One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

by Allison Gatta

  “I should ask you the same question.” She opened the car door, intending to make her way across the lot. But his hard palm pressed to her bicep, forcing her to spin around and stare into his beautiful, dark eyes. He looked too sincere. So hopeful.

  Which, of course, only made everything that much worse.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “So, you call me your girlfriend. What then? You want me to wait for you? How would that be any different from what we’re doing now—except, of course, by adding more pressure?” Panic, sharp and fast, was rising in her throat. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she reached desperately for anything to get him to stop talking.

  She could make up a thousand excuses before she ever had to give him a real answer. Because if she told him what was really on her mind, he would never understand. And even if he thought he did, he would insist she wasn’t right. He’d say that she was the only woman he wanted, or that she was more than good enough.

  And maybe he did feel that way now.

  But what happened when more of his friends had kids? What happened when she still couldn’t be what he wanted five years down the road? Or if something happened to him and she didn’t know what to do? What happened at their wedding when he had to introduce his wife’s trailer-trash family to the upper crust of society? What happened when he had to share their relationship with his disappointed parents?

  By then, she would be in too deep.

  Then, she would become her own mother, giving up everything to chase after a guy. She’d lose everything—Myla, her career. Then, eventually, she’d lose Holden, too.

  Holden shook his head, then took each of her arms in his hands and tried to pull her to him, but she slipped away.

  “Avery, what are you doing?”

  “Going home.”

  “Talk to me,” he insisted.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he called after her.

  Then it was all too much. The swell of emotion took over, hard and fast, and she was caught in the undertow.

  “Because you’re throwing darts at us.” It was all she could do not to sob.

  “There is no us,” he called back.

  She sputtered, trying to form a retort, but nothing came. He was right. They were nothing, and that’s what she’d asked for. That’s what she’d said she wanted all along. She wasn’t making sense.

  But this was a war zone. And she wasn’t about to go down with her ship.

  She made her way up to the apartment, Holden following her the whole way. When she finally reached the front door, she turned around to face him again. “Thanks for letting me know how you feel. But tell me one thing. It’s been years, years that we’ve been doing this. Why do you want to change things now?”

  “I…” He paused. “I needed you to know.”

  Of all the men she’d seen come and go in her life, both with her mother and with Myla, they’d all had one thing in common—one single, unifying feature.

  When they lied, there was always the slightest pause before they spoke. Their answer always took a fraction too long. And it was always directly to the other person’s face.

  Exactly the way Holden had just done.

  “Okay, well, good talk. I’m really glad we’ve got this all out in the open.” She took a deep breath before flouncing into her room and grabbing the nearest blanket. She tossed it onto the couch.

  “I know you don’t mind the couch. It’s been a while since you got here, so I figure it won’t bother you to stay there tonight.”

  She tried to weigh the words, to stop the gears in her head from grinding so furiously against each other. But she had nothing. She didn’t even know what she was saying anymore. Why had she opened her mouth? Why hadn’t she just gone to bed?

  Now there was this oozing silence between them that stuck to her skin and made her insides itch. One thing was for sure, though—she wouldn’t be able to sleep here. She wouldn’t be able to handle it, knowing he was sitting in her living room, wondering how he could change her mind.

  She needed to leave. For him. And herself.

  “Actually, you know, I haven’t seen Myla in a while. I’m going to go visit her.” Her voice broke. Damn.

  “Avery, don’t cry.”

  “I’m not. The air is…thick in here.” She grabbed a T-shirt and jeans off the floor and pulled them on.

  The whole thing was so unfair.

  He reached out to her, but she ducked under him. “I need some space, I think.” Her hand was on the door. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  He opened his mouth, but she turned the knob and disappeared. She knew he wouldn’t chase after her now. No matter how much she might want him to.

  …

  Myla opened her door with a frilly blindfold still partially obscuring her eyes. Her dark curls were a nest of chaos, weirdly in contrast to her rose-colored Pretty Pretty Princess nightgown.

  “Avery, of course. Who else would show up at my door after midnight?” Then she seemed to look closer and pulled her sleep mask off. Her face contorted into confusion mingled with horror.

  The crying. She’s never seen me cry. That must be it.

  “Avery? Come in. Come in.”

  Damn, I must really look rough.

  She sniffled and followed her friend inside the immaculate house. She settled on the white sofa despite the certainty that she would stain the thing simply by sitting down on it. But at the moment, she had bigger concerns.

  She explained to Myla what had happened without too much lead-up. There was no point wasting their valuable time with the soft fuzzies.

  “I’m so sorry everything went down like that.” Myla rubbed Avery’s forearm. “But I’m still not really sure what you wanted to happen here.” She paused and Avery cringed, knowing what she was bound to say next.

  “You can’t keep doing this. You need to end it.”

  And there it was.

  “I-I…” Avery mumbled, but she wasn’t really sure what to say. How could she explain her biggest fear to someone who thought she was basically fearless?

  “I see you when he leaves. You’re not the same person. You drift around, waiting for him to call. You don’t live your life because you’re waiting for him. So, either go after what you want, or give it up and find something else to live for.”

