Seared on my Soul

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Seared on my Soul Page 8

by Cole Gibsen


  He scuttles off, shouting orders to the workers while I shift my weight awkwardly from foot to foot. God, what sucky timing for me to give up drinking. I don’t think I’ve ever needed a beer more than right now.

  “I’m so sorry,” Reece says, breaking through my thoughts. “This has really turned out to be some night out, huh?”

  “Meh.” I lift myself onto the table. “I’ve had worse nights. Besides, if this pizza is half as good as it smells, it just might make up for the near-brawl you dragged me into.”

  Reece gives me a crooked smirk. It dawns on me I don’t think I’ve seen him smile before now. It looks good on him—really good.

  “The food here is amazing,” he confirms. “I’ve traveled the world, and nothing comes close to beating John’s pizzas. He learned how to cook while stationed in Italy.”

  “Is that how you met?” I ask, swinging my legs.

  “No. We met in group therapy.” Reece looks away, making it obvious this isn’t a conversation he wants to have.

  I respect that, so I say nothing. After all, he hasn’t asked about my car accident, drinking, or anything else, really. Since I already have to deal with my mother and brother—the two nosiest priers on the planet—it’s nice to not have to get that deep into each other’s business. Then again, I’m kind of a pro at the meaningless relationship.

  This time it’s my turn to look away.

  “Again, I’m sorry this night took such a turn. After John comes back, I’ll take you straight home.”

  That brings my attention back to him. “So you can eat the pizza without me? I don’t think so, buddy.”

  He laughs. It’s a nice sound that gives me a fluttery feeling in my stomach. That annoys me because I’m not thirteen. “Okay, fine,” he says. “What do you propose?”

  “I propose we go back to my apartment, turn on a movie, and eat the entire pizza, like damn adults. After which, I will gladly kick your ass to the curb.”

  He laughs again. “Actually, that sounds like a really good plan.”

  “Of course it is.” I snort. “I came up with it. Just don’t go all Jason Bourne on any of my neighbors—except the old perv who lives above me. I think he steals my Victoria’s Secret catalogs. If you want to punch him in the face, that’s totally fine with me.”

  He grins. “Old pervert. Check. Anything else I should know?”

  “Let’s see.” I use my fingers to count off the list. “Share the pizza. Don’t kill neighbors. Punch old perv. Ass kicked to the curb when done.” I drop my hand into my lap. “That should cover it.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, he leans against the wall. “It sounds like this night might be salvageable, after all.”

  Chapter Ten

  Reece

  Emily’s apartment is located in the historic part of downtown, only blocks away from the old capitol building. I park the bike in front of a dance studio. Emily smooths her skirt, and I pretend not to notice her mile-long legs as I unhook the bungee cords securing the pizza.

  I have to admit, while I wasn’t eager to go out tonight, it’s been a damn interesting evening. And Emily is a damn interesting woman. What fascinates me most isn’t the expanse of her legs or the curve of her breasts—though, I can’t deny they aren’t nice. It’s the subtle things about her that intrigue me most—the slightly crooked tooth that’s only visible when she laughs, the wicked arch of her eyebrow when she’s pretending to be tough, and the fierceness in her eyes when she’s afraid. Even when I’m the one who made her afraid.

  Because I wasn’t strong enough to fight off the fear. I’m starting to believe I never will be. Which is exactly why, even though I haven’t been alone with a woman in years, this night can’t go beyond friendly conversation and pizza.

  Emily opens a blue paint-chipped door, revealing a hallway lined with green doors. Taking keys out of her clutch, she nods. “I’m the last door on the left.”

  My throat tightens as I hobble behind her. Anyone could be hiding behind those doors. They could have a gun, or— No. I shake my head. I might not be able to conquer my fear, but I can at least put it on hold for an hour.

  She unlocks her door but pauses before opening it. With an arched eyebrow, the same one I’ve grown to enjoy, she asks, “What’s up with your leg?”

  So much for friendly conversation. “You’re very subtle, you know that?”

  She shrugs, takes the pizza box from me, and enters her apartment. After tossing the box on a coffee table, she flops down on a plush loveseat. “I don’t believe in playing games. If I want to know something, I ask.”

  “Yeah, well I believe some shit should remain in the past where it belongs.”

  She shrugs again, kicks off her shoes, and snags a slice of pizza. A tendril of mozzarella slides off the crust. Emily quickly wraps it around her finger before popping it into her mouth.

  I’m momentarily mesmerized by her sliding her finger out of her lips. I give myself a mental shake. Damn, it’s been too long since I’ve been in the company of a woman.

  “So what you’re saying is,” Emily continues, seemingly unaware of my momentary lapse into the land of impure thoughts, “the army really fucked you up, huh?”

  With a sigh, I grab my own slice of pizza and sit in the recliner adjacent to her. “I’d rather not talk about my time in the army.”

  “Because it fucked you up.” Her lips quirk smugly, and I suddenly have the intense desire to kiss them. The thought startles me so much, a bite of pizza gets lodged in my throat. I cough several times to work it free.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “You can take it any way you want.”

  “So, why won’t you talk about it?”

