Night Watch
Page 16
“It sucks,” he agreed. “But I think the jury would look at you and see—”
“So what you’re saying is that if I didn’t look quite so wholesome, I’d be out of luck? That’s not fair.”
“You’re right, it’s not.”
“Even if I’d had sex with every man I’d ever met,” Brittany said, “even if I were a prostitute, no means no.”
“You’re absolutely right.” He cleared his throat. “You actually had relationships in college that were more intense than, uh, what we’ve got going here?”
She smiled at him. “I meant in terms of length,” she said. “I don’t know about you, but this you and me thing is pretty different from anything I’ve ever done. I mean, I think in the past three days I’ve had more sex than I had during all the years I was married.”
Wes laughed, relieved. “Good. I was a little nervous for a minute. Like I wasn’t doing a good enough job or something.”
“You’re doing a marvelous job,” she told him with a grin. “And how’m I doing, sugar pie? Am I managing to keep you from constantly thinking about how much you want a cigarette?”
“Definitely.” He kissed her, and there it was again. Desire. Damn, he just could not get enough of her.
Maybe it was knowing that there was an end date to their affair, that he only had her until the end of his leave.
God, he didn’t want his leave to ever end.
“Let’s go out,” she said. “The paper said there was some kind of celebration at something called Old Town San Diego this evening. Let’s go and dance and get really hot for each other and then come back and make love on that hideous purple chair in your living room.”
Wes laughed. “What? Why?”
“You need a good reason to keep it in your living room,” she told him, laughing as she danced beyond his reach. “You need to have an incredibly steamy memory associated with it, so that when people come in here and see it, you can say, ‘I keep that chair for a reason.’ And when they look at you, you can just smile and say ‘Mmmm, yeah. I know it’s something of a visual assault upon the senses, but, you know, I really like that old chair.’”
The phone rang, and Britt scooped it up. “Wes Skelly’s house of ugly furniture. How may we help you?” There was a pause. “Hello?” she said. She held out the phone to Wes. “I think I scared them away.”
“Skelly,” he said into the phone, but there was a click as whoever was on the other end hung up.
“Sorry.”
“Nah,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I think there’s something wrong with the phone company. I was getting a lot of hangups at your place, too. If it was someone from the Team, they would’ve left a message. And Andy would’ve called on my cell. Besides, he would’ve recognized your voice.” He kissed her. “So you want to go out?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Old Town San Diego isn’t too far. We could take my bike.”
Brittany’s eyes widened. “Your motorcycle? Really?” She’d been intrigued when she saw it parked in his carport. “Do you have an extra helmet?”
“Of course.” Wes found his boots in the closet and put them on.
“Do you promise to go really slowly?”
He smiled at her. “Your wish is my command.”
WES SKELLY WAS NOT the world’s best dancer. But what he lacked in style and creativity, he made up for in enthusiasm. Besides, some men who should forever remain nameless—Quentin—flatly refused even to try to dance.
And frankly, it didn’t matter that Wes didn’t have the smoothest moves on the dance floor when he smiled at her the way he was smiling right now.
He leaned closer, so he could speak directly into Brittany’s ear, so she could hear him over the sound of the salsa band. “Do you want to get something to drink? Or—I know. There’s a place around the corner that sells ice-cream cones.”
She let him pull her from the dance floor.
The place was mobbed. Even off the dance floor, the crowd was thick. But everyone was smiling and having a good time.
As they finally moved beyond the band’s loudspeakers, she said, “You know your way around here pretty well.”
He glanced at her. “Yeah. I’ve been down here…a few times.”
“Old Town San Diego?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Somehow I wouldn’t have guessed that a historic museum village was quite your speed.”
“Yeah, well…” Was he actually blushing? “I’m interested. You know. In history. I like going to places like this.”
“Really?” She stopped walking, and someone bumped into her. “Sorry.” She pulled Wes out of the stream of traffic.
“It’s stupid, I know,” he said.
“No, it’s not,” she countered.
“Yeah, no,” he said. “I know it’s not stupid to come here. I meant, it’s stupid to keep it a secret. It’s just… I have a reputation in the teams, you know? Tattoo. Motorcycle. Profanity. I’ve been trying really hard to keep it clean around you, you know.”
“And I appreciate that,” she said. “But I don’t understand. You don’t think you’re allowed to be smart? To go places besides pool halls and bars that have wet T-shirt contests?”
He laughed. “It’s not that.” He searched for the right words. “Most guys who become SEALs are wicked ass smart. Like, you know, Harvard, he actually went to Harvard, right? I’m telling you, some of these guys are fuh—are brilliant. Even Bobby—he reads a lot. He’s always giving me book recommendations, but… See, I read really slowly. I mean, he gets through a book in like a week, and it’ll take me two months. Maybe. So I’m carrying it around for all that time, and I start to feel… I don’t know.”
