Reckless

by Teagan Kade

  “Great,” she smiles, reaching for the menu, “what’s next?”

  But what I want for an aperitif isn’t on the menu, and Shannon’s just made it clear it’s not going to be.

  Because one thing’s for sure: I’m nobody’s Mr. Right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHANNON

  The next few days at work are blissfully peaceful. I’m starting to realize just how useful having your own personal Navy SEAL is.

  You should put him to work on your clitoris…

  I stifle the sexual thoughts while I hunt through my wardrobe, read: very small collection of clothes, not very many of which seem to spark excitement.

  I’m not a girly girl. I never have been. To me, shopping for clothes is no more thrilling than hitting the supermarket. It’s a chore. But as I push dress after dress aside, a stunning realization occurs to me: I’m actually having trouble deciding what to wear.

  I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up about it. It’s not like I’m even going on a real date. I’m simply going over to Gabe’s to discuss this meeting with his mother—nothing more.

  I show up at Gabe’s in a simple peach shirt-dress thingy one of the girls gave me for Xmas… three years ago.

  I feel out of place in it, an alien, but when Gabe opens the door my reservations are gone. His eyes say it all.

  “You look,” he’s having trouble finding the appropriate words as he lifts his eyes, “amazing.”

  I hold the side of the dress. “Oh, this? Just something I had lying around.” I’ve been dying to use that line forever.

  He stands aside. “Come in.”

  I step past Gabe into the apartment, brushing his chest on the way through and confirming that, yes, the guy’s made of concrete, abs like an exit ramp leading down to…

  Do not even go there right now.

  I stop when I find another man standing in the longue. He looks similar to Gabe—same height, same panty-frying features—but he’s dressed in a tailored linen shirt and pleated pants, far from the fresh-from-tour military chic Gabe’s going for.

  He smiles and offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Matt, Gabe’s brother. Nice to meet you.”

  I take his hand, finding my voice. “And you.”

  There’s a touch of disappointment when I realize Gabe and I won’t be alone, but then again this could also be a valuable way to get the inside scoop on my future fake husband.

  I take a seat, wrapping the dress around my thighs and placing my hands in my lap.

  “Can I get you a drink?” offers Gabe.

  “Just water, thanks.”

  Matt relaxes on the longue opposite, clearly at home here. “So, Shannon, tell me how my blockhead of a brother managed to reel you into this?”

  My eyebrows jump. “Um, I don’t know. There was a guy messing with me at this bar. I suppose Gabe was my knight in shining armor.”

  Matt laughs, slapping his knee. “There’s nothing shiny about Gabe, not when you’ve spent that much time in the sandpit. Ain’t that right, big brother?”

  “Don’t listen to a thing he says,” comes Gabe’s voice from the kitchen. “Matt wet the bed until he was fifteen.”

  I look to Matt. “O-kay.”

  Matt lowers his voice. “This from a guy who Mom busted with his dick in the vacuum cleaner. I’m surprised it didn’t suck the thing clean off.”

  “I can hear you,” Gabe calls.

  Matt winks. “Just wait until I tell you about prom. This girl with braces, Gabe—”

  “Shannon doesn’t not want to hear about any of that,” says Gabe, reappearing and placing two glasses of water down.

  “Why?” asks Matt. “You’ve seen There’s Something About Mary, right, Shannon?”

  “Uh…”

  “You know that scene with Cameron Diaz where she’s doing her hair thinking she’s using hair gel but it’s really—”

  Gabe places Matt into a headlock. “And I think that will be enough of that.”

  He lets Matt go, who takes one breath before continuing. “You’re not even going to tell her about the birthmark shaped like Colombia on your ass cheek, your aversion to shellfish, your love of lattes?”

  “Lattes?” I question. “Do all SEALs drink lattes?”

  “Only the ones with vaginas,” laughs Matt, and there they go wrestling to the floor again.

  Matt signals his surrender, both boys straightening up.

  A phone rings from the back.

  “I should get that,” says Gabe.

