by N. A. Alcorn
She’s more than intrigued. Sloan finds information on pretty much everything that is Nixon West. His bank accounts, his home address, email addresses, any outstanding loans—even his preferred shopping places. He seemed to stop utilizing social media sites once he became a SEAL. She was able to track down a few pictures—pictures of him in high school, at the Naval Academy, and his graduation from BUD/S training.
Her chest twinges and aches with discomfort when her eyes find a photograph of a twenty-something Nix with a very attractive brunette tucked into his side. The woman is smiling flirtatiously at him as he grins into the camera. Sloan might as well be watching a re-play of a career-ending sports injury on television. She knows what’s coming, she knows it’s fucking painful, but she just can’t pull her eyes away from that god damn picture. God, that hurts.
Sloan immediately ends her research hour, deciding that, sometimes, drudging up the past isn’t the best plan of action. Sometimes it hurts like hell. And it might seem ridiculous for her to feel upset by seeing an old picture of him with another woman, but she can’t help it. When it comes to Nix, her emotions are never deemed rational or logical. They’re crazy and uninhabited and even completely foolish at times. Even after all the time that’s passed, he still evokes feelings no one else ever has inside her.
Her iPhone pings with a text message notification and she quickly grabs it off the kitchen counter.
I Will Always Answer This Hot SEAL’s Texts & Calls: Good Morning.
She laughs out loud at the ridiculous contact name he saved his number under.
The smile that spreads across her face is beyond absurd, yet she still can’t stop it. She quickly types a response back after changing his name to Nix in her phone. Obviously, my irrational side is winning today.
Felicia: You’re relentless.
Nix: You’re stubborn. What are your plans today?
Felicia: None of your business.
Nix: And feisty. Definitely feisty. You don’t have to tell me your plans. Just give me a hint…
Felicia: Does that really work on other women?
Nix: I don’t care what works on other women. I only care what works on you.
Her mouth forms a tiny ‘O’ at his very forward response to her question. Her belly flutters with excitement. She’s excited over the possibility that maybe Nix doesn’t have any other women in his life. This is excitement she shouldn’t have, but she can’t seem to stop no matter how hard she tries.
Felicia: Cross trainers.
Nix: Huh?
Felicia: One hint. That’s all you’re getting, sailor. Enjoy your day.
She grins at her obvious win over this conversation. Nixon West might be good, but Sloan Walker is better. She’s learned from the best, and some would actually call her the best. That grin stays plastered on her face while she takes a shower and when she’s drying her hair—even when she’s lacing up her Nike cross trainers in preparation for her run.
She heads out of her apartment and carefully observes the people in the building she passes on her way out. Who is the owner of I Love Porn? She makes a mental note to figure that one out when she gets home. A young, college-aged kid with that computer network is completely understandable, but if it’s a middle-aged, reclusive man living by himself, she’ll be glad to know that he’s the kind of guy to keep her distance from.
She’s dressed in long, gray yoga pants and a lightweight, black track jacket. Her small Glock 23 is easily concealed inside the shoulder holster strapped around her fit form.
Sloan heads out of her apartment building for her daily run. At exactly 0905 hours, she makes her way onto the familiar main road after stretching her body thoroughly. Her pace is slow at first, giving her stiff muscles a chance to acclimate.
Three minutes into her workout, every cell in her body is hyperaware of someone following close behind her. She quickly veers off the path and crosses the busy street, stealthily avoiding the Saturday morning traffic that is most likely tourists heading into the city to begin their California vacation. She risks a glance over her shoulder and her periphery makes out a male figure taking the same route she is.
His figure is more than familiar—fit, muscular, and dominant in all things. His legs smoothly stride across the street with ease. It’s him. Nixon West. And he’s here—running closely behind her—dressed in only navy-blue running shorts, shoes, and nothing else. Yes, nothing else.
Her eyes can’t stop their focus, taking in every inch of his perfectly toned body. He might as well be a freshwater stream for her thirsty eyes. She stops mid-stride and turns her body towards his, a scowl marring face. His large, tan, muscular chest is bare, the word Meli on display for the entire world to see. That tattoo and the meaning behind it feel like a punch to her stomach and she struggles to catch her breath. Memories threaten to flood her mind, but she pushes them back, focusing on something else—something easier—like the perfect, muscular specimen of a man that is moving towards her.
Twenty-two seconds later, he catches up.
Nix stands before Sloan, and her eyes can’t stop honing in on the beads of sweat that drip deliciously down his chest. Their slow descent make their way past his chiseled abdominal muscles and land in the small swatch of blondish-brown hair that peeks out from underneath his shorts. She’s never wanted to lick sweat so badly in her life.
He clears his throat loudly, grinning widely and enjoying her obvious appraisal of him. “Hi,” he says through his amusement.
“Are you stalking me now?” she spits with a snappy tone.
He cocks his head to the side and feigns confusion. “How could I stalk you if you never told me where you were going?”
