Smith shakes his friend’s hand and motions to me. “Carina, I’d like you to meet Moose. Moose, this is my friend Carina.”
Moose smiles. It’s genuine and kind—it seems displaced on a man of his magnitude. He extends his hand and my own gets enveloped in the sheer size.
“A pleasure,” I say, smiling in his direction. Smith’s gaze is locked on my face. From the corner of my eye, I see his smile the second I smile.
“Is all mine,” Moose replies, tilting his chin down and to the side. A perfect gentleman. I’m waiting for him to curtsy. Moose releases his grip and turns his focus on Smith. Smith doesn’t notice. He’s still staring at me.
“I probably won’t hear the end of it, so I have to ask. Why Moose?” I ask, laughing to break the odd pause. My friends will be happy with this information. “I mean, I understand for the most part.” I motion to his figure that seems to be well over six feet, then motion with my hand side to side.
Smith tells me it’s a long story and suggests we sit down. I take a sip of my mojito and swirl the drink with the long cane of sugar. Smith orders a few more orders of tapas and a drink for Moose and then launches into a story about how Moose can actually make a true blue moose sound. Both of the men laugh, and I see a new side of Smith. It’s eye-opening to see how carefree and unencumbered his personality is when he’s living inside his friend’s grace.
Moose turns to me with mirth reflecting in his eyes. “I’m from upstate New York. When I was twelve I was attacked by a moose,” he explains, gesturing with his hands.
Smith coughs. “And he won.”
I let my eyes widen. “No way. That can’t be a real story.”
Moose nods. “I was large even as a child. From that day forward I was Moose.”
“The nickname has nothing to do with the weird SEAL thing then?” I ask, lowering my voice. The small amount of alcohol has already hit my bloodstream, but I know enough to make an effort to be quiet when I speak of their profession. “I find that hard to believe.”
Smith laughs. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back,” he says, shaking his head. “He learned the moose call to try to befriend the beasts. The joke is that the animals mistake him for their kindred because of his size. All he’s missing is antlers and fur.”
“I have to hear it. You know that, right?” I deadpan. I’ve been in southern California my whole life. The fact he’s seen a moose is enough to impress me. He might as well be a host on an animal television show. That’s how versed I am with any sort of wildlife that isn’t a coyote.
Moose looks left and right. “I’m afraid I haven’t had enough to drink tonight, but I’ll give you a moose call rain check. So, Smith has told me so much about you. How’s the book coming along?” Subject change status: expert. His eyes narrow. Like any good friend, he’s concerned. I wonder if he knows about his break-up and how much of my drama he’s privy to.
Swallowing another large gulp of my drink, I tell him the truth. “It’s the single most meaningful thing I’ve written. It’s coming along very well, thank you. Smith,” I say, looking at Smith.
His eyes crinkle as he flashes me his very best smile. The scars on one side of his face pull his skin oddly. I rarely notice his scars. Sitting in front of both of the men, one whole and one dismantled, it’s easy to understand Smith Eppington’s life a little better than I did before.
Without breaking eye contact I finish, “Is a great man. I didn’t know men like him existed. His story is sensational, actually. It’s better than fiction. As his best friend, you already know that. Between his stories and my imagination, there’s no telling where this thing will land.” I take a beat to gauge Moose’s reaction to my words. He’s satisfied. Wiping the sweat off my glass with my finger, I smile widely. It falls a little when I remember the blank circle on my marker board back home.
“She’s good for my self-esteem at the very least,” Smith jokes. “Carina is too kind.” His molten gaze meets mine and heat rises up my neck.
I pop a stuffed olive in my mouth. “I’m not good at stroking egos. It’s all truth,” I reply. It’s a lie. Stroking egos is something I’m actually masterful at because of Roarke. I’m not stroking egos now. It is truth.
Moose shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”
“Do what?” Smith asks his friend, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing,” Moose says, clapping Smith on the back. “I’m starving. Do they have burgers here?”
