me?”
Oh, so he was gonna play cocky now, huh? She didn’t have much to come back at him with that could knock him off his awesomeness soapbox, since he pretty much backed it all up every second of the day. His eyes were dancing with humor—or sadism—she couldn’t tell. She could only imagine the creative torture he could come up with in the name of “training”. He was, no doubt, checking out all her wimpy musculature right this minute, and coming up with a whole assortment of ways to beat her into toughness.
“No skydiving. Like, ever,” she quickly said. “No knife throwing, or Russian roulette, or whatever the heck you psychos must do in your spare time.” She grinned back at him.
“Not a fan of Russian roulette, but skydiving? Come on.” His eyes gleamed. “It has some possibilities. Ever thought of joining the mile high club outside a plane?”
She batted her lashes at him and smiled sweetly. “You’re such a gentleman. Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Never told anyone I was in the teams before; so I haven’t been able to really joke around about it. Other than with my brothers and Stacy, you know.”
It was Allie’s turn to do the open-mouth hang thing. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” His hand ran over the back of his neck. “Dunno if I’d have told you about it if you hadn’t recognized my budweiser.” His eyes met hers again, and his brows knit together. “That’s not true, though, I guess . . . I would have told you.”
“Oh,” she was kinda speechless.
His lips quirked. “So, back to the bad-assery. What you got in mind that doesn’t involve heights, knives, or death?”
***
Devil Dogs Extreme Paintball was just off the freeway, about five miles down from the VA. As they pulled in, Matthew was practically vibrating with excitement. And that wicked gleam in his eye hadn’t diminished in the least.
“Ummm,” she turned to him. “You’re going to be nice to me, right?”
A smirk tugged up the corner of his mouth. “Only if you’re on my team.” He shook his head. “Damn, I haven’t done this forever.”
“You better be on my team!” she said in a totally shrill, girly way.
They walked through the front doors and checked in with the teenage goober sitting at the front desk. Allie had called on the ride over to reserve a spot. As the kid signed them in, she took a minute to check the place out. Arcade games everywhere. A shop to the side where you could buy and rent by the hour. Pictures of the different courses plastered all over the walls. Video game posters in the windows:
The paintball arena was set up like a Call of Duty nerd’s dream come true. There was a “Bagdad” course that was supposed to be similar to the real experience of combat which Allie had gotten them into. She made sure Matthew was cool with it, that it wouldn’t be a trigger or anything. And hadn’t that been an awkward question? Matthew had just laughed and then called bullshit on the realism shtick. Couldn’t compare to the real stress of the life and death situation that was war . . . or some crap. Snobby SEAL that he was.
Allie didn’t care.
She felt like GI Jane, all decked out in her fancy camo jeans and the long-sleeved shirt Matthew had bought her. He’d made a pit stop at an Army Surplus store as soon as she told him what the plan was. Allie suspected he just wanted to dress her up to tease her—make her look like a poser since she’d told him she wanted to be a bad ass. But looking like a poser meant she wouldn’t be getting her own clothes dirty, so she hadn’t kicked up too much of a fuss.
Once they rented their paintball guns, had separated into two teams of six, and were waiting for the other teams in the slot ahead of them to finish up, Matthew pulled out a jar of green, waxy goo and tried to wipe it on her face.
She jerked out of his reach. “No way! I am not putting that crap on my face!” Face goo was the line in the sand.
Matthew hunched over her, looking for an opening to dart in and goo her. “Why not?”
“No one else is wearing it. Well”—she paused as her eyes reluctantly fixed on the forty-five year-old dude who was on their team. He was the only other guy that looked as stupid as she did. Except he had a red bandana tied around his forehead, like he was Rambo’s secret, flabby, douche-bag brother. She lowered her voice as she turned back to Matthew. “Excep
t for that guy.” She jerked her chin in Rambo Jr.’s direction.
Matthew snorted. “Dumb ass’ll get shot all to hell within the first five seconds with that bull’s-eye he’s got wrapped around his head.”
Matthew’s thumb flashed out and suddenly Allie’s cheek was coated in green paint.
“Hey!” She jumped back.
He grinned again, stalking forward like a predator. Damn him; it was impossible not to return the grin.
Playful Matthew was darn cute.
