by Diana Gardin
My true passion is for rebuilding cars. Taking something old and mangled, pulling it apart piece by piece, and then lovingly putting it all back together again like a three-dimensional puzzle. But working here at Drake’s Automotive is close enough for me, and I’m so thankful to him for the job I want to kiss him right now.
“I wanna kiss you right now, Drake,” I announce.
“Please don’t,” he replies from somewhere close by. “I don’t swing that way, and you know it.”
“Save it for later?”
“No.”
The large glass garage door next to me opens, signaling that one of Drake’s two other employees is bringing in another car to be serviced. I glance over, and all I can see is shiny, high-quality tires. Big ones. Must be a truck or an SUV. The owner might be talking my language.
I slide out from under the Civic and raise an eyebrow at Will, the twenty-year-old kid learning the ropes around here.
“Escalade. Nice.”
He nods. “That’s what I said. Custom interior, too. The girl who brought it…” He whistles. “I’d kill to rework her motor. You know?”
I smile wryly. The kid has some work to do where the ladies are concerned. “I know. What’s she need done?”
“Just an oil change.”
I glance at the wall of glass separating our work area from the waiting room, and I’m floored.
I haven’t seen her since the first night I arrived in town. See Food. I’ve actually been in there a couple of times a week since, just hoping to catch a glimpse of her again. I figured she just didn’t work there anymore, or I was very unlucky.
But my luck has obviously changed, because here she is. Standing in Drake’s shop. Her heart-stopping side profile is exposed to me as she stares at the mounted television. Her long, tan legs are visible again, covered only by tiny, white shorts. God, those legs. They go on for days, weeks, months.
Years.
A peek of her flat belly is visible beneath a short, loose-fitting pink tank top with the words LIVING FOR SUMMER written across her perfect, perky breasts.
Her curly hair is free and wild, the honey-blond strands in beautiful, sexy-as-fuck disarray around her shoulders.
I know my mouth is hanging open, but I can’t manage to get my wits about me long enough to pull it closed. This girl did something to me the first night I saw her, and seeing her here in my own element is doing it again.
Fuck. She’s perfect.
I glance down at myself, and groan. I’m filthy, my coveralls are smattered with oil and grime. I look like…well, I look like a damn auto mechanic. I’ve struggled a lot in my life with feeling inferior. Growing up in the system will do that to a kid. Joining the army and working my way up to Ranger and sergeant helped that tendency a lot, but it still comes back in flashes in situations like this one. The girl is drop-dead gorgeous, but hell, the first time I saw her at See Food I thought she needed to work. She was waiting tables at a seafood restaurant by the beach, for shit’s sake.
But now she rolls into the shop in a custom black Escalade, and she looks like she just walked out of an American Apparel ad.
My inferiority complex is definitely rearing its ugly head.
A chuckle beside me snaps me out of my inner rant, and I glance over to see Will standing there with his arms crossed, staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face.
“See. Told you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of my face.” I wipe my hands on a rag and look across the room to where Drake is standing at the garage door. He’s grinning so hugely I know he’s landed a look at Berkeley, too.
Berkeley. I want to know her.
I decide. Right then and there, inferiority complex or not, that I’m going to. Know her, that is.
I sure as hell hope she’s on board with that.
I roll myself under her car and get to work. It’s obvious she’s had her oil changed like clockwork, and none of her other fluids are low. The vehicle is in perfect working order. I wonder if she’s the one who keeps it that way. Or if maybe her father brings it in for her.
Or…her boyfriend.
That thought has my face burning with angry heat. More than anything in the entire world right now, I don’t want her to have a boyfriend. I don’t want to be cut off from this mission before it’s even begun.
When I roll out again, I smooth my longish dark hair down to make sure it’s not sticking up, and I run a clean rag over my face and neck. I clean my hands meticulously, but I know there’s nothing I can do about my coveralls. I send up a silent prayer, and shoot Drake a nod. He looks back at me with a knowing gleam in his eyes, and salutes me.
