My Kind of Love: a Military Romance (Finding Love Book 1)

by Nikki Ash

  But where would I go? Cabo is out of the question. I need to go somewhere I haven’t been with Ian. A place I can focus on healing and moving forward. Maybe even make a new plan. My stomach knots. The only plan I want is one that includes Ian. Only that’s never going to happen.

  Where can I go?

  And then an idea hits me. I know just the place.

  After packing my stuff into a small suitcase, I grab a new piece of paper and write a note to my parents to let them know I had to get away. I need time to myself to move forward. I let them know not to worry, but I don’t tell them where I’m going. If I do, they’ll send someone to check on me, and right now I just need some time to heal. To figure out a way to move forward.

  Since my car is relatively new—given to me by my parents a few years ago for my sixteenth birthday—I decide to make the drive. It’s four hours to our beach house in Venice, California, but it will do me some good. The best kind of thinking happens in the car, with the windows rolled down and the music blasting. I stop once for a coffee and again at the grocery store to pick up some groceries, since the place will be empty.

  My parents bought the beach house years ago, since they travel to LA often for UFC competitions, as well as to visit my aunt and uncle. Both my parents are retired UFC fighters and own a UFC training facility they took over from my grandpa called Cooper’s Fight Club. Since we rarely come here, I’ve never been here with Ian.

  I arrive close to nine o’clock at night. It’s the first time I’ll be here alone, but it’s in a good neighborhood, on the water, and has an alarm system, so I know I’m safe. I park in the driveway and gather my stuff. As I’m walking to the front door, with my luggage in one hand and the bags of groceries in the other, my cell phone rings. I’m sure it’s my parents. They’re probably now seeing the note I left and wondering where I am. Balancing the bags and luggage, I insert the key into the door and twist it open. With my foot, I kick the door open, preparing to shut the alarm off. Only it doesn’t go off.

  Hmm… That’s weird.

  I step into the house and notice a light is on. My heart beats erratically in my chest. Is someone here? I haven’t heard my parents mention renting the place out. But then again, I haven’t really been paying attention. I’m about to step back outside and call my parents, when a massive shadow makes an appearance. I step backward, preparing to run, when the figure grows larger. A huge muscled man appears and, without thinking, I let out a cringe-worthy shriek. My bags fall from my hands, and my luggage tips over. I twirl around to flee, but the door has closed on its own and I run directly into it, my forehead smashing into the hard wood.

  My brain goes fuzzy, stars lighting up behind my lids. I stumble back slightly, my head throbbing in pain. A strong hand grips my wrist, and it’s then I remember… there’s someone here.

  “Let go of me!” I scream, yanking my hand away and preparing, again, to flee.

  “Whoa, calm down,” the masculine voice says.

  Figuring it’s best to know what the face of my attacker looks like, I swivel around, only to come face-to-face with Ryan Cruz.

  “Ryan? What are you doing here?” I ask, confused as to why he’s here, in my family’s beach house. The last I heard he was in the military and stationed overseas.

  “I’m on vacation,” he says, his voice as strong as his grip, which is still holding on to my wrist.

  “Here?” As I pull my wrist away, this time successfully releasing myself from his grasp, I take a moment to take him in. He’s a good foot taller than my five-foot-two self, dressed in only a pair of camouflage sweatpants, which are hanging low on his hips. Without a shirt on, his entire body is on display. From his hard pecs that are covered in various tattoos, to his chiseled abs, all the way to the well-defined V that disappears into the front of his pants, the man screams sex and—

  What the hell am I thinking? I shouldn’t be thinking of him like that. For one, he’s a friend of my family’s, and two, Ian…My heart clenches behind my rib cage. He’s dead and I’m ogling another man.

  “Yes, here,” he says, ripping me from my thoughts. He crosses his arms over his chest and I make it a point not to look at how ripped his forearms are. Only it’s a huge mistake because when my gaze ascends up to his face, his mesmerizing blue eyes draw me in—like the color of the ocean on a beautiful, cloudless day.