He snatched her elbow and dragged her into his chest. Pinching her chin between two green-coated fingers, he kissed her swift and sweet. “Besides. You’re pretty much adorable right now. Like my own little Frog Hog.”
What the hell! “I am not a hog!” She would have smacked him, but he ducked and somehow managed to smear more paint on the other side of her cheek.
“Not a hog, baby.” White teeth flashed. “Frog Hog. My own little SEAL groupie.” He grabbed her again and pressed his hips into hers, letting her know he was happy. Running his lips over the side of her neck, he whispered, “Super slutty.”
“Ass!” she growled. “Like that makes it any better.” She was giggling up at him. This was fun.
Matthew loaded the hopper on her paintball gun with hot-pink balls and showed her how to use it. “Keep the stalk into your shoulder, nice and tight. And don’t put your finger in the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”
“Got it.” She nodded. Matthew standing in front of her in low-slung jeans, a plain tan sweatshirt, and at his bossy best was hot. She had the sudden urge to splatter him in the gut . . . just to try it out. Boy, the repercussions would be ugly, though. Like he really needed a reason to shoot her? And the welts would hurt, besides.
Alpha team was made up of Matthew, Allie, Rambo Jr., and a trio of teenagers who looked like they came here a lot. They seemed pretty pumped that Matthew—who radiated the whole win-or-die attitude—was on their team.
As the session before them cleared out to clean up, Beta team—the enemy—shrank into the foliage to claim the best spots in the outdoor arena. They’d won the coin toss. Allie and Matthew ran in the opposite direction, Allie stumbling over her own feet as she tried to keep up. They stopped in a thicket of trees. The objectives were simple—capture the flag first and don’t get shot. Anyone hit was sent to the “dead zone” on the outskirts of the arena until the game was over. Both sides would press forward through brush and landscape to get into the main “village”. From there, they had to grab the flag and get it back to home base.
“Ready to kick some ass?” Matthew asked.
Allie nodded and stuck her gun into her shoulder, just the way he’d showed her.
“You really are adorable.” He leaned in to drop a kiss on her lips before a loud buzzer signaled the beginning of the game.
Matthew began a silent creep through the trees. The teens had already left, tearing off like bats out of hell, whooping and firing at anything that moved, while Rambo Jr. was probably setting up traps somewhere.
Allie ran a fine line between the whooping boys and an attempt at stealth as she followed Matthew. Okay, so that was being nice. In reality, she thundered through the underbrush like a bull in a china shop, crashing through tree branches and bushes that tore at her clothing no matter where she moved. The sunlight dappled down on them from straight overhead, stretching their shadows out at all angles while painting the ground with strokes of gold.
Matthew was something to behold, totally in his element. Allie tried to mimic him, walking in trenches and over the shadowed sides of rocks and trees, but the vegetative carnage she left behind in comparison to Matthew was . . . well, pathetic. Good thing it didn’t matter if they were followed. She’d get an F if there was a leave-no-trace test.
When they reached the edge of the tree line, Matthew looked back at her and raised a finger to his lips. He dropped down on his belly and put his gun up. Allie tip-toed to him and looked at the ground. It was still muddy from the rain of a few days ago.
Ewe.
She kicked some leaves over the mud so she wouldn’t get her shirt dirty. Matthew was watching her and when their eyes met, he shook his head in bemusement. She shrugged her shoulders—what if there was animal poo on the ground?—and got down next to him.
After a few minutes of quiet watching, ADD began to kick in and she started to tap her feet on the ground. Matthew raised his hand and pointed to a bush a hundred feet or so away. The telltale red of Rambo Jr.’s bandana peeked above the tall grasses.
There was a sudden pop! pop! pop! of gunfire.
“Damn it!” Rambo Jr. shouted. He hefted his girth up to his feet, totally pissed off, now covered in yellow and blue splatters, and glared out at the landscape.
Allie had to cup both hands over her mouth to stifle her giggling as she watched him toss his gun on the ground.
“Where are you, you little bastards!” A hambone fist shook in the air. There was a resounding ploomph! of someone’s paintball gun and Rambo Jr. collapsed, holding the remains of his blue-painted crown jewels.
Allie rolled onto her side, shaking with silent laughter as Rambo Jr. crawled off toward the dead zone to nurse his man junk.