When I open the glass doors, those deep, liquid-amber eyes set so deep in her face find me, and I’m lost.
Like I said, my mission is set. No aborts, no retreats. This is do or die.
I walk over to the counter and begin typing up her receipt. I haven’t found any words yet, and I decide to wait and see what she’ll do.
She walks slowly over to the counter, her eyes never leaving me as she moves. When she arrives, she sets both elbows on top and leans forward. I will my eyes to meet her gaze, and swear I will scratch them out if they dare to glance down to the cleavage I’m sure is revealing itself from the top of her shirt.
“Hey.” That slow drawl is going to get me every time, I know that already.
“Hey,” I reply. I hope my cool attitude is coming across, and that the sweat beginning to dampen my hands isn’t also affecting my brow.
“I know you.” Her tone is casual, but not as cautious as the first night I saw her. Is that curiosity ringing through?
I’m going to take that as a good sign.
“I know you, too, Berkeley.”
She draws back, surprise crossing her face. “You remember my name.”
“I do. Couldn’t forget it. Not with a face like yours.”
She smiles, as if she can’t help herself. Thank God I found my charm somewhere among the bag of nerves opening up in my insides.
“Well, you can’t hold it against me that I don’t know yours. You never told me.”
“Huh,” I say as I thoughtfully scratch my rough chin. “If I recall correctly, I didn’t have a chance to tell you my name. I believe you wrote me off as army trash on sight, and asked me never to disgrace you with my presence again.”
She gasps. “I did not! I would never do that…”
When she trails off, I shoot her a grin. “Didn’t you?”
The tiny wrinkles are back in her forehead, and my lips practically twitch with an unexplainable need to allow them to meet her skin. I finally let my eyes leave her face, and rake them across her body as quickly as I can so as not to appear like a sleaze. Which I might be, because every inch of her just calls out to me like a siren. She’s inviting, she emanates warmth and sultriness, and my nerves are standing at attention just being this close to her.
“Okay, maybe I did.” Her admission of guilt comes complete with one corner of her plump bottom lip being pulled into her mouth. I think I manage to contain the groan that forms in my chest.
I think.
I suck in a breath and refocus on her eyes. “What do you have against guys in the military, Berkeley?”
I use her name because it feels fucking delicious in my mouth.
She studies me and there is a question in her eyes. I want her to ask it. Badly.
“I don’t have anything against guys in the military. My dad…”
Her hesitation fuels my curiosity. “Your dad…what?”
Suddenly, she changes the subject. “What’s the damage on my car, uh…”
“Dare. I’m Dare.” I tell her the total while I wait for her to comment on my name.
She doesn’t.
She hands me her card, and I scan it before I run it. I stare at her face as I wait for the receipt to print, memorizing each minute detail. Sprinkle of light freckles on the bridge of her nose. Lashes long enough to brush her cheeks. Natural-looki
ng makeup, not pasted on like a lot of other girls our age. Her eyes seem darker at this distance, the most satiny brown I can imagine, and it is such a contrast with her hair color that I can’t pull my gaze away.
“Thank you, Dare.”
Fuck me. I want her to say it again. And again.
And again.
“You’re welcome Ms. Holtz. You seem like you keep a good regular upkeep on your vehicle. Keep that up. The sticker on your windshield will tell you when you’re due back.”
She nods, and turns and heads for the door. Before she reaches it, she whirls around.
“Will I see you back at See Food?”
“I’ve been at that restaurant a few times a week for the past three weeks. Do you still work there?”
Her dimples deepen in her cheeks as she smiles, and my heart flutters.
Yeah. Like a bitch, my heart flutters.
“I do. Were you looking for me?”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
“Well, if you were, keep looking. You might just get what you came for. I finished my senior year of college last week. Back home in Lone Sands…until.”
“Until?”
She walks back toward the door.
