I have an overwhelming urge to talk to her.
To be near her.
The anticipation is like a twitchy kind of energy. It tingles through me like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in my toes. I’ve never been nervous about a chick before – I mean, I’m a goddam SEAL.
Women fall all over me…but this one. This one’s different. She’s not gawking like other chicks do—it’s as almost as if she’s purposely trying to avoid eye contact with me.
Shit, I’m the one doing the gawking.
And that’s far from normal.
Fuck it, I’m going over there. “Dude, you need another beer?” I ask as I slide out of the booth.
“Yeah, sure,” he answers. He’s been tapping away on his phone since he sat down; most likely texting his wife. She’s an amazing woman. They have a little girl at home and from what Dude told me, Cheyenne had to practically shove him on the plane.
She knows how important this down time with the guys is to him.
I don’t have anyone like that in my life, and looking back, I’m beginning to regret not starting a family.
When I first became a SEAL, I always worried about putting anyone who loved me through the pain and torture of deployments. Not knowing if I’d come back alive or in a body bag—if I came back at all. Most of our ops are classified and non-sanctioned, and if one of us dies in country… Sure, I enjoyed the one-night stands with the frog hogs—women who will do anything just to be associated with a Navy SEAL—and being able to sneak out in the middle of the night without any strings or commitments. But that was when I was young.
When I was an idiot.
Now that I’m older, I realize I was just being selfish. I want what Dude has. I just don’t know if it’s too late for me.
Ava
Could he have been gawking?
At me?
That has never happened before.
Ever.
Not knowing what to do, my sarcastic persona popped out—a defense mechanism I’ve built up over the years. But he seemed genuinely interested in me. I can’t focus on my work any longer and stare at the now random numbers on the screen.
I haven’t dated anyone since Brian—not that it’s been all that long. Still, I haven’t had the desire to date anyone. All I wanted was to advance my career. Work my way up the chain until I was vice president of the company. Now, I’m not so sure.
Watching that family interact earlier stirred something in me I thought was dead. Now, I could picture myself having children.
His children.
Jeez, I need to calm down. Someone like him is probably married…although I didn’t see a ring.
Music. I need music. That will take my mind off the mystery man, and then maybe I can get some work done. I dig my earbuds out of my laptop bag and place them in my ear, plugging the end into the computer. Using the mousepad, I click on my music folder and pick a Maroon 5 playlist. Once the music starts, I take a deep breath and go back to work.
A few minutes into “What Lovers Do,” I notice movement coming from his booth. Without making myself obvious, I spot the mystery man sliding out of the seat.
I wonder where he’s going.
I watch him saunter down the row toward the concession counter. He’s wearing a pair of tight, light blue jeans that show off the shape of his muscular ass. I know I shouldn’t stare, but that confident swagger gives me chills.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
Why am I obsessing over this guy like he holds the key to world peace? I don’t even know his name.
Sighing, my shoulders slouch as I refocus on the mundane task at hand.
Dalton
Stepping up to the concession, I order three brews.
What if she doesn’t like beer?
What if she’s an alcoholic going through the twelve steps?
For fucks sake, I’m over analyzing this.
If she doesn’t want it, I’ll drink it. Besides, if I’m going to make a proper introduction, the least I can do is bring her a drink. I pay the man behind the counter and saunter back to my booth. Sliding Dude’s beer across our table, I keep walking until I’m in front of the mystery redhead’s solitary booth. I stand in her peripheral with two beers pinched between my fingers and wait. She sees me out the corner of her eye, but keeps on typing.
Fine.
I’ll have to up my game.
I slide into the booth and sit directly in front of her, then slowly push the bottle of beer toward her with my index finger. Without looking at me, she takes out her right earbud. “Peace offering?” I insist, giving the brew one last gentle shove. She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. Her irises are iridescent and flecked with every shade of blue—I couldn’t see that detail from across the train.
They’re captivating.
Without a word, she reaches for the beer. Her eyes never leave mine as her head tilts back and the glass bottle touches her lips—pale pink lips that remind me of rose buds.
Damn, I wonder how those lips would feel wrapped around my cock.
The silky skin on her throat moves as she swallows, the liquid draining from the bottle.
Still, her eyes don’t budge.
Within seconds, the bottle is empty. She places it on the tabletop and slides it back toward me the same way I slid it toward her. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she responds, her lips twitching. I catch the ghost of a smile, and then it’s gone, replaced with a sadness I don’t understand.
If just watching her drink a beer is making my cock twitch, I can’t imagine what she could do to me behind closed doors.
“I deserve it. I didn’t mean to stare earlier,” I admit, knowing when it’s time to bow out gracefully. “Again, I’m sorry,” I add, raising my hands in surrender.
As I start to shuffle out of the booth, she reaches out and touches my forearm. “Wait,” she sighs. Pulling the other earbud from her ear, she places it on the table and closes her laptop. “I’m just having a bad day,” she adds, withdrawing her hand. “How about another beer?” Her weak smile doesn’t seem confident—like I might turn her down. Does she not know what a knock out she is?