Smith quirks a brow at his friend, but lets him change the subject without another word. I think they have the kind of friendship that’s beyond conversation. I imagine them telepathically finishing their dialogue to keep me out of their business.
I push a few trays of tapas in front of him. “Eat seven trays and it’s equivalent to a burger,” I explain.
Moose smiles and begins eating.
After he swallows a mouthful, he says, “You know, I have better stories than he does.” He jerks a thumb to his right. “Sure he’s all scarred and decorated, but I’m pretty sensational, too.”
Smith coughs, laughing. “She’s booked. Sorry, Moosey. No interviews for you.”
I laugh. Moose grunts.
“Another perspective might be good for the story,” I say, fishing for a reaction from Smith. In actuality I have more from Smith already that I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit it in one story. I meet Smith’s gaze and smile. It’s fierce, protective—not happy with my suggestion. It tells me all I want to know. “Just joking,” I say, letting my lips pull to the side.
Smith tells me my joke was funny, and Moose laughs at his friend’s response.
Moose is happy and polite. Truly, I can’t help myself. Or, I’d kick myself. “Rumor has it you’re single.”
Moose tilts his head to the side, chews with his mouth closed, and furrows his brow.
“I have someone I want you to meet.” My girlfriend Teala will be ecstatic if I can snag her a date.
Smith scoots his chair back and holds his large arms out to the sides. “Come on, man. Carina has better taste than Aunt Ethel. Ole’ Eth still thinks you like blondes with small dogs in purses.”
I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle.
Moose sighs, looks me up and down once, and says, “For some reason, I trust you.” After he agrees, he makes himself scarce, disappearing into the bar next door, leaving me alone with Smith on our date.
Chapter Ten
Smith
CARINA IS TALKING ABOUT a funny short story she wrote in high school. While I do hear her words, all I can focus on is her lips. They’re so full and pink, and she licks them every so often, causing a riot of emotions. She has foreign lips. I’ve never tasted them. I want to. Badly. Moose loved her. She loved Moose. Their meeting was almost too easy. I expected some hesitance on Moose’s part because he’s a huge Megan fan. He did tell me he had to respect our decision to part ways because of our extenuating circumstances. On some level I’m sure Moose thinks I’m an idiot for letting Megan go. I had to—it’s more of a need at this point.
All my thoughts of anything else are eviscerated now that the possibility of more with Carina has risen. When her mouth stops moving, I alternate my gaze from her lips to her eyes. She smiles.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Carina asks. She runs her hand through her hair and tucks her bangs behind one ear. It’s a self-conscious gesture she hasn’t banished since her ex destroyed every shred of normal confidence from her body.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say.
She turns her eyes down.
“Don’t do that.”
Carina meets my eyes, her molten chocolate gaze questioning. “It’s me. I can’t control it,” she explains. “Thank you. You’re a pretty fine specimen yourself.” She has to be joking. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. Perhaps I can turn heads with my sheer size and presence.
I ignore her compliment completely. “Moose really liked you.”
“Did you think he wouldn’t?�
� Carina puts her chin in both hands and leans on the table in front of her. “Are you baiting me?” She quirks one arched brow while looking at me up and down.
I bite my bottom lip. “Baiting you how?” Mirroring her, I lean my chin into both hands on the table in front of me. A gesture that clearly isn’t as endearing as when she does it. I’ve never been this close to her before. The flecks of amber that reside in her eyes glow brighter. I smell her shampoo and her perfume as it mixes with the scent of her skin. Subtly, when I breathe in through my mouth I taste her on my tongue.
For a short moment I think she’s going to back away, retreat into her personal space and I’ll have to respect that. She doesn’t make a move to lean away. She studies me as intently as I study her. “Baiting me to say that I really liked Moose too. And then the string of questions that comes when I tell you I like your best friend.” Carina smiles. It’s all white teeth and genuine amusement. “I saw your face. You thought I would think him more interesting.” Tilting her head to the side, she dips her gaze down to my forearms.