“Just until,” she tosses over her shoulder on her way out.
And then, she’s gone.
I hope to hell she’s telling me the truth about going back to work at See Food. Because I’m about to buy stock in the place.
My body is cold and clammy, a thin sheen of sweat covering every inch of me as I wrestle ferociously with my bedsheets. When my wild thrashing finally wakes me out of the shitty excuse for sleep, I discover I’ve been shouting. Drake is standing over me, his voice cool and placid as he instructs me to calm down. He tells me that I’m home, I’m not there, and I’m safe.
I’m safe. I’m safe…
My hair sticks to the back of my slick neck. I’ve been here so long it’s grown longer than the army standard. I slap at it as I hustle in the darkness.
The subtropical African climate fucks with my head, my body. I’m a Ranger, so I’ve been trained to fight in all climates, but I’ve been here too long. My hamstring convulses in a heat cramp, and I clutch it as I go down.
Crawling, flies buzz around my face in the long savanna grass, and I’m thankful for the camouflage, even if I have no way of knowing what else hides in these grasses.
My head snaps up, whips around. My night vision goggles are long gone, just like my battalion. My breath catches, and my stomach heaves as I think of them. God, help me. Their voices are getting closer, my escape has been broadcast across the radios, and if they find me, they’ll kill me. I gotta move.
Army crawl is how I travel the mile between the jungle camp where I’ve been kept and the village nearby. I don’t want to bring the hell I’ve been experiencing to the innocent people in the village, but I have to get out of here.
The blood cakes my elbows as the sun rises behind me, a brilliant burst of color and light that I can’t believe exists in a place like this. At one point, I thought I’d never see the sunrise again. Tears cover the cheeks I’m sure are the same color as the mud covering my ripped fatigues, and I can see the first hut of the village not far in front of me.
I made it. I’m safe…I’m safe…
And then I lose consciousness.
I start back to complete consciousness and focus on Drake’s huge form standing beside me.
Gasping for air, I raise both hands to my head. My hair is sticking to the back of my neck just like it did back then, but as I take in my surroundings I can see that I’m not there. I’m not in that jungle anymore. That was months ago, although sometimes it seems like it couldn’t have really happened in this lifetime.
“Shit,” I mutter. “I did it again?”
Drake nods. “You talk to anyone about this PTSD?”
I nod. “Yeah. Did some therapy after I got back. Didn’t stop the dreams. Fucking jungle creeps in at night, only at night.”
Nodding again, Drake thumps me on the back. “I’m here, man. If you want to talk about it…I’m here. I still feel all kinds of guilt that I got out before…before it happened. I should have been with you.”
I shake my head, looking him full on in the eyes. “No, you shouldn’t. You might have died like the rest of them. You’re here for me now. Now get the hell outta here. I’m gonna try to get a little more sleep.”
One side of his mouth turns up, nowhere near his normal grin, and nods again. “See you in the morning.”
I lay in the dark, just staring up at my ceiling, trying as hard as I can to claw my way back from the memories. I pull a pillow into my chest, clutching it as tightly as I can. I want to scream into it, but I don’t want Drake to have to come running back to my rescue.
I save myself. I always have.
These nightmares will not break me.
My thoughts are just turning to wild, straw-colored curls and a goddess’s face when my phone jangles on the nightstand.
I check the screen; a Florida number.
“Hello?”
Chase’s voice is strained. “Dare.”
I sigh. I’ve known Chase since we were eleven and living in the same foster home. Other than Drake, he’s the closest thing I will ever have to a real brother.
“What’s wrong, Chase?” I’m instantly alert and wary.
Trouble has a way of finding Chase, and Chase has a way of finding me to help get him out of it.
“Look, Dare, I swear to God I’ll pay you back. I need a little green to pay back these dudes I got in with. If I don’t pay ’em…I gotta pay ’em. You got me?”
