by Box Set
Shit.
This is not how I wanted to come clean. And on top of that, it looks bad to the team. Real bad. I need to get this situation under control before things get more fucked.
Also? The hurt in her eyes before she slammed down her defenses gutted me. Still does.
After our disastrous reunion, Pepper took that lifted chin of hers and called the rest of the names down the list. She then arrayed us into a line and began a series of tests. We have to fill out a questionnaire, for Christ’s sake. And apparently this is just the beginning. She plans to observe us over a period of days. Great.
Not that I expected a different outcome with my original plan other than a piss-off from her, but a tiny sliver of my ego had hoped I’d salvage something out of my screw-up. Now?
Shot to fucking hell.
Plus, this has the potential to explode in all our faces.
Conor joins the conversation without saying a word. Typical.
Mark waves the remains of his Caveman Bar. “It’s obvious she’s being a hard-ass because of you.” He grips my shoulder, and I resist shrugging it off. “Fix it. Before she gets us on some technicality.”
God, would she do that?
To get back at me, she might.
Shit.
“Sweet-talk her,” Conor mutters, and I look at him in shock.
I shake my head. There’s no way she’ll let me near her now.
But Conor’s having none of it. “Do it. Or we risk losing our sponsorship.”
A sponsorship that had been my idea. I open my mouth to tell the taciturn fireman to take his hose and shove it up his ass, but it’s not Conor’s fault. I did fuck this up. And somehow I gotta fix it.
Pepper shoves the last questionnaire in her clipboard case and bolts for the parking lot. Conor, Mark, and the others fix me with a glare.
Right then. I flip them off, grab my gear, and race after her. By the time I clear the break in the trees, she’s already getting in her car—the Volvo by mine, of course—and I hustle. She starts to pull away, and I slap my hand on her hood, the blue metal sun-warm against my palm despite being in the shade.
She glares at me through the windshield, eyes shooting die-now sparks, her luscious mouth in a firm line, and gives a visible sigh. She grips the top of her steering wheel, rolls her fists forward and back, and drops her forehead to her knuckles. And it kills me. I did this to her.
Chancing it, I circle around the front to the passenger door and jerk up on the handle. Locked. Then the decisive thunk as she unlocks the door. My insides are a tangled mess of relief and oh-shit, and that throws me for another what-the-hell loop. I don’t get discombobulated easily. If I did, I wouldn’t have made it through BUD/S training, much less five deployments in hot spots around the world, which were always more grueling than anything we experienced during BUD/S.
Pepper gets under my skin.
And I don’t like it.
And I do, because she can get under it, unlike everything else.
Then thoughts of her getting under me in other ways flit through my sorry-ass brain. Fuck. See? A what-the-hell loop right there.
I slip inside the Volvo and angle to face her, the heat of her seat scorching my thighs. Her head is still on her hands, but at least her face is looking my way. Her neck moves with a swallow.
Okay, now’s the time for words. Words should be coming out of my mouth. Any time now.
The A/C blasts frigid air, struggling to cut through the heavy, humid heat that’s gathered in her car during practice. Its soft hum fills the empty space.
I’ve rappelled down ropes suspended from helicopters into hostile compounds, and this situation has me floundering? Yeah, cuz back then I had proper intel. I knew what the fuck was expected of me and knew the team and I could deliver.
This? No fucking clue.
“You’re supposed to apologize, Haashole,” she whispers.
And inexplicably her mindreading makes me laugh, which isn’t helping the situation at all, I know, and her narrowed eyes confirm this.
Okay, mission parameters laid out.
I clear my throat. “Pepper. I…I actually am sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me…”
I run out of steam.
“Did you have a good laugh?”
I frown. What the hell?
She straightens and locks her arms tight around herself. “Did you go home afterward and laugh about how you’d totally pulled one over on me and got to…got to…” Her brave words falter there, but horror has now clawed into my chest, and I can’t quite pull in enough air.
“You think I did this to hurt you? Laugh at your expense?”
She stares at me for a long time, and her eyes register the moment when she realizes that had not been my aim. “Then why?” she asks in a thready voice.
How can I explain any of it? I wanted a chance to be someone else with you won’t play well, and how pathetic is that? I peer out the windshield as if it’ll hand me the answer and mutter, “I don’t know.”
By now, the last of the team members are driving out. Aiden waves an over-cheery goodbye. Fucker.
“Not good enough,” she grits out. “Why did you agree that you were Rick?”
I open my mouth to tell her that technically I didn’t, but close it.
I face her, gut roiling. “Pepper. I truly am sorry. I should’ve told you. I know you won’t believe me, but I planned on finding you somehow in order to apologize. Just know that I didn’t do it to make a fool of you.”
She keeps that stare trained on me, waiting. Waiting for more.
Fuck. And the killer? She’s got every right to be pissed. I’m pissed at myself too.
“I… Things got carried away.” I run a shaky hand through my hair and then tug enough to sting. “First, it was just a coffee date, and then…” My hand drops limply to my side.
“So it’s my fault? You couldn’t help yourself?”