“Who do you take me for?” I say, focusing on her mouth. When a person is physically attracted to another person, they focus on the triangle while listening to them speak. Eyes, nose, and mouth. I find myself lost in her triangle anytime she speaks. Even subliminally, I want Carina to be mine.
She leans away, taking her smile and eyes entirely too far away. I let my eyes close and open in a slow blink. “I take you for a tired man,” she replies.
It’s true. I’m exhausted. Moose’s couch isn’t an expensive mattress. I walked away from Megan and left her everything we accumulated together. “Indeed.” I flex my fists on the table in front of me. “I need to get a place of my own.”
Carina’s eyes flare wide. “That’s right. This changes things. If we lived together it would probably complicate things. Now that, well...” Carina trails off.
If I let her know how much I want her in my space, I’d frighten her away. Playing it cool is my best bet.
“Now that we are going on dates,” she finishes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
A waitress brushes my shoulder as she walks past our table. When I glance to the side she winks at me. I turn quickly, hoping Carina didn’t see the exchange. Megan tends to get jealous when anything like that happens.
Carina laughs and shakes her head, tossing her styled hair over one shoulder. “You’re completely unaware of your wiles. It’s both endearing, and infuriating, Smith.”
“We can still live together. That’s up to you and what you’re comfortable with,” I say, ignoring her honesty. Holding up one finger, I stop her from interrupting. “I leave for a six-month deployment in a few months. I’ll need a house sitter then anyways.”
Moose alerted me to that fact when he was attempting to convince me to stay with him. As a perma-bachelor he thinks of circumstances I’ve never had to worry over. My own space is something I need.
“Just think about it,” I say, when I see hesitation cross her features. Now that I’ve mentioned it, thoughts of cohabitating with her run through my mind. Cooking meals together, getting to see her when she first wakes up...in whatever she wears to sleep. Late night movies, being able to look at her anytime I want. Does she wrap her hair in a towel when she exits the shower? Does she snore? How does she go about her morning routine? I know how she takes her coffee and her favorite foods. Excitement reverberates in my bones. I want this badly.
She closes her mouth and nods. Carina finishes her drink, and I clean up the rest of the tapas plates. I pay for our check, against her wishes, and we make our way out of the restaurant. There’s still the tiniest bit of burnt orange light reflecting in the warm San Diego sky. She’s backlit against it—a mere silhouette of perfection.
She turns, her profile now dark and visible in contrast. “When do you deploy, Smith?”
I swallow down my emotions and catch my breath. Her beauty is something to behold. It’s more than skin-deep. It’s soul deep and it’s calling out to me like my favorite song. “Three months from tomorrow actually. If we lived together it could be a nonstop interview. Think of the possibilities. You’d finish that book in no time,” I tease. I know it takes her about a year to write a novel from start to finish.
She stops dead in her tracks and faces me when we get to my truck. “Where are you going? When you deploy.” It’s then that I hear the underlying fear in her words. My safety. She’s worried. The sentiment is touching and fearsome at the same time. The feelings are already there. I was right. Not only will she agree to more in our relationship, it already exists on its own.
“Iraq,” I reply simply.
She nods, lets me open the passenger side door, and remains silent in thought—questions whirring quicker than her mouth can process, I’m sure. When I park myself in the driver’s seat I make a move to place my hand on her bare thigh.
First she looks at where I’m touching and then directs her gaze to my face, her eyes heavy with desire. “You’re persuasive when you’re trying to change the subject.” She thinks I don’t want to talk about Iraq. I don’t care about that, though. I want the conversation back to what matters tonight. Us.
“I’m an honorable man. I’ll always do what’s right. When I want something, I merely figure out the most honorable way to obtain it,” I explain. I start the truck and reluctantly pull my hand away from her smooth, warm thigh. From the corner of my eye I see her rubbing the spot where my hand just was. I smile.
Carina shifts in her seat. “That seems a little dishonorable if you ask me. If plotting is involved to get something you want perhaps it shouldn’t be obtained in the first place. Shouldn’t it be effortless?”
