by Mandie Tepe
He was staring intently into her eyes. “It’s interesting that your parents invest their lives into doing what they love. My parents may have what the world sees as successful careers, but they put most of their energy into finding people to focus on. No, not people. A person. They can only invest in one person at a time. My brother and I were never those people to either one of them. It always had to be a romantic interest and those have never lasted.”
“That’s sad. You can never expect a person to fulfill all you want and need. It’s too much to ask of anyone. You’ll always be let down and that person would always feel too much pressure. It’s a recipe for failure.”
“And that’s exactly how it’s always turned out for both of them. On the other hand, your parents focus on the experiences that make them happy. They’re not overly concerned with success the way most of the world sees it. I think that’s a better way to live.”
Jimi smiled ruefully. “Well, maybe there’s a happy medium in there somewhere.”
Chance studied her for a few moments. “What am I?”
“I don’t really know you well, but you seem to me to be the happy medium.”
“Think so?”
“Uh huh.” She bit her lip uncertainly. “Can I ask you a question?” After his nod, she asked, “Why did you ask for time off from your job?”
He shrugged. “I’m trying to figure some things out. When I left the SEALs, I was offered a job out in San Diego with a security consulting company some ex-SEAL friends of mine started. But, I missed home and being closer to River. I took the job with the military contractor because I’m able to live here and travel wherever they send me, but it’s pretty much the same type of job I was doing. It’s kind of a rut and I don’t know if I want to continue with it. I’m unsure about what else I’m interested in doing, though. I just have a lot to think about.”
“Is that why Mrs. Wilson told you about the police department openings?”
His lips twitched in amusement. “Probably. She’s been trying to get me to give up the contracting job.”
Jimi nodded. “Well, keep me posted,” she said.
He quirked an eyebrow. “What? You don’t have an opinion?”
“It’s none of my business.”
Unbeknownst to the other, each of them wondered what it would be like if that were not true . . . if they were involved and were making these decisions together.
“Well, if you happen to come up with an opinion, I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts,” he informed her.
She smiled. “What does River say?”
“We haven’t had time to get into it yet.”
“Your parents?”
His face hardened. “They don’t get a vote. Mom’s already after me to buy a house, but that’s probably more to do with wanting the commission than me sticking around full-time.” At Jimi’s look of confusion, he explained, “She’s a real estate broker.”
To lighten his mood, she teased, “But Mrs. Wilson has a vote and River does too. And I’ve somehow wormed my way into the I’ll-at-least-listen-to-her-opinion column.” She cocked her head. “And why is that exactly?”
“I like you,” he confessed. “You’re interesting.”
The little smile she wore faded slowly away as his eyes went intense and he stared into hers. Some sort of spell surrounded the two of them and he began to move his face closer to hers.
This startled her out of the trance. “I don’t kiss boys who pick me up at football games,” she said breathily.
Chance blinked at her and she could see humor push the intenseness out of his green eyes. Maybe his expression was still intense, but in a different way. “Not even boys who buy you pizza?” he jested softly.
“Maybe if he’d splurge on good wine too, but I provided my own.”
He drew away a bit—reluctantly. “I like a girl who knows her own worth.”
“My pops drilled that into me.”
He nodded. “What would he say in this situation?”
Jimi gave him a wry smile. “He’d say, ‘Better get yourself home, girl.’”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Nova would say.”
“If you were just a guy that picked me up at a ballgame she might.” Jimi sighed, “I’m risking a lot admitting this to you, but she likes you so she’d most likely encourage me to stay.”
“Why don’t you, then?”
“Because I don’t do that.”
“It’s a WWJD thing, I’m guessing.”
“Don’t make fun,” she said in disappointment at his comment. “Let’s just call it a right-or-wrong thing.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t making fun, but it did come out that way. I can respect your convictions.”
She pulled out of his arms and rose to her feet. “I’m going to say goodnight.” She bent to gather up the trash left from their late night dinner.
“Don’t worry about that. I can get that after you go,” he told her as he stood up. He took her hand, pulled the balled up napkins out of it and dropped them into the pizza box before he turned her face to his—the same way she’d touched his face earlier. “Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. It was fun.”
She smiled. “Thank you for the pizza and the company.”
He handed her the half-empty wine bottle and her glass and walked her to the door where he did give her his kiss. It was just a friendly one he planted on her cheek, however.
CHAPTER 6
Late the next morning Jimi struggled to lock her door behind her, a wicker hamper tucked under one arm and a tote bag slung over the other. She was calling greetings back and forth to where Willy sat with Roscoe outside his apartment. This was the scene Chance came upon when he got to the top of the stairs with his own cheap plastic laundry basket—his newly-laundered clothes folded haphazardly inside it.
“’Mornin’, everybody,” he said cheerfully.
They all gave him their replies as he stepped over to where Jimi was wrestling with her load. He dropped his basket to the floor and took her hamper from her.
“Here,” he said. “I’ll take that.”
She shot a smile at him over her shoulder. “Thanks,” she answered breathlessly.