Matthew was all smiles as he looked down the sights of his paintball gun—both eyes open—and paused. He signaled to Allie, pointing to the edge of a large sage bush. Allie’s eyes widened when after a few seconds of impotent staring she caught the flutter of movement.
Matthew pulled the trigger.
Ploompft!
“Shit!” someone cursed. A Beta teamer stood, his shoulder splattered bright orange.
Matthew turned back to Allie and grinned. “Put your gun up, baby. It’s your turn,” he whispered.
She squinted through the sites, trying to keep both of them level with each other. It was hard when she was quivering with anticipation.
He tapped her on the shoulder and then pointed to a tree before scooting closer to her. “You see him?”
Allie squinched her eyes up in concentration. There was movement, and the vague shape of a body on the other side. It was hard to make it out because of the clothes he was wearing, but he was definitely there. “Yeah!” she whispered back, eyes wide.
“Line your sites up right over the bush there.” He helped her readjust the gun so she was holding it better. “I’ll spook him out for you and then you hit him, okay? He’ll go left, over that bush where you’re aiming. Keep looking right there.”
Allie was practically vibrating as she focused over the top of the bush—This was so cool!
“Ready?”
She nodded, careful not to bump her gun.
Matthew squeezed off a few rounds, dotting orange splatters over the ground in a trail that led up to the sage. The guy who was hiding out panicked, and leapt up right where Matthew said he would.
Allie squeezed back on the trigger. . .
And missed.
“Shit!” This was a lot harder than it looked.
She shot five more times and finally nailed him between the shoulder blades. Good thing he was a slow runner. When the ball hit him he jumped and his momentum sent him head over feet until he crashed to his hands and knees. When he stood up and looked around, Allie tried to flatten herself as much as possible while his eyes ran right over where they were hiding. Finally, shoulders slumping as he kicked the ground, he stalked off toward the dead zone.
Matthew’s deep chuckle made Allie soar with pride. “Good job, baby.” He rolled over to kiss the side of her neck and then jumped to his feet. “That was the last one for now.” He tugged her up and gave her a comrade’s pat on the ass. Like she’d just nailed a free throw or something.
“Now we gotta be fast.” As he checked his gun Allie had to laugh. When they were picking out guns to play with, he had gone off to Allie all about the specific type of paintball gun needed in order to get the job done. He’d insisted on a model called a 416 H and something or the other, airsoft . . . ? He’d totall
y lost her, and she’d settled for glazed over eyes and a polite smile until he’d finally gotten the ones he wanted.
Now, he pulled the whatever gun up into position. Allie quickly did the same. He pointed to the reconstructed, plywood village. Could have been a back drop to some kind of Salt-n-Pepa or Vanilla Ice music video from the early 90’s. All the walls were spackled in fluorescent pinks, yellows, blues, and oranges—like Rainbow Bright had gone gangsta in Baghdad.
“I’ll take point. Clear the areas. You got my back?”
Feeling cocky as hell after her first confirmed “kill”, her lips could hardly contain the cheesy grin that stretched over her face. She would have twirled her gun around like Wild Bill Hickok if she thought she could keep from shooting herself in the face. “Got it.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up. “Good.”
They ran over the open field—the scariest part so far, because they were wide out in the open. Allie did her best to stay upright and keep from tripping over any roots or hidden rocks. By the time they got to the side of one of the houses her heart was pounding against her ribcage. All the adrenaline surging through her system. What a rush!
Heading for the center of the village, they kept to the shadows, crept along walls, then dashed to the next building. Matthew would go first, clear each one, and then signal for Allie, who trailed behind and did her best to look like she belonged.
He nailed two more guys who’d been set up to snipe from the top of a couple of stacked up hay bales. Poor guys looked so sad as they trudged off to the dead zone; almost made Allie not want to laugh out loud.
When Matthew and she got past a few more houses Allie looked up and saw the blue game flag hanging inside one of the open doorways.
They found it!
Matthew checked out the area for any Betas and then they made their last sprint into the building. As Matthew cleared the room Allie realized the flag was dangling off a pole. You had to shoot the latch that held it in order for the thing to fall free.
Captured at Nightfall (Capture My Heart Love Story) Page 19