by Chelle Bliss
It shocked me to see him using that little gesture less than ten minutes into our conversation. If he came any closer to me, grinned any sweeter, I was sure all recollection of why I’d left Seattle in the first place would shoot right out of my head.
“What?” I finally said. He’d planted a small smile over his mouth. Something I’d rarely seen from him. I couldn’t help moving my gaze down at his full glass, internally musing how many Jacks he’d downed. Dale always was extra flirty when Jack came to visit.
“Three,” he answered the question I didn’t ask, forcing my attention back at his face.
“I didn’t…”
“Written on every inch of that pretty mug of yours,” he said, waving his finger around my face. It was meant as a tease. I knew Dale well enough to understand his ribbing. He was good at that, with me at least. “But it’s only been three, and as you know, I can handle plenty more of my buddy Jack than three.”
“Nearly a bottle, if memory serves,” I said, unable to help the laugh that bubbled from my throat at the memory of Dale the night of his birthday the year after Trudy left him. He was in nothing but his cowboy boots and boxer briefs, a bottle of Gentleman Jack between his fingers as he serenaded my block, promising the world there were no other women in the world like “New Orleans Ladies.”
It was the single most god-awful out-of-tune song I’d ever heard. At least he was able to hold his liquor long enough for me to find his jeans, which he’d abandoned on the front porch, and tuck him in on my sofa.
He’d been beautiful, harmless, so lost. All I’d wanted to do was help my friend through the grief of betrayal his cheating wife had caused. We tried liquor. We tried raw honesty. We tried a hell of a lot of laughter and then…well.
Shit.
Another wave of lust collected from my memories shot forward. I stepped back, cursing myself for almost letting Dale charm me into forgetting why I had to leave Seattle. Not once had he mentioned that night at the cabin. No amount of trips down memory lane would make up for the fact that Dale clearly wanted to forget what we’d done and what he’d almost said to me.
His grin faded when I stepped back, remembering the hurt that still lingered in my chest every time I thought about him. The crowd rushed the dance floor and I watched them, fighting the urge to face Dale and the need to reach out to him.
“I’m…glad you’re doing okay.” He moved his hand. His fingers coming inches from my wrist, but I pretended not to notice and curled my arms in front of my chest. I couldn’t let him think I was his friend. It was too soon to be too familiar. He didn’t get that from me anymore. Not ever again. That’s what I told myself. “Look, I’ve got to…” I was almost clear, breaking free, proving to myself that I could walk away and he would not affect me…
Two steps. A twist of my head, a low, swift breath. That’s all I managed.
One.
Two.
And then Dale grabbed my wrist, turned me back, held me right in front of him.
“I’ve got things to say.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him not to bother. He’d said something similar to me before, then pretended he hadn’t. I wasn’t going to fall for it twice.
But Dale stopped me, eyes tightening so that I could barely make out the black irises, teeth clenching like he anticipated every scenario and had a response for each one. The tease was gone from his expression, as though he’d never attempted it. “You let me say them, and I swear, I’ll be done. I won’t hassle you. I won’t get in…” He glanced over my shoulder, those eyes opening, shifting, and the hard line of his mouth tightened. “I won’t get in your way.”
I turned to my right, spotting Johnny near the bar, his smile easy but his eyes curious. A little interested and on alert. He relaxed when I shook my head, waving him off.
“What things do you have to say to me, Dale?” I asked, prepared to dismiss him.
He didn’t seem ready for that. “Things I can’t say in the middle of a crowd with Johnny Fuckin’ Carelli looking at me like he wants to jump me.” Dale let my wrist go but didn’t step away from me. “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock, if you can make it. Meet me at Riley’s on 1st.” Some of the tightness in his face relaxed.
I could smell the whiskey on his breath, and it made me a little drunk. He licked his lips again, and I inhaled, hating that I liked the smell and the way it came off him. Hating that some part of me wanted to see how drunk I could get off the taste of Dale Hunter.
