by N. A. Alcorn
The gorgeous, megawatt grin etched on his face is ever present in her mind, those deep blue eyes of his still having the power to make her heart skip a beat. There is just no resisting him. He’s been back in her life for less than seventy-two hours and every single time he’s asked her to do something…she’s said yes with hardly any resistance.
If she could physically kick her own ass, she’d do it.
Fifteen minutes and he’ll be here, ready and waiting to spend the day together. She has no idea what his plans are, but the excited gleam he had in his eyes has her wondering…wishing…hoping…dreaming…
And then she snaps out of the fantasy once she realizes the ridiculousness of those thoughts.
She is unnerved that he’s practically knocked down her ironclad walls without much effort. Whenever she’s in his presence, her years of CIA training and need for self-preservation seem to go out the window. How can one man still have this effect on me nearly sixteen years later?
Yes, she loved him. As a teenager, she loved him hard and fast, nearly to the point of obsession, but she was sixteen years old. What sixteen-year-old girl doesn’t think she’s madly in love with her first crush?
But it was different with him—with them.
It didn’t feel young. It felt right. It felt real. The love she had for Nix felt more real than anything else in her entire life, and the fact that she’s never found anything like that again has made it nearly impossible to get over him.
Sloan throws on a simple, black bikini paired with cut-off jean shorts, a white tank top, and a comfortable pair of flip-flops. And for the first time in ten years, she’s going to go somewhere unarmed. Maybe this is a huge mistake. Maybe she’s going to put her entire life at risk. But she’s not worried. She’s not worried in the least because of the person she’ll be spending the day with.
And as much as she hates to admit it, she knows he can protect her. Nix has been through far more rigorous defense training than she has. He’s a goddamn Navy SEAL for goodness’ sakes.
Did he really have to pick such a hot profession? Every woman in America can admit to having at least one fantasy involving a Navy SEAL—the ultimate bad boys of the military. What red-blooded, American woman hasn’t fantasized about a bad boy dressed in military fatigues? Just the thought of Nix in fatigues with an M-4 assault rifle strapped around his neck has her bikini bottoms wet with arousal. God bless America.
The intercom buzz resonates in the silence of her apartment, pulling her abruptly from her dirty fantasies.
“It’s me.” Nix’s voice fills her ears.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” she answers quickly and ignores the fact that he just said ‘me’ like they’ve known each other for years.
He decided to drive her to Solana Beach. It’s the one place near San Diego that reminds him of their old favorite spot in Hawaii—Diamond Head. Solana is an ideal spot for surfers, and it’s only thirty minutes from downtown San Diego. It’s been a few months since Nix has had the chance to surf, and he figured today would be the perfect opportunity.
Maybe he decided to bring Sloan here because he loves this spot…or maybe he’s hoping to stir up memories. Probably the latter, but he’s not going to worry about his motives at this point. He’s just going to focus on spending time with her.
Nix pulls into a parking spot across the street from the public beach. After they hop out of his SUV, he leads the way towards one of his favorite spots near San Diego. He doesn’t miss Sloan’s wistful smile as she takes in the steep bluffs of Solana Beach. His heart nearly doubles in size as he witnesses that beautiful expression on her heart-shaped face.
Nix carries both of their small bags—and his board—in his strong arms as they make their way down the long staircase encased in one of the large bluffs that overlooks the Pacific. He loves that she packed so light. A small bag carrying only a few items is all Sloan brought for their daytrip. He has never understood the need for the female population to lug around giant purses full of random shit. What in the hell is the point? His mom still does that to this day, and Nix would wager that she utilizes ten-percent of the crap that fills her ridiculous bag.
Sloan is different, a perfect little minimalist. A no-frills, straight-and-to-the-point kind of woman who emulates his opinion on just bringing the essentials.
Rays from the strong California sun hover over them. He glances over at Sloan and notices her brow squinting—trying like hell to block the sun out of her eyes. He slides his aviators off his head and gently places them on her face before she can refuse.
She grins up at him, the sunglasses shielding his ability to see her chocolate eyes. “Thanks.”
“You owe me, sweetheart,” he responds jokingly as he sets their belongings down in a discreet spot beside a large bluff.
The ocean waves glisten delightfully from the attention of the sun.
A petite eyebrow is raised in his direction. “I owe you? What exactly do I owe you?” she asks with a cajoling tone.
“I’m sure I can think of something.” He doesn’t miss a beat and loves the stunned expression that encompasses her perfect mouth.
Her gaze hones in on his chest, a small smile forming in response. “Polite as fuck,” she reads the saying on his shirt.
“What?” He questions rhetorically. “The world needs to know that my mother taught me impeccable manners.”
His sarcasm steals a laugh from her lips, making him feel like a fucking king.
He busies himself by laying out their beach towels on the sand, and then proceeds to take off his T-shirt and sandals. His hands grip his board. “You wanna catch some rays or waves?”
Sloan’s eyes take in every inch of his muscular physique—his broad shoulders, his thick biceps, and that oh-so-perfect V that dips down towards his swim trunks. She’s thankful for the aviators that hide her obvious gawk in his direction. “Huh?” she asks once she takes in his questioning expression—his handsome face cocked slightly to the side, his brown hair sexily disheveled by the breeze that is flowing in from the water.