  “Listen, Dr. Phil, could you tone it down for a minute? I…” She took a deep breath. It was finally time to say it out loud. “He’s my best friend. The best person I know. I-I know that I can’t be with him. I’m not good enough. Not for him.” Her voice broke on the final word, and her cheeks burned.

  Myla frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s…Holden’s special. He needs someone who can support him while he runs for president or whatever. I can’t even support me while I pour a bowl of cereal.”

  “Oh, sweetie, we both know you don’t have cereal in that hovel you call an apartment.” Myla smiled, and though Avery tried to respond in kind, it was too much.

  “Be that as it may, I’m not for him. He should know that. Besides, his family hates me. It’s a match made in postapocalyptic New Jersey. It’s the worst thing imaginable. And I would ruin his life.”

  “But he wants you? He wants to be with you?”

  Avery closed her eyes and shook her head. “He wants to ruin it.”

  “Sweetie, don’t you think it was already ruined?”

  “If you call me sweetie again, I’ll start hiding inappropriate pictures of myself around your house.” She leveled her friend with her most menacing look.

  Myla gulped. “All right then, but either way, I think this was doomed from the start. This is your chance to make it right.”

  “By putting an end to everything?” Avery asked

  “By doing whatever you think will make you happy.”

  The clicking of a door opening sounded behind them, and Myla’s boyfriend, Oliver, entered the room, wearing nothing but a Stetson and a pair of underwear
she would have paid to un-see.

  “I heard you were up, and I thought—” Oliver’s British lilt died off as he spied Avery beside Myla on the couch. “Avery.”

  “Howdy, partner,” Avery said.

  “Yeah, um, hon, I’ll be right there,” Myla sputtered.

  “Right then. Well, er, nice to see you again, Avery.” He tipped his Stetson and backed out of the room, careful not to turn around.

  “Man, I could have made some serious tabloid money off that.” Avery shook her head.

  Myla waved her off, but it wasn’t clear whether it was to help her ignore her embarrassment or if she was trying to get back to the matter at hand.

  “Listen, are you okay?” Myla stared at her, trying to uncover the truth in her words.

  Maybe if Avery went to bed, she’d find out it had been Freaky Friday and everything would be normal in the morning. Like nothing had ever happened.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me. You go in there and ride ’em, cowgirl.” As Myla stood to leave, Avery smacked her friend on the bottom and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  “Let’s never speak of this again,” Myla whispered.

  “But how will people at the rodeo know you’re coming if I don’t tell them ahead of time? Or will they already know you’re coming, if you know what I mean?” Avery wiggled her eyebrows, and Myla frowned.

  “Oh, stop it, he was, you know, kidding.” Myla paused. “Mostly.”

  “He didn’t look like there was much to kid about. It looked like he had a whole lot of—”

  “The blankets are in the basket behind the couch. Stay if you want to. Good night.” Myla stalked from the room, only pausing to toss a throw pillow at Avery’s head before she disappeared behind the bedroom door.

  Avery sighed and laid on the couch, thinking about the day to follow. She’d see Holden in the morning, have to face the aftermath of everything he’d said, everything she’d said.

  But what would she do when she saw him? She couldn’t simply walk up and say, “Just kidding, we should totally give this a go even though we both know it’s a terrible idea.”

  Was that even what she wanted to do?

  It’s either that or say good-bye forever.

  Now that it was said, it couldn’t be undone. They could never go back to the way things were before tonight. Still, there had to be more than just one option, didn’t there? There had to be another way, but God help her if any ideas came to mind.

  It was too appealing to think of being his woman and not consider the heartbreaking consequences of the aftermath. But what if she tried? What if she actually put her all into being someone’s girlfriend?

  Granted, it had never worked before. Not with Jake Mussler, the top Pokémon collector in all of the third grade. Not with the maharajah. Not with Eleven-finger Louie. Most of those had ended in near death or a grueling Pokémon battle defeat.

  But at this point, their friendship could never survive—one way or the other. And if it was a choice between losing him forever now or losing him forever later?

  She’d just have to do whatever she could to hold on to him for as long as she possibly could.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Avery got back from Myla’s the next morning, it was to find her house exactly as she’d left it—including Holden sitting on the couch with the same stern, thoughtful look on his face.

  “So,” he said, and Avery kept her back to him, focusing instead on the tiny radio perched above her TV set.

  She tinkered with the stereo, and a bouncing, bubblegum-pop song blasted through the speakers. Finally, something to break the tension. Even if “Call Me Maybe” was the slightest bit inappropriate for their deep, adult discussion.

  “You wanted to give this a try. This, us, thing.”

  “I do.” He scrubbed a hand over the bristle of his chin, and she fought back the urge to drool. Why did he have to look like a damn Brawny advertisement during their serious discussion?

  She joined him on the couch. “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ve made a list of terms and conditions—”

  “No terms, no conditions.” His mouth was a hard line of determination.

