Keeping It: A Navy SEAL meets Virgin Romance

by Rachel Robinson

  When I don’t respond, he goes on, “What are you thinking about right now?”

  Shaking my head, I remember myself, and decide honesty is best. “How my friends want you. Even the ones that aren’t supposed to want you,” I say, taking another sip of beer. “How I want you and I know I’m not supposed to.”

  Tahoe smirks. “Go on,” he prods. “You’re not done yet.”

  Shaking my head once again, I guzzle the rest, and slide the mug onto a high top next to us. “I’m thinking it’s a bad idea, wait, scratch that, a horrible idea for me to get entangled with you. You’re going to be working at my airport. What happens when it doesn’t work out? I have to look at you,” I say, waving my hand down his body. “I’ve seen the muscles under those clothes. You’re enormous.” His grin widens—eyes dancing across my face in complete amusement. “I’m also thinking I have no idea how to be a girlfriend. Your girlfriend. I’m kind of hoping you were joking about that back in the truck. Are you asking to hang the lighting fixture, or are you asking to hang my lighting fixture? I need you to be upfront with me because I’m bad at this.” Covering my face with both hands, I let the mortification seep in, then peek around briefly to see who is around. “I can’t shut up. This is horrible.”

  “No one heard your tirade,” Tahoe assures, narrowing his eyes. “Though, take heart. No one knows how to be my girlfriend, Caroline. I’ll let you define how to do that,” he says, one dimple rippling next to his smile. “If you’re interested in the gig.”

  Looking off to the side to avoid the power of his gaze, I blow out a breath. “And the lighting fixture?” I ask, furrowing my brow.

  Tahoe laughs. “Needs to be hung?” he asks.

  It does. My God does it ever. “You realize how intimidating it is being in your proximity, right?” I ask. Shaking my head, I say, “I’m glad you used it earlier with Whit, but turn it down a little right now, okay?” I think about the first time I saw him. How I pegged him for a man I wouldn’t approach if my Mama’s life was on the line.

  Tahoe rests his hands on my shoulders. “You’ll get used to it,” he says, lips wet and shining. I swallow hard. His hands slide from my shoulders, down my arms.

  Shirley clears her throat next to me. “Don’t mind me. I’m just living vicariously through you,” she says, “He’s touching you.”

  Tahoe drops his hands and pulls me to his side. “I’d like to touch more of her, but we’re sitting here talking about hanging light fixtures,” he says to my friend, squeezing me a little bit harder for a second or two.

  “Shirley don’t be so insane, please. I thought you were hanging out with Caleb tonight,” I edge, trying to change the subject.

  She shrugs. “He’s over there talking to Malena. You know when she gets her claws out, he has no choice but to reminisce with her.” Caleb and Malena have had a few passion fueled nights in the past. “Plus, everyone is talking about how Hulk was a jerk to Whit and that’s way more interesting.”

  “He wasn’t a jerk,” I exclaim. “I mean, not really, anyways. Whit is incorrigible,” I hiss. High school drama as adults is one of things I wouldn’t miss about this place.

  Shirley takes this opportunity to tell Tahoe about Whit’s permanent crush on me throughout high-school and beyond. On one of his breaks from Britt, he pursued me so hard I was confident Britt was going to find out and have her posse pummel my face into pulp. I almost gave in just so Whit would leave me alone. Luckily one of the other wallflowers in our graduating class ended up fooling around with him every Wednesday behind the greenhouse and he seemed to forget about me for the moment. Anytime I had a date to a school event, Whit made it clear he wasn’t happy. It was like I was choosing someone else over him and that’s something he’s not okay with. I saw it tonight. At his own engagement party. Shirley had it right, and everyone knew it.

  “Whit wants the wrong things,” Tahoe says, breaking up the lull in conversation.

  Shirley harrumphs, “You got that right. Maybe once they get married they’ll keep their evil contained in the confines of their marriage,” Shirley muses. “Wishful thinking, though. I’m sure he’s in the bathroom getting blown by Britt’s best friend right now.”

  “This town is far more scandalous than anyone lets on,” he replies, amused by my friend’s musings.

  I stay silent, in favor of playing back memories from the past.