Nix chuckles lightly. His fingers brush across the five-day-old scruff that accentuates his strong jaw. “Surf or tan, sweetheart?” he asks again.
“Uh...” She mulls over her options. “How are we both going to surf?” Her head nods in the direction of his board—the only board.
“I have no problems with sharing. I’m generous that way.” His tone is playful as he shoots a wink in her direction.
She slides her cut-off jean shorts down her legs before toeing off her sandals. Her tank top follows suit. Sloan doesn’t miss the appreciation that shines behind Nix’s eyes once he takes in her bikini-clad form.
“You know what?” he questions as he grabs her hand. “I’m feeling generous and demanding today. Come on, pretty girl. We’re going in,” he voices as his hand pulls her with him, heading straight for the water.
Sloan is too lost in memories to refuse.
The beach, the sweet sentiments that roll off his tongue—all of it reminds her of the past.
They make their way into the warm sea—hand in hand—until they’re both waist-deep. He immerses his body in the water and runs a strong hand through his wet hair. She raptly watches droplets drip down his face as they make the tortuously slow descent down his muscular form.
Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip, fighting the urge to reach out and lick those damn drops of water off his broad chest.
His strong hands grip her waist, lifting her up towards his board. “Straddle the board, sweetheart,” he demands, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
The memories continue to flood her mind—everything reminding her of that first day at Diamond Head Beach. Is he doing this on purpose? She can’t help but wonder if his actions, his words are all part of a bigger plan—a plan to get her to tell him the truth.
She forces it all to the back of her mind and decides to just enjoy this time with him. Her long legs hang off the board as she looks out towards
the horizon in search of waves.
“It’s been a while since I’ve surfed, but I’m more than up to the challenge.”
His hand gestures towards the rising water in the distance. “Put your money where your mouth is.” Nix’s eyebrows waggle suggestively.
With a determined expression creasing her brow, she paddles out, ready to bring her surfing skills out of retirement.
The wave rises. Her body is pressed against the wet board as her hands move quickly through the water. She more than steps up to the challenge when she stands to her feet as the wave’s momentum pulls her board with tenacity. A giant smile kisses her mouth as intense exhilaration rushes through her body.
“Hell yeah!” Nix shouts behind her as she continues to ride the wave towards the sand. His muscular form swims towards her once both of her feet are firmly planted into the ocean floor. Once he reaches her, he stands to his feet, the ocean water only reaching his waist.
She laughs as she takes in the cheesy grin that’s etched on his chiseled jaw.
“You fucking killed it!” he exclaims as his strong arms tightly wrap around her, lifting her into the air. “Color me impressed,” he voices with an affectionate tone.
A giggle escapes her pink lips, and Nix’s heart feels like it might explode inside his chest. The visual of her smiling and laughing and enjoying the moment is almost too much to bear. God, she’s never looked so damn beautiful.
And that’s exactly how he keeps her—happy and living in the moment. For several hours, the two of them take turns riding the waves, surfing and enjoying being together. They laugh and playfully flirt with each other, savoring every second of this time. It’s almost like no time has passed—like they are teenagers again.
For the first time in a very long time, both Nix and Sloan are truly happy…together. To an outsider looking on from the sand, they look like an actual couple who is blissfully in love.
HE CARRIES HER OUT OF the water, her perfect frame piggybacking his large form. Once he reaches the sand, Nix slides her body off his despite the fact that he wishes he could keep her there forever.
He sets his board in the sand and turns towards her. His blue eyes shining with affection as he looks down at her. His fingers cup her jaw, urging russet irises to lock with his. Nix’s gaze soaks up every inch of her—her beautiful eyes, her parted lips, her perfect curves. This visual of her will forever be etched in his memory.
She leans up, offering her lips to his.
Before he can take advantage of the opportunity, his focus notices the black ink etched on her olive skin. It’s hidden underneath the black bikini strap that rests above her rib cage. Curiosity gets the best of him and his fingers slide up her side, moving the wet material out of the way.
21°15′35.0″N 157°48′42.3″W
Cerulean orbs inventory the numbers that mark her skin. GPS coordinates.
Sloan’s fingers quickly cover up the tattoo, but it’s too late.
His military mind has already registered the coordinates—the exact location. His jaw drops in absolute shock as he realizes what her tattoo signifies. Diamond Head Beach. She has branded her body with a symbol of where they met—the first place he laid eyes on her—their favorite spot. It was where he first spoke those three perfect words—I love you.
His brain is barely able to comprehend the meaning behind all of it. So many questions race through his mind, and he can’t help the pissed-off emotions that prick at his nerves. The vision of her tattoo—that fucking tattoo—has anger boiling beneath his skin.
WHY? Why would she mark her body with that?
That special place—that moment—is one he’s treasured his entire life, practically to the point of pain, and now, he has to see a reminder of it on her skin. The significance of it is not lost on him and leaves Nix wondering why she would want a reminder of this.
Why? Over a decade ago, she walked away from him so easily...