  Unable to look at him a second longer, I drop my eyes to the ground. They take in his bare feet. My God, his feet are huge. I wonder if it’s true what they say… big feet means… Oh my Lord! I close my eyes. Nothing about Ryan is safe to look at. Not even his damn feet! Feet should be ugly, not a turn-on.

  “Yes.”

  I glance back up at him. “Huh?”

  “Yes.” He tilts his head slightly and grants me a cocky smirk. “You asked if the saying is true… Big feet mean a big dick. Yes.” He shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking up into a full-blown two-dimpled grin. “Well, at least in my case. I can’t speak of every man with big feet.”

  Kill. Me. Now. I did not ask that out loud…

  “Yes,” he says again, with a laugh that somehow sounds masculine and melodic at the same time.

  “What?” I say, embarrassed at the way my words are coming out all breathless, and mad at my body for behaving this way.

  “You did ask it out loud.”

  “There has to be some mistake.”

  “About my dick being big, or you asking about it out loud?”

  “About you being here!” I shriek, my face and neck heating up.

  Ryan laughs harder. “I can assure you, I am not a squatter. I’m not only allowed to be here, but I was invited.”

  “By who?”

  “Your dad.”

  Ryan

  Twelve Hours Ago

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” I’m not even ten feet inside Cooper’s Fight Club when Marco, a family friend and part owner of the UFC gym, comes walking over. He grabs my hand and pulls me into a bro-hug. “How you doing?”

  “Good.” I pat him on his back before I step back.

  “I heard you’re in town for a couple months. Took you long enough to come by.”

  “I’ve been busy. Transferred to the base here and then left for training. I leave to Texas in a couple weeks for another training, and then we ship out to Afghanistan.”

  “Fuck, man, how many tours have you been on now?”

  “This will be my seventh. Mom is pissed. She thought me transferring would mean I’m home for good. Love that woman to death, but she’s driving me fucking nuts.”

  “That’s what parents are supposed to do.” Marco pats me on the shoulder. “Wanna get some sparring in? I have some time.”

  “Sure, let me drop my stuff.”

  After throwing my bag into a locker, I head back out to find Cooper—Marco’s father-in-law—and my dad standing near the octagon, gossiping like girls.

  “Dad, you following me?” I ask, walking up next to him.

  He grins and shakes his head. “If I had to listen to your mom tell me one more time that we need to find you a house to ensure you’d come back, I was going to lose my shit.”

  The guys all laugh.

  “Seriously, though, you made her year coming back home,” Dad adds.

  “Let’s spar,” Marco says, jumping in and saving me.

  We enter the octagon, and since we aren’t really fighting, the only gear we use is a head piece. We circle around for a minute or so and then Marco comes at me with a sideswipe, knocking me onto my ass.

  He booms with laugher and I shake my head. “So, it’s like that, huh?”

  Still laughing, he extends his hand to help me up.

  “You back for good?” he asks, bouncing on his toes with his hands up.

  “I transferred, so yeah. Wasn’t anything left for me in Carson City.” I throw a punch to his face and he ducks.

  “How have things been since the divorce?”

  “Thought you were saving me from the goss
iping chicks over there.” I nod toward my dad and Cooper.

  Marco laughs and throws a punch. It connects to my stomach lightly.

  “The divorce?” he prompts.

  “I’m all good.”

  “And how’s Laura?”

  “She’s good, met a guy, started a family…” I come in with a roundhouse kick and it connects with his head. Since we’re only fucking around and wearing gear, it doesn’t hurt him, and he easily shakes it off.

  “You’re a good man,” he says. “What you did for her was beyond generous.”

  “It is what it is.” I shrug. “She deserves a good life. She didn’t have the people I do.” I look him in the eyes and he knows I’m not just referring to my parents. Marco is one of the few people I talk to besides my parents. We connected when I was younger. I don’t remember it, but over the years he’s always been there. Even when I was a teenager, I would come here to work out and we would talk. He’s become like a second dad to me, a friend. And no matter how long I’m gone, when I return, he welcomes me with open arms.