  God, she’s annoyingly persistent. “Why don’t we talk about you instead?”

  “Fine.” She bites into her pizza and holds her arms wide. “I’m an open book.”

  If this is a contest to see who can make the other uncomfortable, challenge accepted. “Who was that guy in the car accident with you?”

  Swallowing, she rolls her eyes. “Some loser I picked up in a bar.”

  Her honesty catches me off guard. “You knew he was a loser and you picked him up anyway? Why the hell would you do that?”

  She shoves a large chunk of crust into her mouth. “I guess it was a combination of boredom and feeling sorry for myself.”

  “And you were feeling sorry for yourself because…”

  She huffs, and I fight to keep the grin off my face. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m a loser, too.” She crams the last bit of crust into her mouth and chews angrily.

  Huh. I lean back in the chair. I guess she wins this one. She really is an open book. “Sure you’re not exaggerating?”

  “Nope.” She grabs another slice and tears into it. “I totally am. If you don’t believe me, ask my mother.”

  I laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m just surprised we have so much in common. If we’re going by the opinions of our mothers, I guess that makes me a loser, too.”

  She snorts. “Yeah, like I’m going to buy that. You practically walked off a J.Crew ad.”

  I grunt. “Cute. You always judge people by their appearances?”

  “No.” She sets the pizza down. “I’m judging you based on the facts. You have a degree and a full-time job. If I had either of those things, my mother would throw a fucking parade in my honor.”

  “If you ask my mother,” I tell her, “she’d say I don’t have the right degree or the right job.”

  Emily wrinkles her nose. I can’t help but notice how adorable it makes her look. “That’s stupid.”

  I shrug.

  “What’s the right job?” she asks.

  “She wanted me to be a lawyer like her, my father, and my sister. A high school teacher is a little too mundane for her taste.”

  Emily tucks her legs beneath her. “So, if your family was so against it, why did you decide to become a teacher?”


  “A bunch of reasons,” I answer. “I guess I initially fell in love with the idea of making a difference. Of course, having the summers off to fish doesn’t hurt, either. Anything was better than going to law school. I did all my fighting on the battlefield.” What I don’t tell her is that I’m still there, on those damn sandy dunes, every time I close my eyes.

  Reflexively, I touch the bullet beneath my shirt.

  Catching the movement, Emily’s head tilts. “What’s that?”

  “A necklace.” I cut her off before she can ask any more. “Tell me more about you. You are the open book, after all.”

  “Meh.” She dusts her hands together. “My dad was a cop who died in the line of duty when I was little, hence the overbearing older brother you’ve apparently already met.”

  I nod. That explains her brother reaching for me in her hospital room.

  “I’m a disappointment to my mother because I’m a ‘barista with no future.’” She makes quotes with her fingers.

  “Do you like being a barista?”

  She makes a face. “Not really.”

  “Any idea what you might want to do?”

  “I wish.” She leans against the couch. “I’m not really cut out for college. And I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than be chained to a desk in some office.”

  We have something else in common. “Okay. So, you’re still figuring it out.”

  She makes a face. “I guess. I spent the summer after my senior year traveling Europe. I thought that would be enough time to figure things out. Turns out, after two trips around the globe, I still haven’t come up with a single thing.”

  “And you’re how old?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  I shake my head. “You still have a lot of time.”

  “Tell that to my mom.”

  “Parents are funny that way. If you deviate from the path they’ve chosen for you, you’re automatically a failure. My mom and dad practically disowned me when I joined the army. We haven’t spoken since I returned from my last tour.”

  “Why?”

  “My dad told me it was a waste of my talent.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  I give an angry laugh. “Maybe. But then again, maybe he was right. I wasn’t a very good soldier.”

  “Because you got hurt?”

  “No. Because I—” Realizing I’m on the verge of revealing too much, I quickly bite the words back. “Doesn’t matter,” I finally say.

  She narrows her eyes, studying me as she chews. The intensity of her gaze makes my skin itch, and I’m desperate to shake it off. “What happened to the guy that was in the car accident with you?”

  “Don’t know.” She sets her pizza down and brushes her hands together. “And I don’t care, either. Fucking asswipe.”

  “Sounds like it.” I wonder if she knew the loser crawled away from the car, leaving her to die. Either way, I figure it’s not worth mentioning.

  “Like I said earlier,” she continues, “I was bored and feeling sorry for myself.” Grinning, she arches an eyebrow. “Sex is one of the few things that makes me forget about my pathetic life.”

  Her blunt admission startles me, but I fight to keep it from showing. I get this feeling Emily is toying with me, testing my reactions. I’m not sure if she’s deliberately trying to push me away or if she’s just this honest.

  “You think that makes me a slut?”

  “What I think,” I counter, “is it’s none of my business what you do for fun.”

  Still smiling, she stretches her feet onto the coffee table. Yup. Definitely toying with me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Didn’t say that it was.”

  “It doesn’t make me a slut.”

  “Didn’t say it did.”

  “Girls can like sex just as much as guys.” I can tell she’s used to getting argued with on this point. The way she’s leaning forward, eyes wide, shoulders tight, she’s like a cat ready to pounce.