  “Yes,” says Matt, “can’t leave Commissioner Gordon waiting now.”

  Gabe punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Asshole.”

  “Knob jockey.”

  I pick up my glass. “Wow, you two have quite the relationship.”

  Matt puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m not the one who’s marrying the guy.”

  When I’m sure Gabe’s gone, I lean forward and ask, “Honestly, am I crazy?”

  Matt sits back and shakes his head. “No. It’s easy to get swept up in Gabe’s world. He’s a likable guy, even if he can be a little stiff.”

  “So he’s not going to murder me or anything?”

  “Rest easy. You’re in good hands. Well, not in his literal hands. Ah, hell. You know what I mean.”

  “He told me about the thing with your mother and I couldn’t say no.”

  Matt looks between his legs at the carpet, nodding. “Yeah, she’s pretty damn excited. She only wants the best for him, to settle down and all that. She says he’s been married to the Navy for long enough, and I’d say lucky even to be alive given the kind of situations he’s been in.”

  I can only imagine.

  “He’s a good guy,” continues Matt, clearly on his brother’s side.

  I’m not sure whether I should ask, but I’m genuinely curious. “Has he had any long-term girlfriends, ex-wives I should know about?”

  Matt laughs just like his brother, his thick, dark eyelashes framing his eyes. “Gabe doesn’t know the meaning of ‘long term.’ Even before the Navy, in his glory days, he wasn’t big on sleepovers. And the one long-term relationship he did have? It didn’t end so well. In fact, she died.”

  “Oh, I had no idea.”

  “He’s a stoic guy, honorable, but if he seems gruff or distant sometimes, that’s why. It really got to him.”

  Gabe returns holding his cell. “Sorry about that.” He tosses it onto an armchair, standing between us. “So, what’s the topic of conversation?” He looks to me. “He’s not still on the whole Gabe-used-to-be-a-player thing, is he?”

  I feel awful for Gabe after what I’ve just heard, but I put on a smile regardless. “Actually, your brother was complimenting you.”

  “On my excellent board game skills?”

  “Only if we’re playing Monopoly,” Matt interjects. “Gabe’s always been good with money. I mean, look at this place.”

  It is a beautiful apartment, but there’s a certain coldness to it, as though it’s a show home, not something really lived in. There are no photos around, no pictures on the wall. The sole personal touch is a set of dog tags hanging off the coat hook.

  Matt gets up. “I should be getting on. Some of us have to work these days.”

  “What do you do, Matt?” I ask.

  “I work in IT,” he answers, “but don’t ask for details. You’ll be asleep by the time I get to ‘MU-MIMO protocol.’”

  “He’s right,” says Gabe. “I swear he speaks purely in acronyms sometimes.”

  “This coming from the king of acronyms.”

  “You do you enjoy it, the IT job?” I question.

  “Yeah,” nods Matt, “though It’s a long way from the movie stunt driver I wanted to be growing up”.

  “When you were, like, seven,” laughs Gabe.

  “Hey, not all of us can be action heroes, can we?” replies Matt.

  Gabe smiles. “You’re damn right about that.”

  Behind the playful banter, I see genuine a
ffection between these two. I was an only child. I don’t understand this sibling back-and-forth. I didn’t have brothers or sisters, yes, but I was never spoiled, never made to feel entitled. Dad was very particular about that.

  Matt gives a small wave in my direction. “It was nice to meet you, Shannon, and good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I smile back, still fiddling with my hands.

  Gabe sees Matt out and closes the door, walking back over to me to take up Matt’s spot. “What do you think? Can you see the family resemblance?”

  “You’re a little more,” I search for the right word, “bulky?”

  Gabe jerks back. “Bulky? I don’t know whether to say thanks or burst into tears.”

  I swallow. My mouth is way too dry. I reach for the water. “It’s a good thing. You know, you’re,” I try to flesh out my thoughts with a hand in the air, but it really just looks like I’m trying to jerk off the Invisible Man, “well sculpted.”

