He leans his shoulder against the door jamb, smirk still in place, not at all perturbed I’d caught on to his not-so-stealthy method. “Yes.”
I duck my head to hide a smile and grab my purse from the end table by the door. I’m pretty firm in my head that this is just going to be dinner between two people who happen to know each other from twelve years ago. We’ll chat about school and catch up on what we’ve been doing since then, which…shit. If he was a SEAL, he probably can’t talk about that. I run through all the emotional turmoil he recently caused, like it’s a bullet list for all the reasons we can’t be anything more than friends. Why it’s important to get inoculated against him.
“Where we headed?”
“You’ll see.” He takes my hand and tucks it under his arm. Like we’re in some Jane Austen flick. Who does that? I stumble, and he tightens his forearm against his side.
I don’t think this date’s going to go how I planned.
Luke
I cross my arms. “Face it, you’re doomed.”
Pepper sticks her pink tongue out at me, and it’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms and suck it right into my mouth. Feel its heat, taste its sweetness, and sense it light me up inside. But fuck it—I’m determined to show I can be a gentleman. Most of the time.
“Watch and learn, sailor.” Warmth bursts in my chest that she’d gotten that appellation right with no correction on my part required. Earlier, she’d asked me which branch the SEALs served with. I’d braced myself for an onslaught of follow-up questions. Why I’d slipped and told her I was a SEAL, I have no clue. It’s not like we go around dropping that into conversations at random.
Thankfully, that was all she asked. Now, she wiggles her fine ass encased in white jeans, squints down the Astroturf, and putts her little blue ball along the curved path. The ball banks off a bump, rolls under the miniature bridge, disappears for a minute, then reappears down below to languidly roll across the lower green and plop into the hole.
“Ha!” She lifts her club and does a victory dance.
“Well executed. Now you just need to do it again for the last three.” The only way she can beat me at this point.
We’re at Smuggler’s Cove, a pirate-themed mini golf place on the tacky stretch of Highway 41. We’d gone to the new Mexican grill on Orange, and one of us brought up this place as a spot where we used to go as teens. Now we’re here, and I’m having way more fun than I’d ever imagined hitting a red ball around a cheesy-ass putt-putt course.
Pepper might have something to do with that. Mainly because she’s so serious about it. It’s cute.
It makes it hard to remember my mission tonight—to lessen her animosity toward me in case it negatively impacts the team. With the personal side benefit of being with someone who lights up all my nerve endings. Which also makes it hard to remember that I completely screwed up any chance I might’ve had with her.
So far we’ve tapped balls through the inside of a ship and other assorted hazards, including several caves which had stalactites that looked like drooping penises, according to Pepper. I manfully refrained from further commentary. All around us are palm trees wrapped in rope lights, the occasional banyan tree, pirate chests, and waterfalls.
We end up tying, and I’m totally fine with that, though maybe it would’ve been a good way to kill my inconvenient attraction if I’d witnessed her being a sore loser.
We turn our gear back in. “Do you want to feed the gators?” I ask. There’s a water feature near the giant pirate ship filled with baby alligators.
She bites her lip. “I never did have the guts as a kid. Let’s do it.”
I swear to fucking God, there’s not a movement or quirk she does that doesn’t act like armor-piercing missiles into the indifferent shell I’ve always had between me and the rest of the world.
I pay the fee for the privilege, and we walk over with our poles and dried-up pellets of gator food in a plastic baggie. She dangles a pole over, and the baby gators jump, one having better aim and reach.
“So Conor says you’re getting a trainer in a week or so?”
“Actually, he’s arriving a week from Saturday at Tampa airport. I’ll be picking him up and getting him settled in the executive suite we’re renting for him. He’ll need a few days to get over jet lag.”
I stretch out my pole, and some babies break off from the group vying for her spoils and snatch at mine.
“How did you convince him to come?”
I shrug. “Paid his way and put him up for free.”
Her head jerks around, and she meets my gaze, eyes wide. “That must be expensive.”
Here’s my chance to impress on her the importance of the sponsorship. I pick my words carefully. “It is. But that’s how important this is for us. The bulk of us have been training together for several years, honing our skills, forging a bond. We never had enough to make a full team until this year. This guy has coached numerous winning teams in Ireland and can give us an edge here.”
Gator food all eaten, we wander back inside and decide on ice cream.
“Are you planning on having the sponsorship reimburse you?”
I nod. “And for the jerseys we ordered.” I took a calculated risk there too by having Langfield’s logo printed on them.
The pimply teen takes our orders, and soon we’re sitting at the picnic tables. It strikes me that this might have been what we would have done if I’d been able to follow through on asking her out back in high school. There’s some kind of lesson here probably, but I don’t know what.
She unwraps her ice cream sandwich. “Okay. I have to ask you something that’s been bothering me a long time. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who goes for the fancy coffee places.”
“I’m not.”
“So why were you at the Mocha Cabana?”
I look away and memorize the features of the couple now feeding the gators. “It’s a test for me. A ritual.” How to explain? “I go there because it’s considered ‘normal’ by civilians, and it’s my way of proving to myself that I’m normal too.” God, that sounds lame. “The world’s kinda neutral to me”—except for you—“and while I can see that it’s colorful and tacky and loud, it’s like it’s still outside me, you know?”