She shakes her head in exasperation. “You’re obviously very good with hints. It’s either that or you’ve been creepily hanging around my apartment.”
“You think I’m creepy?” he questions with hilarity.
“Yeah, I do.” A barking laugh releases from her lungs.
She starts to mentally calculate the distance he would have had to run from his place to hers. Yes, it’s ironic that she’s calling him creepy when she spent a good part of her morning hacking into the United States Naval Database to retrieve information on him, but that’s not the point. He literally ran three miles in less than seventeen minutes. And that’s if it only took him ten minutes to figure out her plans for the day and throw on clothes.
Well…shorts and shoes. He obviously isn’t a fan of wearing much while working out. It’s like he wants women to check him out or something. Nix used to love when she would admire his perfect body. He used to get one hell of a rush from it, and it generally ended in them both nearly naked and panting. Yes, even as teenagers, she and Nix could create quite the passionate inferno.
He stretches and places his hands behind his head, patiently gauging her reaction towards him. His generous muscles stretch in the most delightful way. “Are we going to stand here all day or finish our workout?”
She scowls again. “Our workout? I don’t remember inviting you along.”
He pouts and fakes discomfort. “Come on, sweetheart. Just one run together. That’s all I’m asking.”
She closes her eyes and sighs heavily.
Nix used to pout whenever he was striving to get his way, and the old Sloan would give into that puppy-dog face every single time. For some reason, she could never say no to him—and it seems she still can’t.
And that’s made very apparent when, “Okay,” slips out.
His smile is as wide as Texas, and anyone watching their conversation would think she just told him that he won the lottery. “Do you mind if I take the lead?”
“Sure. You seem to be getting everything you want today.” The words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them.
He laughs—a full-on belly laugh whose husky quality prickles the inside of her belly. That laugh used to make her all kinds of warm in all kinds of inappropriate ways. Nix’s laugh was once one of her favorite sounds in th
e entire world. And it sounds like it still is…
She shakes off that nagging thought. “Well, let’s go, sailor.”
She throws a two-finger salute in his direction. Now, this she does just to piss him off because SEALs generally take offense to being called sailors. They’re known for their uncanny ability to navigate any type of terrain, and their vast capabilities far exceed those of seamen who are solely stationed on a naval ship.
He cringes and his mouth scrunches in annoyance. “Enough with the sailor bullshit. It would be good for you to take note and remember my talents range farther than ships or boats.”
A bout of giggles overcomes her as she takes in his obvious aggravation.
Nix’s face shines brightly with enjoyment when her laughter fills his ears. His eyes gleam with affection as he watches her with a soft expression. “All right. That’s enough giggling at my expense.”
Her brown eyes go wide instantaneously. “I was not giggling!”
“Yeah, you definitely were. But don’t worry. That’s one of my favorite sounds in the entire world.” His words are filled with meaning, and it threatens to take her back into the past. “Come on. Let’s get a move on it. I can’t have you slowing me down today,” he demands before her mind can take a stab at deciphering his previous words.
And with that, Sloan follows his lead, quickly falling in step next to him.
His legs may be longer, but her quick strides effortlessly make up the distance. Their pace is easily under six minutes a mile, and she gets the sense that he’s secretly challenging her. He’s trying to see just how fast and long she can run—and if she can manage to keep up.
This is what she used to love about him.
Nix would never let her win anything without putting up a fight. She loved that he would constantly challenge her and strived to bring out her tenacity. He was the kind of guy who treated her as his equal. He was well aware of her strong, fiery personality, and he never let that affect his ego like most men would. She can’t deny the happy feeling that twinges inside her chest at the realization that Nix is still that same guy.
NIX ISN’T SURPRISED THAT SLOAN can keep up with him for the entire ten-mile run. Her strides never slowed and she remained close to his side the entire way. She was always competitive, and he loved that side of her—her feisty, competitive, take-no-prisoners, balls-to-the-wall challenging attitude.
Confident women who never back down have always been his favorite kind. And Sloan, well… She’s that in spades. The words “I can’t” aren’t in her vocabulary. She’d die trying before she gave up on anything.
But why did she give up on us?
He can’t shake the question from his brain.
They reach the parking lot of his apartment building, and she stops her momentum when he does. Her eyes observe him questioningly, quietly trying to figure out why they’re here.
“This is my place. I figured we could use some water,” he answers as he leads the way to the lobby doors of his building.
“Oh…uh…I can just wait out here,” she replies nervously as she comes to a standstill on the sidewalk.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You just ran ten miles at a pretty grueling pace. You need water and something to eat.” His tone is nothing short of demanding.
He presses his palm at the small of her back and gives her the tiny push of encouragement she needs to walk. That small, sensitive spot just above her tailbone was always her spot—her secret spot that he’d spend kissing for hours just because of the reaction it would spur. Does touching her there still create the same effect?
As Nix leads her into his apartment building, he glances at her and adds, “I’m more than impressed, by the way. I can’t recall ever running ten miles with a woman who can actually keep up with me.” That’s kind of a lie considering she’s the only woman he’s ever run with and she always managed to keep up with him.