“If I’d known you were going to be doing laundry this morning I’d have waited and gone to the laundry room with you.”
“I’m not going to the laundry room. I do mine at my parents’ unless it’s just one load,” she informed him.
After the door was secured, she reached out to take the hamper from him, but he pulled it away. “I’ll carry it down to your car,” he offered.
“There’s no need for that. It’s not that heavy.”
“It’s not about it being heavy or not,” he grinned. “I want to talk to you about tonight.”
Her brow furrowed. “What’s tonight?” she asked in confusion.
“I’m going to hear River’s Edge playing a lounge in one of the casinos. You said you’d never had a chance to see them, so I thought I’d take you along with me.”
She cocked her head, put a hand on her hitched hip, and thrust her foot out—much like the pose he’d seen her strike the first night he saw her outside Axel’s door. “Is this your way of asking me out on a date?”
“That depends. For pride’s sake, if you say yes I’m asking you out on a date . . . if you say no it’s just a friendly offer to hang out.”
She studied him for several long moments, breaking the silence only to ask another question. “Is it a good idea to date someone who lives right across the hall?”
“No, it’s a terrible idea,” he admitted with a laugh. “But, I find I’m inclined to do it anyway.”
“If it doesn’t work out, it could be really awkward running into one another all the time,” she pointed out. “Especially if only one of the two parties decided it wasn’t working, while the other still wanted to keep trying,” she continued in a very graphic breakdown of the worst-case scenario.
“I know. That’s what makes it a
bad idea.” He considered her for a moment before observing, “I’d think a white sheep of the family would be more of a glass-half-full optimistic sort. Imagine my surprise that you have a pessimistic streak.”
“It’s not so much pessimistic as it is a cautious streak,” she clarified.
“Ah. I can see that a white sheep in a family of dark would be on the cautious side.”
She steered the conversation back on track. “If we go to see River’s band, there’s probably a cover charge,” she mused.
“Since I asked you out, I’d be taking care of that.”
“Yeah, but I have church in the morning.”
Chance gave his head baffled shake. “Wha—”
“I wouldn’t want to stay out too late since I have to get up early, and I wouldn’t want you to pay a cover charge for me because maybe it wouldn’t be worth it for the time I’d be able to stay, an—” she rambled.
He laughed. “Don’t even worry about that. It doesn’t matter. We can leave however early you want to.”
“Oh, no . . . I could drive myself and meet you there so you wouldn’t have to leave as earl—”
He stepped in close. “Jimi . . . do you want to go out with me?” She nodded uncertainly. But it was a nod. “Do you want to hear River’s band?”
“Well . . . yeah. But maybe this isn’t the right occas—”
“We’re going to hear River’s Edge and I’m driving us both there and then back home in time for you to get to bed at a decent hour.”
“It just seems like you’d be wasting your money if w—”
“Do I like you? Find you interesting?” he broke in.
“You said you did last night.”
“I’ll pick you up at six. We can eat at one of the casino restaurants before the band goes on at eight,” he stated in a no-nonsense take-charge sort of tone.
Jimi found that kind of hot.
He continued the alpha-male routine with, “Now, come on. I’m carrying this down to your car for you.”
And he did just as he said. In addition to doing that, he remained on the sidewalk and watched her pull out of the lot in her ten-year old metallic orange Pontiac Vibe with a smile.
Meanwhile, she was watching him in her rearview mirror. His hands were stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. She was afraid she might be making a huge mistake going out with him. But even if they only had one more chance to talk, laugh, and share stories of their lives, it would be worth it. She found him interesting and she liked him too. Maybe too much.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
She heard the knock at six o’clock on the dot. When she opened the door to Chance, her breath caught. He was casually dressed for a night out to see a bar band. Even so, he was an eyeful and Jimi couldn’t believe someone like him would be interested in a simple small-town girl like her.
His dark blue tee had some kind of grunged out (and meant to be that way) Navy emblem on the chest and his jeans were slim fit and distressed in interesting places. He wore plain black Converse low tops without socks.
He stood there studying her. She was glad she’d gone casual too, with her long pale pink chiffon shirt over purposefully ripped skinny jeans and her own Converse low tops without socks. Hers weren’t black, though. They were rose pink and slip-ons.
“Well, this won’t work,” he muttered.
“What?” she squawked in mortification. Her heart was pounding. What could she have gotten so wrong so quickly?
“You look too pretty to be going out to a bar with me,” he commented as he continued looking her over.
She snorted, put her hand to his belly and walked him backwards out of her doorway. “That was mean,” she admonished.
“What? I just said you were too pretty.”
“Never mind.” She was concentrating on shoving her cell phone into a small—not much bigger than a wallet—purse with a strap that crossed from one shoulder and rested on her opposite hip before locking her door and tucking the key inside her bag as well.
“Crap,” he bit out. “I forgot my phone. Left it charging in the bedroom. Do you mind?” he asked, steering her toward his door.
“No problem,” she assured him.