  Gabe continues to laugh. “Wait until our wedding night.”

  I let that one go, staring down into the water. I’m going to need to throw it over my head soon I’m getting so hot and flustered here. The tingling between my legs doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s nice, the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

  “Shall we then?” offers Gabe. “I’ll give you a briefing at lunch.”

  Pity. I was rather looking forward to a de-briefing. “Lunch?”

  “It’s just a short walk.”

  I stand and pat down my dress. “Sounds great.”

  I follow Gabe to the door, and I can’t quite get over how good he looks from the back, as if those jeans he’s wearing were spray-painted on. But even though I’m looking at him on this superficial level, I’m seeing him in a new light after what Matt told me. Gabe seems like he has it altogether, but maybe there’s a broken man inside.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GABE

  One simple lift over her head and that dress would be gone. Hell, I could just tear it right off her body, but they’re just thoughts for now—‘for now’ being the operative part of the equation.

  I couldn’t have planned lunch better. We’re at a waterside restaurant, a cloud-spotted sky so blue and crisp it looked like CGI above.

  Shannon seemed surprised when I told her the restaurant was Turkish.

  “Turkish?” she’d said. “Are we on a world tour of cuisine?”

  “If that’s what it takes to win you over. I promise we’ll aim for a different continent next time,” I replied, holding her seat out.

  We ate, drank. I discovered Shannon’s never had a beer in her life, and she discovered I’ve got a serious sweet tooth. The Middle East was no good for that. Baklava, umm ali, kanafeh, balah el sham… It’s a wonder I didn’t return Stateside carrying an extra fifty pounds around my waist.

  I’m walking Shannon back along the river, the water still. People in this city don’t know how good they’ve got it, not having to watch the street corners or fear incoming missile strikes whenever they look to the sky.

  We don’t hold hands, but we are walking close—close enough for our fingers to brush from time to time. When I was younger I probably would have thrown her over my shoulder and jogged home like a true caveman, but something tells me a brute force attack is not the right way to play this. No, I have to bring my A-game to this firefight.

  She’s not going to go for anything, says my head, because you’re not going to go there. You can’t. You shouldn’t. You do not fucking deserve that kind of happiness.

  I exhale and box the thoughts away.

  “Everything alright?” asks Shannon, lifting her hair back over her shoulder so I can better see her face and its soft contours, the plump pull of her lips doing strange things to my nether regions.

  “All good.” I smile back. “I was just thinking about Mom.”

  “You know,” she says, “you’re going to an awful lot of trouble to make her feel better.”

  Oh, I’ve thought about that alright.

  Bullshit. You didn’t think about it at all.

  “She must be really important to you,” Shannon continues.

  “Of course,” I reply. “She raised Matt and I alone. She didn’t ask for any help or handouts, even though she was working two jobs to cover the mortgage, to put clothes on our backs and food on our table. I’ve never taken that for granted. She wanted me to go to university, told me she’d take on a third job to get me there, but I didn’t want to put that kind of strain on her.”

  “So you joined the Navy.”

  I nod. “That’s right. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was down at the local recruitment office. I didn’t want to be a burden on her any longer. The pay was good, the tax breaks appealing… I thought I could see the world, maybe do a little good while I was at it. I never expected it to be so full-on.”

  “But you’re a Navy SEAL. You’re the best of the best, right?”

  I smile at that. “When I joined up I just wanted the cushiest job they had going. I guess my competitive spirit got the better of me.”

  “So you’re competitive?”

  “You won’t find a SEAL who’s not. It requires a certain degree of ruthlessness, of,” it takes me a second to think how best to phrase it, “dedication to will.”

  “How did she handle it, your mother?”

  “Well enough. I’m making her out to be some kind of superhuman robot, but the truth is she struggled with depression when we were growing up. We didn’t know until we were teenagers, of course, but I could always sense when something wasn’t quite right. She worried about us.”

  “I don’t imagine being flung to a conflict country helped?”