“No!” I glance out the windshield and tighten my fists. I still haven’t succeeded in getting a full lungful of air. I breathe deliberately in and out. “The truth is…” I glance back at her and drink in the slope of her jaw, the line of her nose. And the steely hurt fierceness of her gaze, the now taut line of her normally pillowy-soft lips.
Since this mistake—my mistake—has detonated in our lives, it’s only right to own up to the fuse that lit it. “I was drawn to you. A lot. And I found it…extremely difficult to give that up. Other than my lie of omission, everything else between us was real.”
She scoffs.
That small sound cuts. I can’t have her doubting. Doubting herself. Protectiveness surges in me, the same urge I felt when we shook hands at the café. She’s special. She can’t ever doubt that. Even back in high school, I saw it. An inner glow that contained a vulnerable—and, to me, volatile—mix of strength and passion and eagerness to make her mark on the world.
I reach across the cramped space and grip her shoulder. Immediately, the tension ratchets up, bouncing around in the close confines of her car. “You feel it, don’t you?” I brush my thumb up the column of her gorgeous neck, her prim bun bumping against my knuckles. Her breath hitches. She has her arms wrapped tight around herself, though.
“This.” I stroke again, my thumb whispering across her so-soft skin. My attention is riveted to its path and the flush marching up her neck and her pulse visibly fluttering. There’s no mistaking those signs. Whatever else is going on between us, it’s fucking clear that we still have chemistry.
“You want to know why?” I continue, my voice gruff. “This is why, Pepper.”
Pepper
The rough pad of Luke’s thumb glides along my skin again. I start to shake, and it’s not from the A/C—it’s taking everything in me not to unravel my arms and launch into the fucker’s lap, the attraction is that strong.
But I’m still pissed, so there’s no friggin’ way I’m doing something so pathetic. Plus, I want to boot his ass right out of my car.
I wish
Volvos came with Haashole Ejectors.
At least the anger has eclipsed my earlier feelings of betrayal and shame. But then I’m even more pissed, because anger is not healthy. Back at practice, it took all of my energy and control to hold it together. If I wasn’t shaking, I was swallowing down the urge to curl up and cry. Trying to conduct myself professionally while tears kept wanting to burst out of me? Not fun.
“So you admit you made a mistake?” I clench my jaw and am quite proud that I kept my voice calm. Especially because I’m also burning with the urge to shake him and go, ‘you know how wrong this is, what you did?’ I want to hear him own it.
He curls his fingers into a fist against my neck. “Yes. I mean, no.” His eyes narrow. He sighs and leans back against the seat, his head thumping against the head rest.
I hate that I’m admiring the sharp angles of his jaw and how the position defines the masculine lines of his neck instead of following through on that urge to wrap my hands around said neck and shake him. What does he mean, no?
He closes his eyes. “What I mean is, yes, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was—that was wrong—but there’s no way I’m calling what happened between us a mistake. It was wrong of me, but I can’t regret it.”
Ha. I guess the belief that all guys want is sex isn’t as pat as I thought. I’m so naive. “As long as you get your sex in, right?”
He launches forward, and I arch back against the door. He’s so large, he takes up all of my vision as he stares hard into my eyes.
He motions toward me. “Whatever’s going on in there, stop it. It wasn’t just sex. It was—” He stops himself on a curse.
Clearly, he’d said more than he intended, so that means… That means the sex meant something to him.
Against my better judgment, I soften a little. Especially when I remember that I’d been the one to say it was only a one-time thing. And hadn’t I used him too? To prove I wasn’t the cold fish Phil accused me of being—to practice becoming a new me?
He must sense my softening because he murmurs, “Pepper,” in a sexy rumble and strokes my cheek, his gaze darkening and latching onto my lips.
But the fact that this is Luke Haas hasn’t meshed yet with the man I was with yesterday. Sorting out that mess is too much for me to take on right now.
I drag in a deep breath, which weakens my resolve as his intoxicating scent is pulled into me like a fresh dose of fuck-me, but I shore up my defense, turn away, and say, with as much calm as I can muster, “I think it’s best if we don’t…don’t do this.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see his hand clench into a fist. Without a word, he exits.
And in the stillness in the wake of his absence, I’m struck by how turbulent the air had been when he was here.
I’m not sure how to take that.
I don’t like turbulence in my life.
It makes me lose focus, lose my compass. I need balance in my life to see my clear path.
And this guy?
He has the potential to just flip that table of my balanced life and leave me scrambling. Lost.
Chapter Six
Luke
Tonight at the CrossFit box, it’s a fucking blessing when Filthy 50 appears on the Workout of the Day board. The most brutal of the workouts, we’re supposed to do fifty reps of box jumps, jumping pullups, kettlebell swings, walking lunge steps, knees to elbows, push press, back extensions, wallballs, double-unders, and burpees. All as fast as we can. And don’t let the cute name burpee mislead you. I’m on my forty-fifth, and even I’m feeling the strain in my muscles as I drop to the floor for a push-up and then spring up high.
But each of these is properly punishing me for yesterday’s actions.
I deserve this punishment.