“Only if I’m buying,” I answer.
“Okay.” Her face flushes as her smile widens just a bit.
Damn she’s beautiful.
As I shuffle out of the booth, I pick up both bottles, downing mine quickly before I reach the concession stand. I order two more and hurry back to my siren.
“Name’s Cody Dalton,” I inform her as I slide into the booth, placing her beer in front of her.
“Nice to meet you, Cody. I’m Ava. Ava Giordano.” She extends her petite hand out and we shake. As my fingertips graze her palm, I’m overcome by emotions I’ve never experienced with a woman.
Excitement.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Her touch has my stomach doing somersaults, and there’s an electric current—like a crackling in the air. I don’t remember feeling this way with any other woman. Maybe this is what it’s like when people say they feel fireworks going off.
“Ava,” I repeat, letting the name linger on my lips. “It’s a beautiful name. It suits you.” I smile, trying to control my panic. Again, her cheeks flush. Her lower lip quivers just enough for me to notice. Why is she so nervous? “So, what brings you aboard this train?”
“I work for Amtrak in DC, and I’m heading to Manhattan for a work conference.” Her voice is quiet and dances along my spine, through my nerves, straight to my dick.
“You’re a conductor?”
She laughs, and her eyes sparkle like the tips of ocean waves in the sun. “No. I’m an auditor. I’m in charge of assessments of the economy, efficiency, and effectiveness of the Amtrak programs and operations, adequacy of internal controls, compliance with laws, regulations, policies, and contracts.”
“Wow, that was a mouthful,” I chuckle. “Sounds like you have a pretty important job.”
Taking a sip of
her beer, she answers, “I like it.” Placing the bottle on the table, her nose crinkles. “And what is it you do?” she asks, her head tilting slightly to the right.
Do I tell her I’m a Navy SEAL?
“I work for the government.” It’s not a lie. Giving me a quick once-over, she laughs. “What’s so funny?” I demand.
“The government. That’s funny.” Leaning across the table toward me, she whispers, “You’re a SEAL.” Small freckles pepper her smooth skin, sprinkled about her face like confetti. They’re adorable and sexy at the same time, and my dick twitches. Again.
“And how would you know that?” I challenge, resisting the urge to grab her by the back of the head and kiss her hard.
Sliding her hand toward me, her finger nudges the cuff of my sleeve just above my elbow. “One, you have a pair of Gatorz sunglasses on top of your head. Two, you’re wearing a G-Shock watch which is a sure sign, and three…” she says as she moves my sleeve up to my shoulder, “this tattoo.” She reveals the back half of my bone frog tattoo that me and the boys had done after graduating BUD/S class. She raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just say you were a SEAL?”
“I didn’t want to brag or anything,” I lie. Honestly, I want her to like me for me. The chicks I hooked up with went home with me the SEAL, not me the person. “So, are you going to tell me how you knew all of that?” I blurt, still amazed she knew from those clues. Maybe I should look into another brand of watch.
“I grew up in San Diego.” That’s all she needs to say. San Diego is home to the SEAL training facility called BUD/S, and where most SEAL’s still live. “I’ve never dated a SEAL, though, and never hung out at McP’s either,” she adds.
McP’s Irish Pub is a known SEAL hangout. If you’re looking for one, that’s where you go to find them. Why would she want me to know she’s never dated a SEAL?
Then it dawns on me: that’s where most Frog Hog’s hang out.
She doesn’t want me to think she’s one of those girls.
Her eyes shift to Dude, who’s tapping away at his screen. “Who’s that?” She nods toward Dude, then swigs her beer.
“That’s Dude—I mean, Faulkner. We’re heading to NYC to meet up with some friends for the weekend.”
“He’s a SEAL too?” I nod, and she smiles.
“So, what made your day so bad…boyfriend problems?” Intertwining my fingers, I lean my arms and chest on the edge of the table and pray to all that is holy the answer is no.
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. Mostly work-related problems,” she divulges, twirling her fingers through one of her long locks.
“So, no boyfriend?” I blurt, mentally smacking myself in the back of the head.
“No, not for a while.” Her wistful voice puts me on edge, and I lean back in my seat. “I was engaged, but it didn’t work out.”
“His loss,” I mutter under my breath, but she hears me and smiles.
“We were in different places in our lives. He wanted more than I could give him,” she reveals, twirling faster. “I love my job and wouldn’t quit for anyone—even him.” The guy sounds like a complete loser by letting her slip through his fingers. I wouldn’t make that mistake.
“I’m sorry—”
“No. Don’t be. Everything happens for a reason…we just weren’t meant to be.” Pressing the bottle to her lips, she downs the rest. Damn, she makes that look sexy. “What about you? You must have a girlfriend.”
“Nah, with my job being so unreliable, I never had the time to get serious with anyone.”
I don’t want to tell her I’ve never had the desire to get serious with anyone. It’s not something I’m proud of—at least, not anymore.
Ava and I sit and talk about anything and everything.
Our likes and dislikes.
What we do to relax.
Our careers—or at least what I’m permitted to tell her about mine.