“What?” she asked. “You start to feel what?”
He gazed at her, and she knew he was deciding how much he actually trusted her.
“Stupid,” he finally admitted, and her heart went into her throat. His telling her that was almost better than his saying that he loved her. Almost. “I had to work my ass off to become a chief, Britt. Bobby, he did it without blinking. All that reading and the written crap—excuse me—it was hard for me.”
“Are you dyslexic?” she asked.
“Nah,” he said. He forced a smile. “I wish I had that excuse. I’m just…slow.”
“Maybe when it comes to reading,” she said. “But the rest of time…I don’t think so, Wes. I’ve never met anyone who’s as quick witted as you are—and that translates to smart in my book. So, it’s not easy for you to read. So what? That doesn’t make you stupid. You just have to learn things other ways. Like by coming to a place like this and taking a guided tour. That way you can hear the history instead of having to plow through some dusty old book.”
His smile was more genuine now. “Yeah, I know. I watch a lot of the History Channel. And I sometimes listen to books on tape, too.”
God, he was surely telling her things he never told anyone. Probably not even his best friend, Bobby.
Now her heart wasn’t just in her throat, it was expanding and cutting off her ability to speak.
Good thing, because if she wasn’t careful, she might go ahead and tell him that she was in love with him, and falling harder every minute that they spent together.
Instead, she kissed him. She tried to kiss him even half as sweetly as he’d kissed her that first time in Amber Tierney’s house.
“I can tell you anything, and you’ll still like me, huh?” he said softly.
“Yeah,” Brittany said. “You can tell me anything, and it won’t go any further, either.”
His eyes were so blue. “It feels good,” he said. “That kind of trust. And it goes both ways, you know.”
She nodded. “I do know.” She smiled. “But I don’t have any secrets.”
“Honest?”
No. She was in love with him. But that was one hell of a big secret that she wasn’t about to share with anyone. Still…
“Okay,” she said. “You really want to hear…?�
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“Only if you trust me.”
She did, without hesitation. “If I won the lottery, I’d have a baby. I’d go to a sperm bank and, you know, make a withdrawal.”
He smiled. “That doesn’t shock or even surprise me, you know.”
“Well, gee, sorry for being so transparent.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he countered. “It’s just…maybe I’ve gotten to know you so well these past few days… But it’s kind of obvious to me that if you won the lottery you wouldn’t spend it on sports cars—except maybe the ones that you’d buy for me and your sister.”
She laughed.
“So, you’d really do it, huh? If you had the cash,” he said. “You’d willingly be a single mother?”
“Yes. Adopting Andy made me realize how precious children are—and how much I really would’ve liked to have had the experience of raising one right from the moment they were born,” she said. “And as for being a single mom—I’ve been doing it for almost seven years now. I think I’m doing okay. I mean, it seems pretty unlikely that Prince Charming’s going to come along at this point in my life, so…”
Wes looked out at the crowd and nodded. “Yeah, I guess not.”
Darn.
That was where he was supposed to push her hair back from her face and kiss her and tell her that he was her Prince Charming, and he was here to stay.
God, she was still hoping for the fairy tale happy ending.
And they lived happily ever after.
Fool.
“Kids scare me to death,” he admitted. “I helped take care of Liz and Shaun when they were born. I’m not afraid of changing diapers—that’s not what I meant. It’s just… you love them so much, and…”
“And they sometimes die on you,” Brittany said. “Like Ethan, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just like Ethan. You know, I joined the Big Brothers program a few years ago.”
She laughed. “Okay, sweetie, ten minutes ago, that would have surprised me, but it doesn’t anymore. I guess we’re even now. What made you join?”
“It was Ethan’s birthday,” he told her, “and I was feeling like crap, so… I just went in and signed up. They accepted me, and matched me with this kid—Cody Anderson. I used to bring him here, and we’d always get ice cream after wards. It was… He was a great kid. I really liked him—he was a real troublemaker—I could really relate to that. We got pretty tight pretty fast. He liked coming here. He had to pretend that the big draw was the fudge ripple, you know? But that was okay. Then his mom got remarried and they moved up to Seattle, and…I was supposed to call the office and get reassigned, but I never did. It was too…” He shook his head. “It felt a little too much like going to get a new puppy after your old puppy, you know, ran away or something.”
She hugged him. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to go all pathetic on you. I just…” He sighed. “I don’t know, Britt. I don’t think I’m cut out to have kids.”
“Well, you have plenty of time.”
Unlike a woman, whose clock ticked louder when she was approaching forty, like Brittany.