He exhaled and I closed my eyes, suppressing a shiver when he leaned forward to kiss my cheek, and that sweet whiskey smell gave me a contact high. “This…this is me saying please.”
3
Gin
Hell, could that man could make an entrance.
He was never late.
It had to be a throwback to all those years being up before dawn, on deployment doing whatever the hell it was SEALs did that none of us are ever supposed to know about. But Dale’s place was off the 522 right where a dump truck had spilled ten yards of cedar mulch.
You hit that mess on the 522? I’d texted him.
I did. At the light across the street. Be there in forty seconds.
I figured that would put him behind me, but Dale was always prepared and rarely caught by surprise. I parked my Charger in the spot closest to the front of the small diner just a minute after nine. At 9:02 exactly, the familiar roar of his motorcycle thundering down 1st Avenue sounded just as I started away from my car. Dale moved his bike down the street with ease, driving it up the inclined driveway with one hand and gliding into the spot next to my Charger before I could get my hand on the front door.
Ridiculous. Utterly damn ridiculous to look that cool. That polished in a pair of jeans and a simple black leather jacket. He was off his bike, helmet tucked under his arm, and his gloved hand on the door handle before I had time to open it.
I’d always been a little dumbstruck by Dale. I’d told myself a year had been long enough to help me forget what kind of man I’d let myself fall for. Behind the guise of being his right-hand woman on set, I could watch him without needing an excuse. I could see how the man worked. See a side of him no one else got to witness, and it was always a hell of a show.
He slipped off that bike like it was nothing. Like it was easier to maneuver that 500-pound Indian than a toddler manning a Big Wheel. He shoved one hand through his hair, and all those thick, beautiful waves stayed right where he’d pushed them. God alive. That was just Dale. He moved, and things just sort of stayed put. I’d forgotten what it was like.
I’d forgotten the control he had.
I’d forgotten how much being around him could make me forget what I wanted.
All the things I knew he’d never give me.
It took me a second to snap myself from the daze as he joined me at the entrance. When he nodded toward the door, opening it wide, I straightened my shoulders and brushed past him without a greeting or anything more welcoming than a jerk of my chin.
The diner was small, the morning crowd thinning out. We’d eaten at this place two, maybe three times before. Enough to know that five to eight a.m. was the peak morning breakfast rush. That much I remembered from our Seattle locations.
Dale nodded to the hostess when she threw him a wink and pointed to a booth set at the back of the diner, beyond the front counter. There was no one around this section because the lighting was dimmer, and the back window had a busted set of blinds that hung at an angle in the center of the glass.
Dale waited for me to sit, and I slid across the bench, watching him. He took off his gloves and tucked them into his helmet and stored both at his side while the waitress hurried over to set two empty mugs in front of us.
“Coffee?” she asked, offering the steaming aluminum pot in her hand.
“Thanks,” I said, nodding to Dale’s mug out of habit.
He waited for the woman to place two laminated menus in front of us and leave before he spoke, looking at the broken blinds, eyebrows
moving up. “This booth suits me. It’s cold. No sunlight. Nobody wants to sit in the cold.”
I shivered, pulling my own coat tighter around my neck. “No one but you.”
The question came out like an accusation, a little sharp, a lot bitchy, enough that the half smile that had twitched on Dale’s mouth died in an instant. I didn’t apologize. It wasn’t a lie. He never wanted company, except for me or Kane and, maybe on his good days, Kit. It was no surprise to me he’d pick a spot in an emptying diner that no one wanted to be in. The coolest, dimmest spot in the place.
“Guess so.” He sipped his black coffee, thumb smoothing against the handle.
Then he went quiet on me, only showing any reaction in his expressions when his cell vibrated in his pocket or the waitress came by to ask for our order.
“Just coffee for me,” I told her, shaking my head when Dale opened his mouth to argue.