  My head bobs to the side. “No. It did not, but if she was worried, she never let on. I don’t think she wanted me worrying about it either, which is kind of funny when you think about it. I never thought I’d spend the last years I had with her overseas. Now I’m just trying to make her as comfortable and happy as possible before she passes, and, hard as it is, passing is the best thing. She’s weathered this disease long enough, fought hard, but she deserves peace. And this thing? With us? It’s the least I can do.”

  I can see Shannon considering it, taking in my words and sorting them out.

  “I’m getting sentimental,” I apologize. “I don’t mean to lay this all on you.”

  “No, it’s fine, really. I like it, that you’re so open. Most guys don’t talk about these kinds of things. I thought, given you’re a big bad Navy SEAL and all that you’d be even more closed off, but you’re full of surprises.”

  You have no idea.

  I stop walking and turn to face her. “I’m not trying to put any kind of pressure on you. Just be yourself.”

  Two cyclists go whipping around us, the sound of live music beating away back in the restaurant district.

  Shannon takes a step forward and touches my cheek, so light her fingers could be feathers. “I get it, Gabe. I do.” She lets her hand fall away. “You can go back to being that big bad SEAL if you want. I won’t hold it against you.”

  But it’s her I want to hold, as much as my head’s trying to warn me off it.

  I want to kiss her. The moment is perfect.

  But I can’t.

  Triss.

  I’m trying. I’m fucking trying, but I can’t get her out of my head—the last words she spoke to me, the helplessness of it all. Where was I when she needed me? I abandoned her. It’s not right, none of it is. I am not right. I don’t think I ever will be, not for a girl like Shannon, a gentle, pure soul who’s never experienced war, who’s never taken a life or seen his friends torn to pieces.

  Compartmentalize, they say, the head doctors with their fucking mind voodoo, but I don’t have enough compartments for the kind of shit I’ve seen. There aren’t enough boxes in the world for that.

  But god I want to. Every fiber of my body wants to lean forward and feel her lips again, crush my mouth against hers, the softness I’ve been craving for so long.
/>   I turn and start to walk instead, cursing myself but at the same time satisfied.

  I was impulsive once. I thought I was untouchable.

  I’m never going to make that mistake again.

  Shannon is quiet. Disappointed perhaps? I can’t tell. You think a Navy SEAL would be a master of reading people, but Shannon’s as much of a mystery to me as daytime TV.

  For the first time in a long time, I’m fucking lost.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHANNON

  I wake up with a sugar glider glued to my arm. It’s like something out of Alien. I gently peel Angel off. “Wakey, wakey, little buddy.” Buffy is scampering up by my side. I don’t know why I’m telling them to wake up. They’re nocturnal, probably destroying the house again while I slobbered all over pillow.

  I sit up and stretch, can already hear the others hollering for breakfast down the back. “I’m coming,” I shout.

  I claw sleep dust from my eyes and check the clock.

  One hour to go.

  I’m nervous, and it’s not just because I’m meeting Gabe’s mother today. He coached me pretty good on what to say at lunch yesterday. No, I’m nervous because I’m going to be seeing Gabe again. It’s been less than fifteen hours since saw him.

  And you’re counting every minute, admit it.

  So what if I am? I can crush on him if I want to. Nothing’s going to happen, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

  Yeah, dream about the A-grade American weaponry in is pants…

  God, I have become a pervert. What next? Selling used underwear on eBay?

  “Shannon Bailey,” I tell myself, staring at my medusa-like hair in the wardrobe mirror opposite, Buffy perched on my shoulder like a cuter version of Barbosa’s parrot. “You. Are. A. Pervert.”

  Angel gives a squeak of affirmation from below.

  I drag myself out of bed and begin the whole ‘What am I going to wear?’ process again. Forget the clothes. Deciding what to wear all the time is wearing me out. A week ago I would have slung on a sweater and the nearest pair of jeans, but here I am um-ing and ah-ing in front of my clothes like some sort of high-brow fashionista.

  He’s changing you.

  More like I am changing for him. That’s no crime, is it?