  “It is Bronze Bay, Tyler Holiday. We keep our tan secrets in the Bay water. Don’t swim here too long. You’ll never be able to scrub the dirt off,” Shirley says, winking at me. “They’re not the type of secrets that wash off with soap.”

  “Deep insight, Shirley,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. Looking up at Tahoe I say, “I’m squeaky clean. Don’t worry about having to hose me off.”

  Shirley and Tahoe laugh, like they’re in on some joke. “Fine,” he says, biting his lip. “I won’t hose you off…right now, but I do want to know which of the men in here are your exes.” His expression grows wary as he surveys the room.

  “None of them,” I nearly bark out the words. A few people look our way, but pretend they’re not interested in what we’re talking about. “Of course none of them, I mean,” I say, keeping my voice lower.

  Shirley confirms my truth. “Why are they all looking at me like they want to kill me then?” Tahoe says it with a smile on his face, gaze bouncing from one BB man to the next.

  I try to see what he sees, but I can’t make out anything except the normal people who are in my life in some form or another, almost every day of my life. “They aren’t jealous because of me,” I reply. “Probably that muscle we were talking about earlier. Muscle envy.”

  Tahoe raises his brow and looks between me and Shirley. “She really has no clue, huh?” He asks, when his gaze lands on Shirley.

  My friend cackles. “She never has and never will. It’s part of her charm.”

  “Excuse me. I am standing right here,” I say, trying and failing to pull away from Tahoe’s grasp. “Just because I don’t date around, doesn’t mean I’m completely oblivious to…male attention.”

  Tahoe clears his throat. “Male attention?” Stifling a laugh, he coughs.

  Shirley hits Tahoe on the shoulder. “Show her the ropes,” she says to him. To me, “I expect you to be less oblivious, and not hungover at our shift in the morning.” Then she disappears for what I’m sure is the last time tonight. She’ll be afraid of me when I clock in at the diner in the morning. Tahoe moves us closer to the door and I can’t let another second pass without telling him. “I’m not naïve. I’ve already told you I don’t have time for a relationship.”

  “But you’ll make time for me?” It’s not really a question with the way he’s smiling at me. Like he’s just won the greatest victory in the history of victories.

  I roll my eyes. I’m doing this. “Only because you’re good looking,” I say, lacing my fingers through his.

  Chapter Seven

  Tahoe

  She changed into this little white dress as soon as we got back to her place. My mind is trying to decide exactly what to do with that fact. Every time she bends over, even just a little, I almost see her panties. I swallow hard as she leans to grab a book off the coffee table. It’s a book about hurricane hunters. She’s telling me something, and I can tell it’s probably important because of the way her face changes as she explains things like storm reconnaissance, and the eye wall, but all I can see is everything that is mine. Caroline agreed to be mine. My girlfriend. I haven’t even kissed her yet. Everything is progressing in the slow kind of way you’d expect in a small town. What does she expect of me? You can bet that lighting fixture was hung within the first fifteen minutes of me entering, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with things like expectations. Those are tricky things because they vary wildly from one person to the next.

  “They’ll be flying out of here this hurricane season. We’re on the gulf and it’s a perfect location for them,” Caroline says. “I f
igured it wouldn’t bother you guys much, right?” In this moment she expects an answer.

  That’s something that is easy to read. “Oh, yeah. That’s fine. We’ll stay out of their way. Got something for the hurricane hunters, huh?”

  She blushes a little and puts the book down. “They fly into the center of deadly storms. It interests me. I grew up in Florida, remember? We’re in a permanent state of hurricane warning.”

  “I do cool shit too, you know?” I say, voice like a petulant child. “Probably even cooler than a hurricane hunter.” I make a note to research more. I think the Air Force reservists fly as hurricane hunters, but I’m not positive.

  She offers a warm, soothing smile. “No one said you weren’t cool, Tahoe. Want something to drink? I think I have a bottle of wine in my fridge.” I don’t need any more alcohol. Lucidity is my friend at the moment. It’s a small thing that will keep me grounded so I don’t make a fool of myself in this fragile moment. She could still change her mind. The window of acceptance is too new. Caroline needs a drink, though. She says things while drinking alcohol she’d never say sober—opens herself in a way that is usually off limits. I’m leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen and bedroom. “I’ll get the wine. Put on some music,” I order.