Christ, that was even more pathetic.
“So you’re hoping someday it will penetrate?”
My head whips back to her. She has the paper folded neatly back, exposing a third of her treat.
“Yes. Exactly.” And the words lodge in my throat to tell her that there’s no need for me to wait for her to somehow soak in past this weird veil between me and the world that’s always been there—she’s already inside.
She smiles, and a silent “I get you” seems to pass between us and link us more together.
Chapter 9
Luke
A kid nearby shrieks in excitement, and our moment of understanding passes. Pepper turns back to her ice cream sandwich.
I tense on the bench as she licks the vanilla along the edge. And she’s doing it without any kind of air about her—totally innocent. She looks up, catches me staring, and her eyes widen. She pulls away, looks at her treat, then me, and her cheeks blush under the glow of the lamp tucked into the palm above us.
Then she holds my gaze, leans down, and takes a deliberate lick.
Just like that, my dick pops against my zipper.
Shit.
I clear my throat.
“So what got you into sports medicine?” Dinner was spent with us tiptoeing around the obvious attraction we feel and finding safe conversational topics. We mostly caught each other up on different people we discovered we had in common in high school.
She takes a huge bite out of the sandwich, polishes it off like a champ, wipes her fingers on the little square napkins, and folds her arms on top of the table. The harsh light from above transforms when it hits her skin, and in this new position, it enticingly highlights the upper curves of her breasts.
“I used to be a che
erleader.”
I cock my head, because one, I know this already and she knows I know, and two, it’s a weird answer to my question.
She continues, “Some of my teammates were injured at one of our state championships, and, well, watching the doctors on staff made me want to do what they did—make my teammates better.”
She traces her index finger across the tip of her thumbnail, and I know there’s more. You don’t get to be a SEAL without being able to read people. Should I push? Fuck it, I’m pushing.
“What’s the real reason?”
She looks up sharply, her forehead wrinkling. “You don’t believe me?”
I choose my words carefully. “I think that’s the surface truth. Perhaps what you tell others, and what you tell yourself most of the time.”
She tenses and wraps her hand around the napkin, a frown marring her forehead. She pushes her lips sideways. “You’re right.” She sighs. “I… They were injured because of me.” She says this in a rush of guilt that sounds as if it’s been filling her up, waiting to get out, all this time.
I lean forward. “How so?” I don’t insult her by saying something like, “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” If Pepper says so, I choose to believe her. She hasn’t struck me as someone prone to hyperbole.
Her hand is opening and closing over her napkin, and I grasp it. Not because I’m trying to take advantage and get in her pants. I mean, I do want to be inside her pants again, but that’s not why I grab her hand.
She just looks so…vulnerable. As if, for a moment, she needs someone to hold her hand with no expectations.
She relaxes a fraction, which for some weird-ass reason makes a warmth fill my chest. Huh.
“It was the state championship our senior year. It was the first year our squad got that far, and we’d all been working hard with our routines. We had a killer pyramid. I had a major part in it—at least two girls depended on my strength and ability for us to pull it off flawlessly.”
She looks down at our hands. Somehow my other had joined in the hand-clasping fest.
“What happened?” I whisper, squeezing her hand.
For a moment, I wonder if my voice was too low to be heard above the traffic behind her, but then she raises that defiant chin of hers.
“I kept quiet about a sore back. It was just a pain I’d gotten used to whenever I leaned back. There was no way I was going to jeopardize our chance. So I took some painkillers and went out there with the biggest, brightest smile. The show must go on, right?
“You can guess the rest, I’m sure. That backache turned out to have progressed from a stress to a break. It was the weak link in our chain, and we went tumbling down. Thank God, none of them were seriously injured. A broken wrist for Heather, and a twisted ankle for Jules.”
I pitch forward, leaning across the table. “Hold up.” I tug on her hand. “You broke your back? How could you not realize that? And how are you still walking?”
She gives a shrug. “It sounds bad, but spondylolysis is common with cheerleaders. The insidious thing about it is that the pain feels the same when it morphs from merely being stressed to having a fracture. And it wasn’t my ‘back’ that broke, but a joint between two of my vertebrae.”
“Jesus.” I swear to God it felt as if my heart went into free fall for a split second.
“Anyway, I didn’t lie earlier, though. I was inspired by the sports medics who came rushing up. It’s just their impact on me wasn’t something I realized until later. I think first I had to get over my shame and guilt.”
“So you studied medicine…” I run a thumb across her skin.
“Yes, and after I got my MD and completed my residency, I did a one-year fellowship to specialize in sports medicine. I don’t think I would’ve stuck it out eight years post-grad if it wasn’t a true calling. I really enjoy it.”
And while I can see she still harbors some guilt for letting her team down, I totally get why. It also makes her a better doctor.