An angry, frustrated growl leaves me as I stare at my phone. I want to hurl it across the room, but again, Drake.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Chase! I can’t keep doing this shit. At some point, you gotta grow up. Get your shit together, man.”
I can picture him nodding his head. “Yeah, man. I know. Spot me this, I swear I won’t ask again. I’ll get it together.”
I don’t believe him for a second. I give him this, and he’ll ask again and again. But he’s my brother. And I love him. He’s had my back in some tough times as well, so our relationship goes two ways. But since I entered the army at eighteen, I haven’t needed to ask Chase for help once.
I scrub my hands over my hair and then across my face. Sighing, I try to hold him off.
“Let me move some shit around, Chase. I’ll get back to you.”
“Don’t take too long, Dare. You gotta come through for me.”
I end the call, and roll over in my bed. It’s only four in the morning, but this is already turning out to be a shit day.
4
Berkeley
Berkeley Jane Holtz.” My mother’s voice sounds too weary to yell. So she just states my name, like she’s rattling off the wine selection at dinner.
“Momma, I’m going to work.”
“But why? Your father and I enjoy paying for everything you may need. And one day, you’ll be married, and then your husband—”
I throw up a hand in aggravated frustration. Is that really all my mother thinks life is about? Having your parents pay for everything, and then moving right along to having your husband pay for everything?
I’m a woman who needs a sense of accomplishment in my life. She’s never understood it. She doesn’t even bother to pretend.
The door slams shut behind me, and I know I’ll hear a lecture about respect from the Admiral at some point in the near future.
My bosses at work are an enormously generous and giving middle-aged couple that treat me like I share their blood. It amazes me every day. The moment I turned up in their lobby as a lost and confused seventeen-year-old, they took me in as more than just an employee, and I’ll never be able to repay them.
“You’re late,” says Lenny as she breezes by me on her way into the kitchen.
“I’m never late,” I protest.
It’s not true. I’m nearly always late
. I always have the best intentions, thinking I’m leaving myself plenty of time to get ready for an event or appointment. But then when I check the clock, hours have slipped away as if they were mere minutes, and I’m left scrambling to arrive with some semblance of respect for the other person’s time. I can’t seem to help it.
It’s a thing.
Lenny ties on her apron as she prepares for the first tables of the evening shift, grinning at me from the drink machine.
“But I made you check the time, didn’t I?”
I throw a lemon wedge at her.
“Leave her alone, babe!” Boozer, her husband, ambles over to squeeze me in a one-armed hug. His other hand is wielding a butcher knife that he’s using to chop off the tails and heads of pounds and pounds of fish.
Our evening begins in something of a whirlwind. It’s the first packed Friday night of the season, really, and the beach crowd is flocking to Lone Sands’s well-known eatery. The dinner rush won’t slow down until after nine on a night like this, so I’m too busy to pay much attention to anything but the diners seated at my tables.
That’s why I notice when Mea and Mikah roll in with a small posse, because they’ve demanded to be seated at one of my tables.
That’s why, around eight, I notice when Dare and his friend are seated at a table just behind them only a minute later.
The sight of Mea brings a genuinely happy smile to my face. I know she’ll want to make plans for when I get off around eleven. To me, hanging out with Mea until the sun comes up is the symbol of summer.
The sight of Dare sends a hot flush creeping up to my face and a flutter of nerves coursing through my stomach.
I’m aware of the danger the second emotion signifies. Being attracted to a military guy has never been in the cards for me. In fact, I’ve been fighting against my parents for years on the very subject. If I’m not going to end up with Grisham, I’m not going to end up with any man in uniform.
But something about Dare, from that very first night I met him, has had his stupidly rugged face creeping into my thoughts just before I fall asleep at night. And even though I turned him down that night, it didn’t help matters that I ran into him again at the auto mechanic’s shop. Since then, and since I actually had the nerve to flirt back with him, I’ve been wondering how his very large hands would feel wrapped around my waist. Or grasping the back of my neck. Or…other things.