The waitress returned to the counter, mumbling something under her breath. I grabbed a creamer, fully aware that Dale watched as I added more to my coffee, likely wondering if we were going to sit here all morning not speaking. Curious if the other would ever utter a sound.
“You’re not hungry?” He stacked my empty creamer containers into each other while I stirred sugar into my mug.
“No. Kit and I had a little too much tequila last night, and my stomach can’t take more than coffee and toast.”
He lifted his hand, as though he were trying to get the waitress’s attention. I grabbed his wrist, and the quick flash of contact made Dale jerk his gaze to me.
“It’s fine, really.” I pulled my hand back, squeezing my fingers together. “Not really up to eating anything yet.”
“You need something in your stomach.” His suggestion reminded me of Thanksgiving two years ago when I got the flu. I thought I’d spend the holiday alone, puking my guts out. Dale had been the only one to check up on me. It had been so out of our norm for him to stay and look after me, missing out on Kit’s amazing rosemary turkey spread to nurse me back to life. Usually, it was me playing nursemaid while Dale got shitty. But that day, I saw a side of him that had surprised me. It was surfacing just a bit right now as he affected the same, not-at-all-like-him tone. “You’ll end up passing out or…”
I stared out of the half-obscured window, trying to clear away the memory of that Thanksgiving Day. Dale with my feet in his lap as he watched the game. That was a lifetime ago. Now, I didn’t need Dale’s concern. It was wasted on me, and I sensed he understood my feeling.
Dale pushed his mug away from himself and scrubbed a hand over his face before he cleared his throat. “Fuck, I feel like a frog on a hot plate.”
I just couldn’t help myself. Despite the tension, despite the awkwardness of the situation, a loud, uncontrollable laugh blurted from my throat. “What the hell?”
Dale grinned, his shoulders relaxing as he waved me off. He hazarded one long, slow look my way before he shook his head. He seemed to give up any pretenses that, like me, he wasn’t a nervous wreck.
“This ain’t us.”
It wasn’t. We both knew it. I watched Dale watching me. We’d never been the type of people who walked on eggshells around each other. We were now.
“No,” I finally said, ignoring that small, nagging voice in the back of my head that reminded me of the hurt Dale had dealt me. “This ain’t us.”
He paused, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He looked out of the window, giving a clear view of that perfect, symmetrical profile. It was just damn criminal for a man to be that beautiful.
“Used to be…there wasn’t a thing I couldn’t say, in my own way, to you,” he said, still watching the traffic outside the diner. “But then…” He squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing his nails through his scruff like he couldn’t finish the thought he’d started. Then Dale waved it off, blowing out a breath before he glanced at me. “There’s a lot we left unsaid. A lot I got to answer for and I know that. But just now I wanna say that it’s a shitshow with you not around. The set has gone to hell.”
“The show?” I said, not surprised that Dale was deflecting.
“And…that dumb little tree you bought me is turning brown.”
I blinked at him, questioning the sanity of my surprise that Dale had managed the impossible. “It’s an aloe plant, Dale. Who the hell kills an aloe vera plant?”
“Didn’t say it was dead…it’s just…”
“What are you saying?”
He curled a napkin between his fingers, flaring his nostrils as though he didn’t want to say the one thing he knew he had to get out. “Well, I suppose that…everything has gone to shit.”
“You mentioned that.” I leaned back, trying not to laugh at the way he drummed his fingers against the table. He was nervous and Dale Hunter wasn’t the type of man to ever be truly nervous. “The set and the aloe…because?”
He jerked his gaze to me. I spotted the tension working in his jaw as Dale gritted his teeth. “Because,” he started, releasing a long sigh. “You aren’t there.”
His stare felt like a burn against my skin. It was weighted and searing. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. Nothing had been resolved between us. We’d walked away from each other—Dale every time he teased me with improbable maybes; and me when I left Seattle with no promise of ever coming back.