They entered his place and she stood in the living room while he went back to his bedroom. She took the time to look over his décor. After the excitement of the aborted car jacking she hadn’t really paid much attention when she had come for pizza the night before.
Now she took in the very deep sectional that was basically made up of one love seat-sized side, connected to an extra-long couch-length side, connected to a lounge seat that was probably wide enough to fit two people on it. There was a large square ottoman sitting in the center with a wooden tabletop set in the middle—making it both an ottoman and table in one. All of the pieces were covered in grayish blue heavy-duty flannel upholstery.
There was a low-to-the-ground black leather recliner pushed into a corner. It had no legs and was the weirdest design for a recliner that Jimi had ever seen. She looked closer and realized it was a massage chair and it appeared to have the ability to lay completely flat. He came back and caught her standing over it.
“This is interesting,” she commented. “It’s a massage chair?”
“Yep. Some days it’s all that keeps me moving,” he chuckled.
She jerked her eyes to him in surprise. “Really?” He seemed in such good shape, but maybe there was more than met the eye.
“You know . . . old injuries. Sometimes they flare up. The chair helps and—in the long run—saves me money on massage therapists and chiropractors.”
“I’m sorry to hear that you have to deal with that.”
He shrugged. “Just part of the life,” he said flippantly. “You ready to go?”
She slowly walked over to his large mahogany entertainment center. “In a minute. I’m still snooping,” she admitted.
She was looking at the shelves so she missed his grin. He was enjoying watching her more than she was enjoying nosing through his stuff.
The shelves held a lot of blu-ray discs—most of which were of the action/adventure and horror film variety. There were also quite a few books. Non-fiction military, as well as crime and spy thriller novels mostly . . . however, she was surprised to see a small selection of cookbooks.
All of that was tucked around a big screen TV, a nice stereo unit and a couple of gaming systems. There were a few photos in simple black frames among the books, movies, CDs and video games. She shamelessly picked one up. It was an image of Chance and River on a beach somewhere. It had been taken several years earlier she deduced, because River looked much like she remembered him back in school.
“Beach vacation?” she asked, not looking in Chance’s direction.
“No, that was in Coronado where I was stationed. River used to fly out on school breaks when I wasn’t deployed.”
She set it back and noticed a few seashells sitting here and there on the shelves as well. “Living near the beach must be nice,” she mused. “I went to a beach once. With my best friend Isla’s family on the Gulf coast. I always wanted to go back.”
She moved to another photo and picked that up. This was of a group of guys sitting around a scarred up picnic-style table in a barren environment somewhere. They were all smiling and looked like they were sharing a light-hearted moment, but they looked pretty beat up. “This one?” she asked.
“My SEAL squad from a few years ago.”
“Where were you?” she asked. “Never mind. You’d tell me but then you’d have to kill me,” she cracked.
“Somalia,” he answered, to her surprise.
“That one’s not classified?” He didn’t answer and she turned her attention back to the photo. “You have some scary looking friends, Chance. But it looks like they at least have a sense of humor.”
“It was mostly gallows humor while we were on the job, but then it’s a blessing to be able to laugh at anything
in those situations.”
She found another photo of him with some guys standing around a pool table in a dive bar, the neon beer lights casting multi-colored light over them. She recognized one or two of the other men from the desert photo in this one.
“That was taken at Maxie’s, a bar we liked to hang out at in Coronado.”
One of his teammates had his arm slung around a girl in a skin-tight black tube dress. “I can see why,” she teased. “Did the girl belong to one of you?”
Chance snickered, “Probably just for that one night. There were always lots of SEAL groupies at Maxie’s. Sometimes the bar seemed more treacherous than being out in the field.”
“Well . . .” Jimi drawled, “If you have the right protective equipment, you should be okay.”
He barked out a laugh. “That’s the truth.”
She set the photo down and realized she’d gotten to the end of them. She was disappointed that there weren’t any of his parents, but they’d been divorced for a long time and that parting seemed to be bitter, so there were probably no old family pictures to be found anywhere. She had the realization that the photos he did have sitting out on those shelves actually were his family photos.
She looked around and recognized that, except for the photos and seashells, he had no knick-knacks. The walls were bare but for one large canvas over the shorter sofa side of the sectional. That was the side against the wall because the long section’s back was turned to the kitchen. She went to the wall to study the art and was surprised to see it was an actual oil painting and not one of those gallery-wrap prints that are mass-produced and sold at stores like Walmart or Hobby Lobby.
It was beautiful and heavily textured with heavy globs of paint in some areas but perfectly smoothed out layers in others. It was abstract work with every shade of blue from sky to navy, grays from silver to charcoal, and a very narrow area that went all the way across the canvas about a third of the way down with feathery shades of yellows and oranges. The warm color was so subtle it would be almost overlooked in all of the cool tones, unless the painting was carefully examined. She realized that above that yellow was where all of the smoothly laid down paint was, and below it was the mass of heavy texture. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at the canvas when she heard him speak.