  “When are you going to start doing for you?” He throws an uppercut, and I block it, immediately coming back at him with a left hook. He bends and grabs my legs, throwing me onto my back. He pulls my arm back into an armbar and I tap out.

  “Fuck.” I laugh. “Your old ass still has it.”

  “Always.” He grabs my hand and helps me up. “Now answer my question.”

  “There’s nothing to do for me.” I walk over to the side and grab a towel, wiping my face and neck.

  Marco does the same. “You’ve spent your adult life doing for Laura and for your country. When are you going to do for Ryan?”

  “What do you want me to do?” I put my hands on my hips, slowly breathing in and out.

  Marco grabs two water bottles and throws one at me. I barely catch it before it hits the ground. “Whatever you want to do. When’s the last time you went on a vacation?”

  “I was at Breckenridge with my parents for Christmas.” Marco and his family didn’t go because his daughter Micaela wasn’t feeling up to it after losing her husband last year, and they didn’t want to leave her during the holidays.

  “That wasn’t for you. That was for your parents. All these deployments have you traveling, but you never actually do anything for yourself.”

  He’s right, but I’ve never been good at sitting still. I get antsy and then I find myself needing to get up and do something.

  “I’m leaving in a couple weeks. Maybe I’ll do something when I get back.”

  “Hey, Ryan,” my dad yells. “Your mom wants to know if you’ll be home for dinner tonight.”

  I let out a groan and Marco laughs. “I need to find my own place. Staying with your parents should never be allowed after you’ve moved out.”

  “Agreed.” He nods. “Did that shit years ago after I moved back home. My mom babied the shit out of me.” He takes a long gulp of his water. “I have a beach house in Venice. Why don’t you spend some time there? Some time for you. It’s backed up to the Pacific Ocean. Private beach. You can go for a run. Eat on the pier. Go to a club. Pick up a woman. Get laid. Tristan has a gym only twenty minutes from there. Do something for you.”

  Well, shit, when he puts it like that…

  “Ryan,” my dad says, walking over. “She wants to know if you want lasagna or chicken marsala.”

  Marco gives me a small one-shoulder shrug.

  “Tell her I won’t be home for dinner. I’m heading out on an impromptu vacation.”

  Dad frowns. “You’re leaving for your deployment soon.”

  “Not for a couple weeks. I’m going to the beach. I’ll be back before I leave. Promise.”

  Marco hands me a key off his key ring. “Fridge needs food, garage is empty, so you can park your truck in there. Alarm code is two-five-four-two. Have fun.”

  I take the key from him. “Thanks.”

  After stopping at home to say goodbye to my mom, and assuring her I’ll be back to spend time with her and the family before leaving, I pack a bag then take off to Venice.

  Four hours later, I arrive and park my truck in the garage so the saltwater doesn’t fuck with it. The house isn’t huge, but it’s nice as hell. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and like Marco said, it’s literally backed up to the beach. You walk outside and the sand and water are right there.

  The first thing I do is take a walk along the beach to the pier to get something to eat. I can’t remember the last time I spent time by myself. When I’m deployed I’m in a room with a dozen other guys. At the base, someone is always around. When I lived with Laura and was home, she always wanted to spend time together. She tried so damn hard to make shit work, but it was like trying to fit a square peg into a circle. No matter how hard she tried, we just didn’t fit the way she wanted us to.

  When I moved back to Vegas, my parents offered to let me stay with them while I searched for a place. It’s been a few months and it’s definitely time, but since I’ll be leaving in a couple weeks and will be gone for a year, I figured it would be best to wait until I get back. I will definitely be getting a place when I get back.

  I find a seafood restaurant near the pier, order a beer and a mahi sandwich, and eat outside, watching the sunset. I can already feel myself getting antsy, needing something to do, but I push it back. Marco was right. I need some time for myself. To just relax and think.

