at the side, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and some ice from the mini-fridge next to it. Combining them in a tumbler, he downed the first drink with smooth swallows. I watched his throat work, wondered if he liked the burn of the liquor as it made the journey.
Grabbing a second tumbler, he filled it with ice and whiskey. "It's a little early, even for me," I laughed.
"You're going to want it for this conversation," he said, nodding his head down to the glass one more time. Accepting the glass with a swallow, I tossed it back quickly, wincing against the burn as it poured down my throat.
"What conversation?" I asked, setting the empty glass on his desk. He glanced at it, filling it one more time. Then he moved around to the other side, setting the bottle down as he made his way to his chair. He dropped his weight into it, looking exhausted for the first time since I'd met him. He waved two fingers to summon me over as Rebel curled up on the floor nearby.
Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms over my chest. I did not give the first shit if he was vulnerable. There was nothing on this planet that would make me come like a pet when summoned. "Please, Sadie," he said, studying me intently. With a sigh, I uncrossed my arms and walked around the desk to stand in front of him. Hands at my hips, he lifted me until my ass perched on the edge of his desk, and he moved his chair to position himself between my legs. His fingers ran over my jean clad thighs, the pressure of them grazing against me, even through the thick fabric, feeling like a soothing sensation in and of itself. I didn't know if it was for his sake or mine, but I suspected it calmed both our frayed edges.
The need to flee already stirred in my veins, threatening to make me try to bolt out the door. "I had a girlfriend at home when I went to Afghanistan," he said, staring at the contact between his hands and my thighs. Like he couldn't quite look at me while he detailed his secrets.
"I don't need to know about this, Enzo," I sighed, catching his chin and giving him a reassuring smile. "You don't owe me anything."
"We both have shit we're dealing with. Unusual symptoms that are going to influence things in the future. We'll never survive if we aren't honest about them," he argued, raising an eyebrow at me as if he dared me to contradict him. But I couldn't, and the fact that I didn't discuss my symptoms or disorder with anyone only strengthened that desire to bolt. "At the time, she was good for me. We were happy, but when I came back, I wasn't the same. I’d always had problems with near blind rage, but the PTSD and flashbacks only made me more dangerous. I didn't function well in normal situations and surroundings. I didn’t have it in me to make small talk and socialize when I just didn't give a shit about frivolous crap. I couldn't keep a job because of my anxiety and spells like what happened today. Anything could set it off, and I couldn’t control my reaction. It happened more often when I first came home. She ended things with me because of it. Looking back, obviously I know it was for the best. The man I am now will never be the boy she loved before, but you need to know what you're getting into. I function better now. I have a job and socializing is fine. Spells like today will happen occasionally, particularly during times of high stress."
"You don't need to be stressed because of me. I know I'm splitting your focus too much. I can take care of myself, or I guess Matteo could put someone else on me who's under less pressure," I argued. His face darkened with the latter suggestion, his eyes turning molten as his grip tightened on my thighs.
"My stress has nothing to do with my job. I'm stressed because someone broke into your house in the middle of the night and tried to do God knows what with you. I'm stressed because if I slip up in protecting you, my woman could end up dead."
"I'm not your woman," I said automatically.
He chuckled, shaking his head. The smile faded from his face, those hands holding me