  Caroline steps away from me slowly, keeping her face neutral. Rounding the table, I step into the kitchen, take a deep breath, and remind myself I wanted this. A girlfriend. Caroline. A new life. Something different. I need this change. I repeat these things over and over while I open her refrigerator to get the wine. The uneasiness stems from my absolute fuck-all knowledge on how to navigate a relationship after years of shunning them—abhorring everything they represent.

  Stella barely counts because that ended badly. So, am I correct to think I didn’t do that right? Up until this point I’ve done everything to the best of my ability with regard to my career. So much so, that anything else in my life suffered. This might be the first time in my life I have the time to succeed in something other than running and gunning.

  Some of my best friends are settled down and married. Smith has Carina, and Macs has Teala. Ben has Harper and those men are my brothers—SEALs I respect, and men who I look up to. Surely if they can manage to have a significant other and not accidentally shoot each other, I can manage Caroline and…sky diving with a side of boring meetings.

  I grab the half-gone bottle of chardonnay from the door and find a wine glass in the cabinet above the stove. I pour the rest of the contents into it and toss the bottle into the recycling bin.

  My nerves fire in every different direction. Part of my brain is reminding me of Stella, and the other half is buzzing with anticipation. The brain in my dick, is merely excited. I haven’t fucked a woman in so long.

  I haven’t fucked a woman I’ve actually wanted in forever.

  Heading back into the living room, I find Caroline staring out the wide window overlooking the airport, her long blonde hair falling in loose waves down her back. She looks picturesque. A vision of everything I’ve always wanted and never had—untouchable, a woman I don’t deserve. She is unadulterated brilliance wrapped up in a female body so tempting, my hands shake at approach. The need to take her in my arms is strong. After a month of playing pretend friend when all I wanted was my cock inside her body, my feelings for Caroline have reached a fever pitch. I’m half burning fucking desire and half awestruck that after all this time it has happened.

  There is a soft song playing from a speaker on a bookshelf and she turns her head to the side when she hears me. Her silhouette is outlined by the low lights in the room, and it takes my breath away. “I’m not in the business of getting my heart destroyed,” Caroline says, her tone quiet, vulnerable.

  Grabbing her waist, I turn her to face me full on. She takes the wine and has a sip. “Lucky for you I’m not in the business of destroying hearts. Bad men, lives, terrorist hideouts, my own life, maybe, but not hearts,” I reply, watching her eyes dance across my face. She takes another sip, and sets the long stemmed glass down on the decorative sill behind her.

  “Dance with me?” she says, offering one had. My heart hammering, I know I wouldn’t be able to say no, even if I tried, even if it meant saving my own life. I pull her into my arms and sway to the music. Our feet are bare and as we move, they barely make a sound. It’s just heartbeats and a sultry song rasping through the air.

  Caroline presses her full, pink lips together. “If I’m defining what it means to be your girlfriend, I think that anytime we dance, you’re not allowed to wear a shirt.” I stood on the dock nearly naked in front of her only hours before, but this request shocks me—has me wavering in my overabundance of self-confidence.

  “Take it off me,” I return, watching for any sign of hesitation. It’s there. An unsure, questioning haze clouding her decision, but timidly she grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and raises it up to my neck, as high as she can get it. With my right hand, I grab the back of the collar and take it the rest of the way off. My left hand stays firmly wrapped around her, and her fingers slide over my pecs and abs. The coolness of her hands is a jolt and my muscles tighten in response.

  The song changes, but we keep sliding around the room in the waltz we’ve created. When we’ve made it back in front of the window, I dip her back, her fingers clutching my side for dear life, and her laugh cuts through the music.

  Her neck is in my face and in this moment, I can’t control myself. Licking my lips, because my mouth is watering, I press a kiss against the hollow of her neck. She smells like laundry detergent and tastes like sweat, and soap, and beer. One would think that wouldn’t be the most intoxicating combination, but goddamn if I don’t pull away right now, I’ll drool on the woman.

  Chill bumps rise on her skin, climbing up and down her neck and spreading across her chest. She’s not wearing a bra, something I assessed the second she walked past me after she changed. The swell of her tits press against my bare skin and I work to take a long, slow breath.