  When the sun has completely gone down, I walk back to the house. I jump in my truck and grab some groceries, then spend the next couple hours on the back patio with a beer in my hand, watching the waves crash.

  Around nine o’clock, I decide to call it a night. After throwing the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin, I shut the French doors and step inside. I’m almost to the bedroom when I hear a door open. My first instinct is to reach for my gun, but I quickly remember where I am and that my gun is in my truck. I’m in Venice, in some rich as fuck neighborhood.

  I step into the foyer and find Micaela screeching in fear. She drops all the shit she has in her hands and then runs into the door. Her forehead must hit the wood hard because the loud bang rings out through the house. She sways from the hit, and I try to help steady her, but she pulls away.

  When she finally stops freaking out, realizing it’s only me, she does something I wasn’t expecting or prepared for. She eye-fucks the hell out of me. Her brown hair is in a disarray, and her matching brown eyes are scanning my body. Her lips, plump and juicy, are being nibbled on by her perfectly straight white teeth. She’s dressed casually in a white tank top and cut-off jean shorts. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve seen her, and holy shit has she grown up.

  She mumbles some shit about my feet and dick being big, and I crack up laughing. She’s not only beautiful but fucking adorable as well.

  When she realizes what she said out loud, her entire face turns a light shade of pink. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, meet mine, and her lips curl into a shy smile. And in that moment, something strange happens to me. My heart… it calms, like it actually beats a little slower. The racing in my head comes to a standstill, and my dick, it appreciates the view almost as much as I do.

  “Kill. Me. Now. I did not ask that out loud…”

  “Yes,” I tell her with a laugh. I’ve never met anyone who actually says what they’re thinking out loud without meaning to.

  “What?” Her eyes go wide, and if it’s possible, her cheeks get even pinker.

  “You did ask it out loud.”

  “There has to be some mistake.” She shakes her head, looking embarrassed and confused and so fucking cute.

  “About my dick being big, or you asking about it out loud?” It’s not like me to fuck with a woman like this, but I can’t help myself.

  Her eyes widen into saucers and her face turns crimson. “About you being here!”

  I bark out a laugh at how worked up she is. “I can assure you I am not a squatter. I’m not only allowed to be here, but I was invi
ted.”

  “By who?”

  “Your dad.”

  Her mouth gapes open and then closed. “Oh.” Her features cool as she looks around, her pouty mouth going flat into a frown. “I didn’t know.”

  “It happened today. I got here earlier.”

  “I guess…” She glances down at her luggage and bags that are laid out all over the floor. “I guess I should go.” She bends to pick up her luggage and I step forward. The sadness in her voice pulls at the strings in my heart. She lost her husband. I’ve heard she’s having a rough go at things lately. She must’ve come here to get away.

  “Wait.” I gather her bags up for her. “It’s your family’s home. There are several rooms. I can leave in the morning.”

  She shakes her head. “You were invited. I… kind of ran away.” She shrugs sheepishly.

  “You’re over eighteen, right?” There’s no way I’m keeping her being here a secret from her parents if she’s going to be plastered all over the news as missing.

  “Yes.” She laughs. It’s soft and sweet and does shit to my insides. “I’m twenty. I left them a note letting them know I was leaving, but I didn’t tell them where I was going. My mom told me I should get away, go somewhere to try to”—she swallows thickly—“deal with everything.” Her eyes shut, and she takes a deep breath, calming herself before she reopens them. “Anyway, I just meant I left suddenly. I didn’t actually run away.”

  So, she came here to try to finally deal with her husband’s death. Marco mentioned he’s been worried about her and not sure what to do about it. I should probably text him that she’s here so he doesn’t worry, but I don’t want to go behind her back. She’s over-age and it isn’t my place to interfere.

  “It’s late. Neither of us should be driving back home at this time of night. We can stay here and figure it out tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she agrees.

  We put away her groceries, which consist mostly of ice cream, cookies, and other sweets. She also has a gallon of milk and a bag of chips. The complete opposite to the meats and vegetables I picked up.