Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Even hearing myself admit I can’t do something is painful.
I imagine Sergeant watching me with his steady gaze, all but saying, You’re a Marine. You can do anything.
“I get it’s hard to share stuff. Especially with a stranger.”
“You don’t feel like a stranger,” I snarl.
I stop, realizing I might’ve gone too far, shared too much of what I really feel.
“Maybe it was my childhood. Who knows?”
This is one hell of a distraction technique, but I can’t linger on the fierceness I just exposed.
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She squeezes my hand with more force. “It does matter. You wouldn’t have mentioned anything if it didn’t.”
I shrug, tempted to make light of it, but it’s difficult with my woman offering so much warmth. When I talk, my tone takes on a flat, level tenor.
“It’s nothing, really. My mom died when I was very young. I hardly even remember her. My dad was a real hard-ass. He used to flip out if I ever showed any weakness. It feels silly talking about my childhood as if it matters now… when I’m such an old man.”
I add the last bit, trying to make a joke, but she offers me the most beautiful, offended pout. “Please stop saying that. You’re not old, and I get it. I was talking about this with Dad the other day. My mom passed early, too. I don’t remember anything about her, but it has an effect. It made me grow up fast since I had to be there for Dad as much as he was there for me.”
Of course, this is how my woman sees it, always wanting the best for others, always wanting to do the right thing.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I say.
“I’m sorry about yours, too. How did she pass, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“She slipped and fell. You?”
“She had a rare neurological condition. Dad doesn’t talk about it much, but I know he had to care for her for a full year while taking care of me, too.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry. He sounds like one hell of a man.”
I’d like to meet him, I almost say, but there’s still that blockage in me, telling me I can’t push too hard.
“Does this mean you still want the tattoo?” she asks after a long pause.
It’s a pause that hints there’s so much else she wants to say. That makes two of us.
“Yes,” I say. “More than that… I wanted to see you again. And Buckie. I miss the little guy.”
“I wanted to see you, too,” she whispers. “So does Buckie.”
“You don’t think I’m a crazy stalker, showing up like this?”
She laughs, melting away so much of the tension. “If you are, I’m a willing stalkee.”
I chuckle, the first time I’ve laughed since I left my woman.
“But,” she says, her tone darkening, “if we’re going to… date?”
She turns it into a question, stopping before she goes on, as if waiting for me to confirm or deny.
“We’re dating, all right,” I tell her fiercely.
Even if the term dating feels so weak to describe what we share.
“Okay.” She removes her hand from mine, sits up, suddenly distant. “Then there’s something I need to tell you, so you understand why I freaked.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Luna
I told him I wanted to share why I freaked, but suddenly I want to take it back.
I want to sit with him, simply exist in this warm place. I’ve still got the taste of his lips on my mouth, triggering a cascade of fresh want inside of me. It’s not like the hunger waned while he stayed away. Maybe another woman would be pissed at his distance, would snap at him to never leave her hanging like that again.
I’m just so relieved to be close to him again.
He watches me steadily, his intense eyes trained on me the same way he was looking at Buckie during training. I’m not saying he’s looking at me like I’m a dog, but there’s that same intense focus, like nothing could draw his gaze away from me.
“It’s okay,” he says in his husky voice, like he can sense the heartache in me, the pain tearing through my body.
“It’s not like I didn’t want to go all the way with you,” I say.
The words are so intimate, so far outside my usual way of talking, I can’t look at him. I can still feel his gaze on me, the heat of it, the captivation. I can’t know if this closeness is normal for how much time we’ve spent together. I’ve got no frame of reference. All I know is I like it, cherish it, want more of it.
I wring my hands together as I speak.
“It’s just that… well, I had a bad experience when I was younger.”
“Okay,” Kayden says, his tone getting dark, like he can’t stand the idea of anything bad happening to me.