I’ve never felt so at ease talking to a woman before—hell, I’ve never said this many words to a woman before. It’s always been wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Not that that was completely my fault—it was the company I kept. Women who were looking to catch a SEAL. They didn’t care about the conversation either, just the notch on their bedposts.
The more I talk with her, the more I realize my ideology might be off.
The train begins to slow down as we approach our next stop. “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to use the restroom. Beer always goes right through me,” she informs me as she scoots out of the booth.
“Sure. I’m going to and check on Dude,” I reply as I stand. As she walks toward the bathrooms, I slide back into our booth. Peering over the back of his phone, I use my index finger to catch what’s so important he’s ignoring the fact that I’m back. “What are you reading?” Before coming a SEAL, I used to read all the time.
Now, I’m lucky if I have time to take a piss.
“The new Tom Clancy book,” he responds without lifting his head.
“Any good?”
“I’ll let you know when I finish,” he mutters, annoyed. “Aren’t you trying to get with the redhead?”
“She is hot, but I don’t know. I don’t see her as a one-night stand kind of girl, and I’m not sure I’d want that anyway.”
He lifts his head up from his phone, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “What did you just say? I thought I heard you say you didn’t want to hit that.”
“That’s not what I said,” I argue. “I was just thinking about what you said earlier about settling down—”
His eyes go wide, and a giant shit-eating grin appears across his face. “Holy shit! You were listening to me? You never listen to me.”
I shrug. “Yeah…well, I think you might be right. I’m getting old, and I don’t want to come home to an empty house every night.”
“What did she say?” He leans in closer, now interested.
“I thought you were reading?” I quip.
“Shit, I’ll do that later. It’s not every day you get to hear the great Cody Dalton say he’s wrong.”
“For fucks sake, I’m not saying that either,” I sigh, taking my sunglasses off the top of my head and running my fingers through my short, dark hair. Tossing the Gatorz on the table, I look for Ava. “I just think she might be the one.”
“The one?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
“How do you know?”
How do I describe this feeling? “It’s like there’s a hole in the pit of my stomach. Like I’m doing a halo jump without leaving the ground. Just the thought of her is making my dick hard. I don’t know—it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
“Yup, you’re a goner,” he chuckles as he shakes his head.
“Dude, what if she’s not into me?” My jaw ticks. I’ve never had a woman not into me. It’s always been like shooting ducks in a barrel. But for the first time ever, I’m nervous. Hell, I’m downright scared.
“She’s single, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Okay. Relax, and just be yourself,” he says, lifting his head to stare at the ceiling. “Damn, I can’t believe I’m giving you dating advice.” Lowering his head, he shakes it again and laughs.
“Well, you’re the happily married one. Remember?” I remind him as her form comes into view. “Shit, here she comes,” I whisper, running my hand through my hair again.
“Just take a deep breath and be yourself,” he mutters as she approaches our table.
Easier said than done.
11:05 am
Baltimore Penn Station
Dalton
“Thought your friend might want a brew,” Ava says, placing three bottles on the table. “Faulkner, right?”
Dude glares at me before answering. “Yes, and you are?” I mouth sorry, my shoulders moving from a subtle shrug. Probably should have told him her name.
“Ava.” Giving me a gentle shove, she slides in next to me. Her thigh presses against mine, and there’s that static again—a crackling in the air that makes the litt
le hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“It’s a pleasure,” Dude says, extending his right hand.
As she shakes it, her eyes flicker over to his left hand. It’s only for a second, but Dude notices. I thought she’d flinch, but she doesn’t. She simply smiles and says, “The pleasure is mine.”
“It’s all right, you can ask me,” he says, his face impassive as he releases her.
She reaches for her beer. “Ask you what?”
“I saw you looking at my mangled hand.” His fingers twitch around the bottle, as if he’s flaunting them.
Dude was almost blown up trying to secure a building. Something had gone wrong when he was trying to disarm it and he lost parts of three fingers as well as damage and a considerable amount of scarring. Dude is super sensitive about his injury, although a little less so now that he has Cheyenne.
Placing her elbows on the table, she intertwines her fingers and rests her chin in between them. “I know you’re a SEAL like Cody, and that most likely happened while you were trying to protect our country from terrorists.” Taking a sip of beer, she adds, “And honestly, I didn’t notice your fingers until you brought it up. I was looking at your watch, which surprisingly enough isn’t a G-Shock. I thought they gave those out at graduation and were a SEAL requirement.”
Dude’s face slowly thaws from emotionless into the hint of a smile. “As long as you don’t say anything, this can be our little secret.” Her face lights up and she laughs. Damn, her laugh is like a symphony playing just for me.
Turning to Ava, I say, “I think we’ve harassed Dude enough for one train ride.” Her eyes sparkle as she nods in agreement.
A group of conductors gather, taking a seat at the only empty table left in the car.
“What the hell?” Dude blurts out. Both Ava and I spin to see him slam his phone down on the table. “I have no service.”
“Internet or phone service?” Ava asks.
“Both. I’ve got nothing.”
Protecting Ava Page 2