Pepper
I’m surprised to realize we’re holding hands as we stroll back to his Scout in the parking lot behind Smuggler’s Cove. His grip is strong and warm and way more comfortable than I’d like. This date isn’t what one would normally picture as romantic—soft music, soft lighting, beautiful setting. Instead we’re in a parking lot off a four-lane highway that runs through Sarasota, with old strip malls, fluorescent street lamps, no-name hotels I wouldn’t let my worst enemy sleep in, and some rather unsavory characters lurking in dark recesses.
But it’s been perfect.
I swallow hard, not wanting to examine exactly why that could be.
I’m not an idiot. I know it’s to do with the man whose hand I’m holding, but I’m not ready to examine why that is.
The date took a different texture than I’d anticipated. Instead of firmly putting him in the “high school friend catching up” category and inoculating myself to him, the night went a long way to adjusting my contradicting images of High School Luke and Man Luke. I’m holding the latter’s hand. The one I slept with.
The one who is a former Navy SEAL. Yeah, I’ve been trying to digest that tidbit the whole night.
Totally explains his body. I catch myself before I can snort out loud.
Earlier at the picnic table, I’d been afraid to poke at that memory of my failure—the emotions have been successfully locked away since high school. But I’d been amazingly okay with relating it. And that experience back then in high school had been a trial run compared to the emotions I had to learn how to wrangle during my residency.
We reach his vintage Scout. “So a SEAL, huh? What was—?”
My words are cut off because he’s swung me around and pressed me against the side of his Scout and is kissing the hell out of me.
Instantly, all the tension that’s been zinging between us all evening—hell, since our sexcapades—ignites in my chest and arrows down to my core. I wrap my arms around his neck and inch up on my toes, my breasts pressing deliciously against his hard chest. How could I think to ignore this? I’m burning up inside just from a kiss.
Granted, the guy knows how to kiss, but come on.
As soon as I get reacquainted with his taste, and my breaths are coming a little faster, he pulls away and smiles, his green eyes dark and mischievous and blistering in their intensity. He then pecks me on the forehead, opens the door for me, and hustles around to his side, leaping in his topless car without opening his door.
Okay, that was hot.
He grins at me as if I’d said that aloud, but I’m pretty sure I hadn’t. I think. My mouth hasn’t had a good track record around him in that regard.
“What was that for?”
“The kiss?” He turns his key, and the engine roars and settles into a purr.
“Yeeesss.” I settle against the seat, pretty sure a dopey grin is plastered on my face.
“Your goodnight kiss.”
“Not sure how many dates you’ve been on, sailor, but usually that’s done after you drop a girl off and walk her to the door.”
“Yeah, but that’s not happening.”
“It’s not?” I hate that I sound whiny. What the hell, whiny-self?
“Nope.” He grins. “Don’t trust myself to stop with that, so…” He puts the car into drive and pulls out. “So I took it early and can just drop you off.”
And the bastard does just that.
Chapter 10
Pepper
I’m boiling water for macaroni and cheese—the deluxe kind with the cheese already gooey, thank you very much—when my doorbell rings. I freeze with the open box poised to pour in the elbow noodles. Who the hell could that be? I’ve never had a Jehovah’s Witness at the door, but there’s a first time for everything.
I turn the heat dial to a low simmer and squint through the peephole.
And just like that, my nerves remind me we’re here and we’re going to throw you off balance—because it’s Luke on the other side. I close my hand on the door
knob. Can I pretend I didn’t hear the bell? Then he holds up a box of…something. Whatever it is, it’s distorted in the fish-eye lens of my peephole.
Oh, what the hell. I’m weak. For him.
And curious.
I yank open the door and smile faux-sweetly. “You rang?”
My heart’s pounding, though, because I’m still dealing with how last night had not gone as I planned. I’d thought spending more time with him would cure me of him. Plus, the conflict of interest is still an issue, but only until I turn in my report. That should be done soon—the last three stragglers have finally signed their releases. I now have Conor’s and Patrick’s medical histories, but I’m still missing Eamonn’s—a delay supposedly due to the state of his records in his part of Ireland.
Part of me wonders if their delay had been on purpose, but Conor and Patrick had checked out fine. Hopefully Eamonn will too. I’d hate to think he’s stonewalling me.
“I brought you something.” He holds up his gift again. A box of chocolates. Not very original on his part, but it’s also chocolate, so I’m not going to complain.
“Bribery won’t work on me.” I have to say it, even though I know that’s not what he’s doing here. He doesn’t strike me as that kind of guy, and that’s too small of a bribe anyway, despite it being chocolate.
He leans against the door jamb, and I do not notice what that does to his shoulder muscles beneath his gray T-shirt. He takes up the whole door, he’s so large.
“Now you’re just insulting my character.” But he says this playfully as if he knows already I don’t really believe he’d do this.
I sigh. “Come in.” I step back and open the door wider.
He hands me the chocolate and breezes by me with a smirk that says he knew I’d cave. Part of me wants to renege. Lord knows, my life will be much simpler if I nip whatever potential we might have right now. Save myself the emotional turmoil. I’m at a crossroads and have complete power to make my path go in one particular direction. Without him.
But, oh, that other path beckons. Yes, it’s lined with places I could trip and fall flat on my face, but it also seems to be bursting with so much more…life.
Earning It Page 7