I took away my friendship. He took away my hope.
“No,” I said, not meaning to make my voice as soft as it came out. “I’m not there.”
He knew why I left.
He had to know why I planned to stay gone.
“I never meant…” He didn’t finish. Whatever excuse Dale had ready for me got swallowed up by the chirping alert of his cell. Whoever it came from hardened his features. Another heavy exhale and Dale rubbed his face, looking tired, deflated.
“You sleeping?” I couldn’t help asking.
“A little.”
“You need to take care of yourself.”
Dale leaned against the table, his features relaxing as he watched me. “See, that’s another thing that’s gone to shit. Don’t have you here to nag me about eating three squares or getting enough protein.”
“You look like you’ve been managing okay in that department.” It was a compliment I should have kept to myself, one that put a stupid grin on Dale’s face I equally loved and hated.
“Is that right?” He leaned back, stretching one arm across the back of the bench behind him. “Been looking, have you?” When I rolled my eyes, Dale continued, and that grin widened. “Go ahead, I won’t pick on you if you admit it.”
“You’re full of yourself.”
“You’re the one talking about me looking good.” He winked at me then, taking hold of my hand when I gave his hand a light slap. There was a small current of electricity that shot from the tips of his fingers to my wrist when he grazed his fingers across my knuckles. Dale dropped the smile from his face but didn’t move his touch from my hand. “Truth is, Gingerbread, I’ve missed you a lot.”
God, I’d missed him too, and I wanted to tell him. I wanted to touch him back, take his hand and hold it against my palm. I wanted to feel the heat of his skin on mine. It was tempting, like the sweetest, most decadent drug taunting an addict.
“So many times, I’ve thought about you…and me…and everything that could have happened and never did. About what could happen in the future.”
It felt like a gut punch. Something stinging. Something that hurt so badly I didn’t think I’d be able to walk away from this table with my head held up. How could he say nothing happened? How could he dismiss what he’d done to me? What he’d said?
Dale’s frown came slow, in small segments as I sat up, pulling my hand into my lap. I saw his disappointment as the seconds ticked by, but I didn’t speak. He went quiet. I wondered what he thought, if he believed how he touched me, teased me could be so easy to forget.
When I couldn’t take his stare, when the air around us had grown too thick with awkward tension, I
turned and stared right at him, holding back my surprise at the look of worry and disappointment on Dale’s face. It wasn’t going to work. I was the master of those disappointed looks. I’d given them to him a hundred times. He never understood that he was the reason they stayed etched on my face.
Blowing out a breath, I leaned forward and moved my cooling coffee to the side. “The problem with that is, things are different.”
Dale’s bottom eyelid pulsed. A small twitch that told me he was irritated. He recovered, copying my position by leaning forward. “Nothing is different.”
His hands were inches from mine. He could stretch his fingers and graze my knuckles again, take back what I kept from him. He wouldn’t. That wasn’t his style. In fact, the thought would likely never occur to him. He wouldn’t face even the remotest possibility of rejection. Just like the idea that I had changed. He didn’t see it. He never would.
I rested against the booth, arms crossed. “Everything is different.”
“You still take two creams and two sugars in your coffee.”
“Dale.”
“You still like bourbon in your sweet tea?” He shifted in his seat, the booth squeaking as he flatted his hand against the table. “You still get scared when you watch The Conjuring? You still like thunderstorms? Nothing’s changed except the distance.”
“I’ve changed!” My voice was loud, punctuated by the slap of my hand against the table.
Dale sat up, hardening his features.
I hadn’t meant to lose my temper. I hadn’t meant to let him see what effect he had on me, but God knows, if anyone could get under my skin, it was Dale. Outside the window, two cop cars zipped by, their lights flashing and sirens silent as they led a black limo through the streets.
I went over the list of curses I’d prepared to shout at Dale. All the rude and insulting names I’d wanted to call him. But just then, I didn’t have the energy.