Unbidden, a flash of a black belt lashes through my thoughts, the glint of the silver buckle arcing through the air before it made brutal contact with my skinny-kid ass.
I falter on my forty-ninth burpee, dropping my potential time by a second. I curse. It’s been a long time since my old man has invaded my mind. Then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve fucked up.
I push harder on the last burpee and make up for the squandered second. I glance at the large digital clock on the wall and note my time. My best time yet for a Filthy 50.
Yay, me.
The drone of the big box fans at one end and the pulsing beat of the techno music pump though me. I brace myself on my knees and catch my breath, my palms slick against my skin. A good number of the others in the box tonight are still pushing through the workout, and they’re struggling as they near their final sets. One other finishes, and he drops onto the floor like a mosquito colliding with a zapper.
I allow myself only another thirty seconds and then jog to the back door for the five laps to the corner of Fourth Street and back. Night has fallen since I first came inside, and my existence narrows to running from one pool of light to the next on North Lemon, as if I’m connecting dots over and over.
Sarasota is a strange city. I could run a few more blocks in the other direction and be in a down-and-out area or keep heading south and be in the ritzy downtown where new money meets over-the-top architecture, dotted here and there with hardened up kernels of humanity who drifted their way down to warmer weather and gave up. One such unfortunate is in front of me, beat-up backpack on his back, hunched over and just…standing there, arms and head hanging down. Young kid too.
But this dichotomy is what keeps me in this city. It reminds me that all of us are just one bad decision away from being on the streets. And I can’t ever forget that.
As my trainers beat against the sidewalk, my mind clears a fraction. Pushing myself to the physical limit has always done this for me. Helps me get my head screwed on right, as if the ache and strain is a physical thing that pushes out all other thoughts and worries.
And one thing is obvious.
Pepper makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. Always has. I’ve never admitted it to anyone, but I only feel when I’m in combat. It’s why I seek the aggressiveness of hurling. It’s why I joined the Navy at eighteen and immediately pushed to become a SEAL.
Outside of that?
It’s just kind of…flat.
That makes me fucked in the head, I know. And it pisses me off when everyone assumes it’s a result of my deployments.
No, I’ve been this way ever since I can remember.
So you can see why being around Pepper has become my new fucking mission.
You can also see why I’ve never had a serious relationship before—not only was I too focused on my SEAL career, but why would anyone want to be with someone who can’t feel.
Another realization hits me, hot and bright, and it’s the difference between knowing and understanding. I know my old man was right about not having the luxury to make errors, but I think I finally understand it in a new way. I’d ignored my rational mind and didn’t keep my margin for error minimal at the café. That lapse allowed the situation to spiral further, one mistake begetting another with Pepper.
I don’t fool myself that I have a chance with her. I’ve messed up too much—back in high school and again now. Though the high school incident wasn’t actually my doing. The ship’s sailed on explaining that one.
But she has to evaluate our team for the Langfield Corporation, and I’m now her self-appointed liaison to the team.
Hooyah.
I’m past the halfway point of my run when the sky opens up. In seconds, my T-shirt and shorts plaster to my skin. But I keep going. It’s not lightning.
Pepper
Only one cure exists for the emotional rollercoaster I just experienced—calling a friend. The conflicted feelings storming through me are threatening to become their own weather system over Sarasota if I don’t gain some control. I learned early, though, that emotions should not be indulged. Too risky. First in high school with the shit my parents put me through, and then during my residency.
Don’t get me w
rong—I don’t have a horrific childhood past to share. I grew up with privilege others envy—safe home, safe neighborhood, with all the comforts a kid could want. Except love and approval. I know, I know. Waa-waa, woe is me. Believe me, I know now how lucky I was and cannot complain, but as a kid, all you know is you work your heart out—twist that thing up—trying to get any scrap of affection from the two people who should give it no matter what. It messed with my head and impaired my judgment in high school. Which seemed to become a theme for me. So I’m starting fresh here with a clear head, if I can help it.
If I can’t find a balance, I’ll be at risk of compromising my integrity. I just know it. I’ve been hired to evaluate Luke and his team, and I will do my best.
Tricia agreed to meet at the Purple Chow on Lower Main—hip for good vibes, but quiet and private enough to actually have a conversation. If things get blubbery, her condo is nearby.
I spot her behind the metal pelican sculpture and wave. I haven’t seen her since moving down from Gainesville a week ago, but we’ve chatted on the phone. First, it was all the unpacking and shopping for apartment stuff and then all the paperwork and errands I needed to do for my new job. Guilt twinges that I’m here to dump, but I don’t do this often so she’ll cut me some slack.
She jumps up and gives me a tight hug, still dressed in her lawyerly work clothes. She hasn’t changed much from high school except to become a more confident version of herself. We’ve kept in touch via Facebook and my infrequent visits home, but our gruesome schedules hadn’t permitted much more than that. Now that I’m out of med school and fellowship training, I’ll have more flexibility.
“Still like appletinis?” she asks. At my nod, she grins. “Good, because I ordered you one. Sounded like you needed to get right to it.”
Sure enough, there’s an apple green martini across from her. She takes a sip from her own glass, which has three olives poking off the side.