  “Now I have a question,” I say. Her eyes are this doe eyed innocence when she meets my gaze and nods once. “Are you in the business of destroying hearts?”

  Her tinkling laugh sounds like she inhaled fairy dust for dinner. “Weren’t you paying attention earlier? I wouldn’t know how to break a heart if I tried.”

  I believe her. How could I not? She turns to take another sip of wine, but keeps one hand on my body. My dick has been permanently hard since the second she touched me, and I’m sure she’s felt it—thrilled to have this control over me. After she takes a few large sips she faces me again. “Look at us, Tahoe. If someone had to guess who would break a heart. Who would it be? You or me?”

  She’s unsuspecting. I’ll give her that. Just like Stella was. All of my friends thought Stella was end game because of how much she loved me. Caroline has no idea how appealing she is. Not just in looks, but in hobbies and personality. Any one of the different men in Bronze Bay would give their left nut to have Caroline as their girlfriend. She sees herself as the person everyone tells her she is, not as she truly is. Stunning, intelligent, worthy of so much more than I can give her.

  I rest my hand on the side of her face. “You’re beautiful. Kind, smart, handy,” I admit, waving my arm around the house she built. “There are things about you I don’t understand quite yet, but from what I’ve gathered this far, you’re the biggest catch in Bronze Bay. The biggest catch in my world by a long shot.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You’re such a flatterer. Has anyone told you that?”

  Tilting my head, I say, “Come on. You know the answer to that. I don’t flatter anyone. What I just said was merely a compliment.”

  “You’re going to have to meet my mama and daddy the proper way,” she says, and it feels like a question.

  I spin her around and her dress floats out. “I wouldn’t dream of meeting them in an improper way.”

  “My daddy already has a first opinion of you,” she says after I pull her back to
my chest. “You’re not scared?” she asks.

  I laugh in response. “I’m not scared of anything.”

  It’s a boldfaced lie. I’m terrified right now. Of her. Of the things she’s making me feel. Caroline May is a Cat five hurricane threatening to ravage every cell left in my heart.

  “You should be,” she says, referencing her father again.

  “No shirts when dancing, right?” I ask, as we sway to another song.

  Caroline nods. “It would be a crime,” she replies.

  I nod. “We take this slow,” I say. “I need that in our definition.”

  Her forehead crinkles, and I can tell, my request has surprised her. “Okay, but that seems like something I should say. Not you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s been a while for me and I want to do this the right way. I haven’t done anything right lately and if this is my new start, I want to do right by you.” And to serve my sense of self preservation, let’s be honest. “Can we take it slow?” Even as I ask the question, my dick is calling her name—taunting me by revealing I’d love to do anything except take it slow right now. On the floor. Or the coffee table. Over the back of the couch? Nah, I want to look at her face the whole time. Missionary on the couch. Yes, that would work. I could sit on the coffee table and she could ride me. Goddamn, the thoughts. The desire. “Okay?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Okay. But if it’s on my account, it shouldn’t be. I’ll be okay. I know most girlfriends do things.”

  That gets my thoughts off her pussy and ass. “Things?” I ask, smiling wide. “Sometimes you say things that make me question if your sexual knowledge extends to the ninth-grade health class video. Don’t take that the wrong way, Caroline, but you’re an adult. You can say things like…” I pause, for effect, and to watch her face change, and say, “Fucking. Blow jobs. Eating pussy. Finger fucking. Hand jobs,” I say each word with emphasis and her breathing speeds. She’s taking in every damn syllable like I’m speaking the gospel on Sunday morning. She steps away from me, and I’m granted a view of a blushing, hot and bothered Caroline May. “Condom,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “Dick. Inside. You. Licking. Tasting. Wet. Screaming.” My eyes narrowed, and my heartrate racing, I go on, stepping toward her, “Kissing.” I lower my head and brush my lips on her exposed shoulder. Swallowing hard, she shudders against me. She clutches me and instead of acknowledging the sexual tension I’ve so graciously extended, we start swaying to a love song. She sighs as I fold her into my body. Leaning over I press a kiss under her ear. “You’re allowed,” I say again, reminding her of everything I said that affected her so greatly. “Remember that.”