Does she still love me? Does she regret giving up on what we had?
Sloan stands frozen in place, her facial expression filled with shock. Her petite hand stays firmly over her rib cage, covering the tattoo.
“What is that?” he questions, staring at her intensely.
“It… It’s nothing,” she stutters.
“Tell me what it means,” he demands as his hands cup her face. His blue eyes bore into hers—frantically begging for the truth. Just tell me, Sloan! Fucking tell me the truth!
“No!” she shouts, anxiety leaking into her voice.
“Tell. Me,” he stresses, desperation visible on his face.
“Stop. Please stop,” she cries as she steps away from him. “I can’t do this,” Sloan mutters quietly. “I need to go home.”
He grabs her wrist as she starts to turn away, pulling her body flush against his. “Please don’t,” he begs. “You don’t have to do this. You can tell me. You can tell me anything,” he voices adamantly.
“I’m sorry,” Sloan says through her tears. Her chest heaves up and down, pressing against his with each harsh movement.
His strong hands grip her waist as she buries her face in his chest, her tears streaming down his tan skin. Each soft cry that escapes her lungs feels like a knife to his already battered heart.
“Take me home. Please just take me home,” she pleads.
HER TEETH CHATTER TOGETHER IN a furious rhythm as she rubs her hands up and down her arms to bring warmth to her shivering body. Goose bumps are permanently fixed on her olive skin. The drive from Solana Beach ends faster than it should, silence consuming the interior of his car.
Words. There are so many unspoken words, and neither Nix nor Sloan is able to verbalize them. The truth hovers over them like a funnel cloud—threatening to swirl and twist and turn—ready to wreak havoc between them.
Clouds have now taken over the sky as a thunderstorm moves in. Sloan stares out the window, mindlessly taking in the large pelts of rain sliding down the glass. Each full drop shatters her insides as it makes its descent. The sky is dark, too dark, like an omen—a promise of what’s to come. Black clouds move quickly through the sky and daylight is lost behind them.
A breaking point whispers in her mind.
She’s balancing on the edge of disaster, time running through her fingers like sand inside an hourglass. She’s so close to saying it. So very close to opening her lips and allowing everything to fall out in a tumbling wave.
But she doesn’t.
Sloan doesn’t say anything during the drive. She doesn’t say anything when Nix pulls in front of her apartment building. And she doesn’t say anything as she slides out of the passenger’s seat and walks into her building.
Nothing.
Nothing is said. Not a ‘goodbye’ or an ‘I’ll see you later’ or even a ‘have a good night.’
The unspoken silence is deafeningly loud.
The tension fills her up, leaving her feeling gluttonous. Her heart is so full and bursting from pain that she has the intense urge to stop outside her apartment building and vomit right there in the rain-covered roses lining the walkway. But she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t turn around. She just keeps walking—marching through the lobby doors and never looking back.
The visual of Nix sitting in the driver’s seat, tense and jaw clenching, is the only vivid image behind her mocha eyes. Her feet stomp up the two flights of stairs, her hand slamming the door shut with brute force.
Her feet pace and pace and pace.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Her strides dominate the living room in a manic rhythm. The wooden floorboards squeak loudly in response. It’s like they’re protesting her being here, pissed at her for having walked away from him with the intention of never going back.
Is this really it? Is she just going to let him go?
A ball of dread takes up residence inside her stomach, heavy as a bowling ball. Memories of the past are ever present and relentless. Images of him flow through her brain, refusing to stop.
&
nbsp; Anger and rage and furious thoughts are uncompromising.
He did this to them. He gave up. He walked away. He never responded, never sought her out. His letters ended, his phone calls ceased, and her heart was crushed beyond repair. No one would ever be able to mend that kind of devastation.
He broke her. Broke her into twenty thousand pieces and made her unfixable for anyone who came after. And then, after all of that time, he pursued her after that stupid dinner. He found her in the crowd and seemed adamant about spending time with her. Why now?
Why is he trying to become a fixture in her life now? After she gave up a chance of normality—gave up the possibility of them being together again. She moved on in the only way she knew how, and now, he’s back. He’s back and silently pleading for her to tell him the truth, to open up to him, to be with him in the right way, the real way.
WHY? The question screams loudly inside her brain.
Her fingers brush across her rib cage, tracing her tattoo—the one thing that started this entire dilemma in the first place. But is it really what started it?
No. This was an inevitability that had been threatening to burst the moment they had come face to face. She tries to placate her true feelings with concrete facts on why she needs to let this go, but nothing is working. Her head is spinning and her mind is racing and her entire body pushes her to do something she knows she shouldn’t do. Every cell inside her small, petite frame demands that she go to him. One tiny part of her brain—the one that thrives off control—screams for her rationality, but she can’t stop herself from throwing on her shoes and walking out of her apartment door.
And she can’t stop herself from marching down the two flights of stairs.
And she can’t stop herself as her feet run across the wet concrete.
The rain pelts against her face. Her hair is drenched and her socks are waterlogged inside her shoes, but she continues to run. She runs like her entire life depends on it. All logical, rational thought is gone. The only thing left is desperation to know the truth.