I nod, driving slower than the speed limit down a back road heading to Jasmine’s house. “Nothing worth having is easily obtained. Or so I’ve learned in my experiences in life. Some things are seemingly effortless, though. I agree with that.”
“Can I quote that?” Carina asks, smiling. She’s so endearing—growing into a more confident woman. I joke that she can’t quote me and ask if she’s hidden a tape recorder. She taps me on the arm lightly, horsing around.
As I drive I keep my hands on the steering wheel. Regardless of what I was told in the past, I prefer both hands on the wheel—the control all mine. Carina alternates pulling the hem of her dress, tousling her hair, and looking out the window. She’s shifty and nervous. I know why and it makes me uneasy. There are expectations even though there is no need for them.
This, this energy and our emotional connection happened organically—in a way this Tinder obsessed culture can only dream of. “We didn’t talk work tonight at all, did we?” I ask, grinning. I want to break this pregnant silence. Her questions and unburying past horrors are preferable to this.
Carina looks over. “Are you disappointed? I have several questions ready to go if you are.”
I clear my throat. How best to approach this? “No, no. It was a date after all, right?”
I pull up to a red light and fist my hands around the steering wheel. The scarred skin on my hands tightens uncomfortably.
Carina swallows audibly. “Suppose it was. Does that make us bad people? We’ve hidden behind interviews for our entire relationship. This is new and I’m not sure if it’s wrong.” This isn’t wrong. No, everything before this was wrong. This is my right. It makes sense, it’s the most visceral, real circumstance since my accident.
“It’s not wrong. Don’t think that for a second.” After several long talks on the phone with my mother, she gets it. She still talks to Megan, so I think my gracious ex-fiancée has a hand in her acceptance. Margaret Eppington loves Megan as much as I used to. Or so I’ve surmised. On the last call, she told me she knows about Carina and the novel. “No one thinks anything is wrong about us,” I say.
Carina sighs, but nods. Pulling into Jasmine’s driveway, I throw the handle up to put my truck into park. She shivers as I wrap my arm around her small shoulders and guide her to the front
door. I stroke her bare, tan skin with one finger just to see if goosebumps will rise. They do.
She spins out of my grasp and faces me front on. “I’m only me, Smith.” She’s confusing yet perfectly clear at the same time. Only is a dangerous word, though. It’s used as an excuse. If only I had more time. I’m only insert self-deprecating adjective here. I’m only me.
I take her cheeks in my hands. The flawless, smooth skin on her face makes the skin on my own hands look atrocious. “That’s a good thing because you’re the only person I want.”
She places her hand over mine to hold it in place. Carina shakes her head, but her eyes tell me that I’m the person she wants regardless of what she thinks of herself or of my past with Megan. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to hold her—to kiss her—to claim her as my own in this new, most desirable way.
“This seems so complicated. Or am I overanalyzing?” she asks, her eyes closing in a slow, lazy blink, but meeting mine directly after.
“Are you happy?” I ask. It’s such a loaded question. She’s been through so much with Roarke that asking for her happiness now seems selfish and rushed, but I’m asking anyways. I don’t need validation in my job, because I know I’m good—the best even. With Carina it’s different. I don’t have a rule book. I don’t know what comes next. She surprises me and keeps me on my toes.
A strand of hair blows across her face and I catch it between my fingertips. She smiles. “I am. If I put everything else aside and think about you and me, I’m happy. Yes.”
My heart pounds and the blood rushes to my head. Pure elation. “I think it’s simple. Happiness is what it comes down to. If I make you happy and our arrangement makes you happy, then let’s forget about the rest. Let’s do this, Carina.”
“Very honorable indeed. I see what you mean about taking the moral high ground,” Carina smarts. She rubs her hands down my biceps and stops when she’s holding my forearms in her hands. “Okay.”
It was easy. It was effortless. “You’ll move in with me?”
Black and White Flowers (The Real SEAL Series Book 1) Page 8