  He slid closer so that her knee grazed the firm muscle of his leg. Even that slight touch sent an electric spark surging between her thighs. He had her. It was over.

  A one-hit KO.

  “Then what…?”

  “You’ll belong to me—”

  “Belong seems a little caveman-ish.”

  “We’re together. That’s it.” He cupped his strong hand around her nape, and every ounce of air in her body was gone. There was only him, the mintiness of his breath, and the scorching heat of his firm lips as he kissed her.

  She responded to him without thinking, deepening the touch until she lost herself in the swirl of his tongue, the taste of his mouth.

  When he pulled away, the room was spinning, moving in slow-motion circles. All she could see was the handsome face in front of her. If this was the hard sell, then she’d fallen for it.

  Hook, line, and sucker.

  “Tonight, I’m making you dinner. It’s going to be a real date. You and me. Our first real date.”

  He could cook? Cook, like, not out of a box or stolen from a lunch trolley, cook? The Marines must have done him up right.

  “That sounds good.” She moved to turn up the radio, but he grabbed her wrist.

  “There’s one other thing.” The pressure of his touch brought on a wash of memories, and it was all she could do to focus on his words rather than think over all the dirty new ways they could christen their relationship.

  “I don’t think we should have sex.”

  Well. That was the worst idea she’d ever heard.

  Who the hell would want something like that? Or, more accurately, not want something like that? That would be like asking for no daisies in spring or no Price is Right on a day home sick from work. It simply wasn’t done.

  “Come again?” She winced, realizing her pun.

  “I don’t think we should have sex.”

  “Why? Is your man pump closed for business? I learned this trick in a magazine that can straighten that right out.”

  “No. It’s a fresh start. For both of us.”

  It was like a high-school movie. This wasn’t the macho Marine she’d become so accustomed to. But all of a sudden, for no reason at all, it also felt kind of sweet.

  Or maybe the reason was the earnestness in those dark irises. Or the slight curve of his mouth.

  Nobody had ever really wanted to slow things down with her. Mostly, the guys she’d been with would give up on her if it took too long to unhook her bra. But that was before Holden.

  This was new. Exciting.

  And she’d be damned if someone said she hadn’t been up for a new challenge.

  “Fine. We don’t have sex. What’s this special date? You cook me dinner, and then what?”

  “Then anything you want us to do.”

  Polo? Rollerblading? Laser tag? In comparison to sex with Holden, everything else sounded lame at best. She’d have to bide her time until she came up with another idea.

  “Why do you have to be the one to cook dinner?” She squinted at him.

  “Because I know you. And I don’t have a death wish.”

  That stung. Especially when she intended to prove him wrong.

  “Well, if you want the whole Peaches-and-Herb date night, wouldn’t I be the traditional little homemaker?” She could do that. She could pack his lunch and find his slippers and stoke his pipe or whatever. Maybe she only thought she couldn’t because she’d never really tried.

  But if there was a first time for their relationship, there was a first time for everything else, too. A fresh start.

  “That’s not really the idea—”

  “No, let me finish my indignation here. I can cook. I watch that Barefoot Duchess or whatever like all the time. Plus, I watch that show with the people who have to cook with canned bread and, l
ike, quail sphincters. I can definitely do that.”

  “Are you saying you want to cook?”

  Her stomach churned, but she knew what she had to do. “Yes.”

  “Do you even have food in your house?”

  She had to think about that one. It’d been five days since her shopping trip with Myla, but she definitely still had some food. Half a bag of Cheetos. A smattering of canned ham that had been there when she’d moved in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened the fridge, but the point of that thing was to keep stuff from going all gross, right?

  “Yeah, totally. I have, like, all the food.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know about this.”

  They sat in silence for what felt like forever. Did he seriously not trust her to cook? He’d seen her accomplish a lot of things scarier and more complicated than scrambling an egg.

  “Fine. Then I’ll have to prove it to you, fair and square. We’re going to have a Food-Channel challenge. Each of us can use anything in my kitchen to create a refined dinner for the other person. You think you’re so fancy? Make me a better meal than what I prepare for you.”

  “And what does the winner get? Consumption?”

  “No. If I win, then we have sex tonight. Like, crazy Bruno-Mars-lyrics kind of sex.”

  “And in the more likely event of my victory?”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  The words flew out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. Stupid. Now he could ask for anything. Anything at all. She might as well have offered herself up as a satanic sacrifice, or worse, agreed to go back to Maryland for Sunday breakfast with his mother.

  She stared him down, intent on his answer. But seriously, what could he want, anyway? Unlimited funds at Nine West, maybe, but other than that, she had no idea what more a person could need. He had access to the château d’Avery. There were few privileges in life better than that.

  “Well, don’t just sit there,” she urged.

  “I know what I want. You’re going to hate it, though,” he said.

  “An hour of Lifetime movies with Myla?”

  “Worse.” An evil smile spread across his face, his teeth pearly white with ominousness. “If I win, you’re with me. No holds barred, no tricks, and no conditions.” Laughter played across every strong feature. He thought he had her cornered. “Caveman-ish or not, you’re my woman.”