As they climb the two flights of stairs that lead to his apartment, his eyes take in the perfect curves of her tight, toned ass. Yeah, he insisted she walk in front of him just so he could take in her flawless form. His cock twitches against his black boxer briefs in defiance. Her body always managed to be a source of motivation for endless hard-ons and dirty fantasies.
And apparently, it still does.
A self-deprecating smirk plays at his lips as he fights the urge to throw her over his shoulder and claim her body while she’s deliciously naked and bared for him on his bed. Hell, if he really gave in to the intense impulses racing through his mind, he doubts they’d make it past his door.
He unlocks his apartment with the key tied to the drawstring of his running shorts and holds the door open for her to walk in. His balls ache rebelliously for him to push her up against the wall and wrap her long, lean thighs around his waist. His fingers itch to stroke every inch of her beautiful skin.
Get. It. Together.
“Make yourself comfortable. Water okay?” Nix busies himself in the kitchen while Sloan walks around his apartment, observing his personal space.
“Sure,” she answers quietly.
He watches her fingers trace the edge of the mantel above the barely used fireplace. Her brown eyes take inventory of the photographs on display.
“Are these your parents?” she asks as she points to a black-framed picture. It’s a picture from his graduation from the Naval Academy, his mother and father standing proudly beside him.
“Yeah. That’s Marshall and Debbie West.” He forces a tight smile. His emotions are heavily weighed down by the dire situation of not being able to really talk to Sloan.
“They’re lovely and seem fantastic,” she mutters faintly into the silence of the room. Her silence speaks a thousand words.
His nerves are frayed and torn at the seams. It’s excruciating that they’re talking to each other without really talking to each other. Nix swallows back the choking realization. It’s painfully bittersweet being this close to her without being able to say everything he really wants to say.
“My mom and dad are the best,” he replies warmly, trying to remove the tension from the room. He fills two glasses with ice and water from the automatic dispenser nestled inside the door of the stainless-steel fridge.
“Do they live around here?” she asks as she takes the glass of water he offers.
“They live in L.A., but I wish they’d move down here. I miss my mom’s cooking. That woman makes the best fucking chocolate chip cookies on the planet.” He leans against the mantel, closely observing her face for remembrance.
Sloan used to love his mother’s chocolate chip cookies. He has vivid memories of her stealing cookies from the lunch his mom would pack for school. Even at sixteen, he was kind of a momma’s boy. And it only took two days of Sloan’s heisting for Nix to get smart and pack extra. That girl always had a sweet tooth.
A soft smile overcomes her face.
He doesn’t miss that smile. He savors it—taking a mental picture for later.
She blinks twice and her lips form a tight line. “I think I better head out,” she announces, a faraway expression filling her eyes.
“You haven’t eaten anything,” he hurriedly responds. “At least let me feed you first.”
Her brown eyes are hesitant, her entire body rigid with uncertainty.
Nix decides to make a move, wrapping a friendly arm around her shoulder and ushering her into the kitchen. She doesn’t pull away, merely letting him lead her. Her mind may be hard at work on extricating herself from this situation, but her body is obviously on board with spending time with him.
He is immensely relieved from this reaction.
“Sit,” he instructs as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen table.
“I really don’t have time,” she quietly states, yet her ass still manages to find its way to the chair.
“I’ll be quick,” he adds as he starts pulling out a skillet from an overhead cabinet.
“I’m pretty sure those are three words a woman never wants
to hear.” The words fall from her lips before she can even process their flirtatious meaning. A petite hand covers her mouth in shock.
Nix glances over his shoulder and a knowing smirk encompasses his face. He chooses not to add to that comment after seeing her stunned expression, but his heart doubles in size from getting a small glimpse at the fiery girl he used to know.
“So tell me more about Project Smiles,” he offers as a change of subject.
The relief is obvious in the audible exhalation of compressed air from her lungs.
She begins to tell him all about the charitable organization that she runs in mundane detail, her voice not showing any signs of passion or obvious happiness. It’s apparent that she takes pride in helping children in desperate need of medical assistance, but it’s also apparent that this job, this career, is not her calling.
Nix throws together a quick lunch of grilled chicken, asparagus, and baked potatoes while she continues to tell him about her current life in San Diego.
They sit at the kitchen table inside Nix’s apartment enjoying a friendly meal together.
The conversation is easy—not forced or uncomfortable—but he still can’t deny the overwhelming tension that hovers over them in a thick, emotional fog. Their responses and the occasional knowing glances that pass between them do not go unnoticed. Their familiarity is obvious and it leaves him wondering how much longer they can continue acting like two strangers.
He knows the dam will eventually burst.
He’s not sure when it will happen, but he gets the overpowering sense that everything is about to change sooner rather than later.
“I’LL PICK YOU UP TOMORROW at quarter till eleven. Be ready. And don’t forget to wear a swimsuit.” Nix’s words from yesterday roll around in her brain.