  Regardless of what she’s come to expect, she’s not getting a fight from me. “I agree with you.”

  “Oh.” She blinks several times before sinking back into the couch. It’s almost as if she’s disappointed I’m not challenging her.

  “But just so you know,” I continue, “you can’t pigeonhole every guy, either. Some of us aren’t obsessed with sex.”

  Her laugh comes out a snort. It’s adorable. “Bullshit.”

  “You’re calling me a liar?”

  “Yup.”

  I hold my arms wide. “You’re looking at one right here.”

  She laughs harder. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Fine.” I grab another slice of pizza. “Believe what you want.”

  She watches me eat for several moments before blurting, “When’s the last time you had sex?”

  Shit. Good question. Mentally I tally the months in my head. The last woman I was with was my ex, Samantha. That was, shit, two…no, that’s not right. “Three years ago,” I answer.

  Her eyes practically bulge from their sockets. “Why?”

  I finish the last bite before answering. “Part of that time, I was in the desert. And the other part”—I shake my head—“I just haven’t wanted to.”

  “You haven’t wanted to?” She gives me a look as if I’d just admitted to performing ballet in my spare time. “Every guy wants to.”

  “Not me.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re so strung out.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe.”

  “A guy like you could get laid whenever he wanted, you know.”

  I make a face. “A crippled guy, with a teacher’s salary. Yeah, I’m a real catch.”

  “No. The hot guy with the college degree and job with benefits. That guy can get laid.”

  “Did you just call me hot?”

  Emily rolls her eyes. “Focus. What I’m saying is I think you should get out there and get some.”

  “And what I’m telling you is women equal drama. I don’t need that in my life right now.” I lift the pizza box lid, only to discover it’s empty. I feel a pang of disappointment—not because I’m still hungry, but because I no longer have an excuse to hang out.

  She studies me in that appraising way of hers. “Women don’t always equal drama.”

  I snort. “Okay, let me rephrase: sex with women equals drama.”

  “You’ve obviously been hooking up with the wrong kind of girl. It is possible to have a good time with someone and leave it at that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Sex doesn’t have to be complicated.”

  “Of course it does; it’s sex. It’s complicated physically and emotionally. That’s the very nature of sex.”

  “Then you’re doing it wrong,” she argues.

  “Or maybe you are.”

  She scowls at me, and little creased lines appear above her nose. Like everything else about her, they’re adorable. And just as suddenly, the lines disappear as a smile stretches across her face. She stands, closing the distance between us in one stride. Before I realize what she’s doing, she’s straddles my lap, weaving her fingers behind my neck.

  “The hell?” I try to stand, but my knee buckles.

  “Relax.” She laughs. I can’t help but notice she smells amazing, something floral with a hint of musk. Her skin beneath my fingers is warm, soft. I forgot how good a woman feels in my grasp. Suddenly, I’m overcome with the urge to pull her against me. “I’m going to prove to you how uncomplicated this is.”

  “What do you mean this?” I have no clue what’s going on. Ever since the war, I thought the part of me that craved physical touch was dead. But the longer Emily sits on my lap, the more I don’t want to let her go.

  She rolls her eyes. “Sex, dummy. But only if you want to. What do you say?”

  “Huge mistake. Massive.” I place my hands on her hips to ease her off me, but once my fingers settle in the curve of her waist, I find I no longer have control of them. I tight
en my hold on her hips.

  She grins, shifting her weight onto my lap. I grow hard beneath the thin layer of clothing separating us. “The only thing that was a mistake,” she says, “was this disastrous fake date. We can, however, salvage the night.” She leans forward, whispering beneath my ear, her words brushing velvet and hot against my skin. “What do you say? We have a little fun and then we both go on our merry way, never to harass one another again.”

  The Boy Scout in me wants to say no, but my mouth refuses to form the word. I’m practically aching for her. Luckily, my brain hangs on to some control. “It’s never that simple. Whatever you need, I can’t give it to you. I don’t have my shit together enough for a relationship. I lost my ability to feel—that way—in the desert.”

  “A relationship?” She laughs. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To take care of you.” She breathes against my neck. My muscles coil tightly in response. “I think a single night of womanly attention would do you a world of good. Could be fun.”

  Twenty-four hours ago I never would have thought so. But now, my dick pulses with desire, something I haven’t felt or even thought I’d feel ever again. That alone is enough to make me consider her offer. “I can’t love you,” I tell her. “I can’t love anyone.”

  Her fingers wind up my neck, twisting into my hair. “I’m not asking you to.”

  God, she’s soft. Have women always been this soft? I forgot. And she’s gorgeous. She makes me feel things I thought I could no longer feel. Maybe I can do this, after all. I try to push the rising doubt from my head even as I untuck her shirt from her skirt and slide my hands up along her sides—the voice that reminds me it’s been so long since I felt anything, there’s no way I’ll be able to satisfy a woman.

  She moans and arches her back. Which gets me thinking, then again, maybe I do remember a thing or two. At this point, I can still muster the strength to walk away. But I can’t guarantee I can if we go much further. “You really want to do this?” I need to hear her say it again, out loud,

 

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