and I want to put my lips on it.”
“I’m an it, now? You know better than that. How far will that get you with me?” I tsk him, folding my arms across my chest. He chuckles, grabs my hand, and ever so lightly brushes a kiss across my knuckles. My gaze is glued to his mouth. Now I want his lips on everything. One gentlemanly gesture has me shivering. “Lainey wants you,” I say. It’s attempt to thwart my imagination.
“Funny. I want you. We’re just a bunch of greedy people around here, aren’t we?”
Seconds pass as we have a silent stare off. He shrugs his huge shoulders. “Don’t worry. I want to talk to your daddy before we do anything that may be construed as indecent. I don’t think you’ll ever be too old to warrant a shotgun in my face.”
I laugh, a true, gritty laugh, because he’s not making jokes, he’s being serious. I’ve always found it ironic how that works with a humorous person. “You’re one person he won’t point a gun at. Don’t worry. We should get on the road early tomorrow. I’m all packed and ready for the ranch. Did you remember to pack your chaps?” Pressing my lips together, I try to stifle a laugh. He was born in the south, but struggles with most southern things.
“Assless. I’ll stay over tonight so we can leave early. I’ll model them for you when we leave here.” I shake my head and he follows me into the dining room. All of our friends are milling around the table, picking at appetizers, drinking cocktails. I limit myself to one glass of wine because the last thing I need is drunk Morganna coming out to play. Lainey flirts shamelessly with Cody throughout dinner. Oddly, he seems receptive to her advances, even talking about something other than computers or the weird cryptic nuances of technology. It makes me happy, because she hasn’t glanced Steven’s way once. She knew the second I walked through the door that his radar was locked on me. I like that. The meal she cooked was extravagant in the way that someone always tries to impress guests, but I could have given her a few tips had she asked.
All I really care about in this moment is that Steven is sitting next to me and his leg is pressed up against mine—his heat seeping into me. Then the subject comes up. I should be comfortable with it after all this time.
“When do you deploy?” Lainey asks the table. There are a few SEALs and their wives at the other end opposite mine. There’s also civilians who hang on to every word about any detail they can gather about this odd, secret world.
Cody answers first. “Shortly after the holidays. It will be a fun one.” I cough, laying a hand on my chest. Steven’s hand finds my leg. My own hand automatically goes on top of his. I clutch onto the small lifeline.
“Ah, come on. It won’t be that eventful,” Steven supplies.
Not only is he trying to downplay his leaving, he’s monitoring what information is being dispersed to the table. SEALs aren’t called silent professionals for nothing. The sell-outs who write tell-all books and give interviews about sordid, secret mission details after they retire from the Navy don’t count. Those types of men are shunned and frowned upon in our community. I wish them ill will and a lifetime supply of crabs. I look down to my lap, composing myself as I remember “the knock at the door.” My life changed forever in the span of seconds.
One. Rush from kitchen to open the door, hanging up a phone call on my way.
Two. See dark Navy uniforms through the panel of glass beside my door.
Three. Open door.
Four. Take in somber faces.
Four seconds was all it took to rob me of everything. The chaplain didn’t need to say a word. In fact, I’m not sure if he ever did because I fell to my knees in shock as the rest of the world melted away. I remember looking up and seeing his mouth moving, and his arms reaching down to help me up. My legs refused to move, my mouth couldn’t speak, my arms fell limp, and I was paralyzed by loss. When I regained some semblance of sanity, my only words were, “The guys. The rest of the guys. Steven. Maverick?” With the assurance that Steven was okay and that Mav would recover, I buried myself in grief