“I don’t know,” Wes said again. “I was thinking about getting a vasectomy. You know, make sure it never happens.”
Whoa. “That’s pretty drastic. Maybe you should check with Lana before you do that.”
He held her gaze silently for several long seconds. And then he looked away and laughed. “You’re like, the only person in the world who would dare to talk about that—about her, you know—to just say something right in my face like that.”
“She seems really special,” Brittany said quietly.
Wes nodded. “Yeah. But she’s never going to leave Quinn, so…”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “She actually thinks he’s only cheated on her two times.” He swore softly. “Try two hundred and two. We talked about it a little the other night, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. I just… She seemed so…I don’t know, hopeful, I guess, that he was going to change.”
“Maybe I should tell her,” Brittany suggested.
What was she, stupid? Did she actually want Wes and Lana to live happily ever after?
Yes. Someone might as well. And she loved Wes enough to want him to be happy.
“I’ll tell her,” Britt said. “I’ll talk to Harlan first, see if he knows Quinn—”
“He does,” Wes said. “But—”
“I’ll tell Lana that Harlan told me—that way she doesn’t somehow blame you. You know, death to the messenger and all that. I don’t mind if she gets mad at me and hates me forever.”
He was shaking his head. “No. Britt, I don’t want you to, okay?”
“Why not?”
He just kept on shaking his head. “Look, are we going to get ice cream, or what?”
“Think about it, sweetie,” Brittany said. “Maybe you could actually get what you want.”
“Right now I want ice cream—and a cigarette,” he told her, tugging her back into the crowd of humanity pushing its way along the sidewalk.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TROUBLE ERUPTED PRETTY much out of nowhere.
Wes was leading the way to the ice-cream shop, thinking about how much he’d really like to take a pint home. Cones were nice to eat with eleven-year-olds. But Brittany… What he really wanted was to lick a few scoops off of her gorgeous body.
Okay, down boy. She might not be in the biggest hurry to rush back to his place—not after having that heavy duty conversation about Lana.
God, he didn’t know what to think. And then he stopped thinking as two high school kids faced off right in the middle of the crowd, directly behind them.
“You looking at my girlfriend? Who told you you could look at my girlfriend?”
Idiot One pushed Idiot Two hard in the chest, and just like that sides were drawn. Every kid wearing colors in the crowd appeared out of nowhere. Real violence hadn’t exploded yet, but it was just a matter of time before it did.
Wes let go of Brittany’s hand. “Go down these stairs, cross the street and take the first right. I’ll meet you over there. Move as fast as you can, all right?”
“Be careful,” she said.
“Yeah.” He started for the pair of idiots. “Hey!” But it was already too late.
Idiot One launched himself at Idiot Two.
And just like that, they were in the middle of a fricking brawl.
Crap.
He shouldn’t have left Brittany to try to play hero. He pushed his way through the crowd, trying to get back to her as quickly as he could.
And saw her lose her footing and tumble down the stairs.
“Brittany!”
There were people in front of her, so she couldn’t have fallen all the way, but he saw her go down. And she didn’t get up again.
It took him twenty seconds longer than he wanted to get to her. Twenty terrifying seconds of icy fear.
Was she getting trampled by this crowd? Had she hit her head when she fell? Where the hell was she?
Twenty year-long seconds later, when he finally reached the stairs, she was sitting up, thank you Lord God Jesus. Someone—God bless them—had helped her move to the side of the stairs. Although, she was holding her head with one hand.
“God, baby, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she told him as someone hurrying down the stairs past them smacked her in the back of her head with their backpack.
“Watch it!” Wes growled, turning quickly back to Britt, protecting her with his body. He wasn’t big enough to block her completely from the crowd though, and he silently cursed his mother’s side of the family for giving him the five foot eight gene instead of the one from his father that would’ve made him six-four.
“I hit my head on something,” Brittany told him, “but it’s really my ankle that’s…”
Someone else knocked into him in their haste to get down the stairs,
and Wes scooped Brittany up and swiftly carried her away from the crowd, away from the fighting idiots.
His heart was still racing and adrenaline was still surging through his system, and if he’d needed to, he could have carried her all the way back to L.A. without slowing down.
“I’m okay,” she said as they rounded a corner. “My ankle’s just… It’s just a slight sprain. I’m sure—”
“There’s a first aid station not far from here,” he told her shortly. “I’m taking you over there.”
“Oh, Wes, please, I just want to go home. I know what they’re going to tell me. Ice and elevation. I’m going to be fine.”
“Humor me,” he said.
Two police cars, sirens wailing and lights spinning, passed them, heading toward the fight.
“Ouch,” Brittany said. “Ow, ow, ow! Put me down, put me down!”
Hastily, he lowered her to the ground, the fear returning instantly. She’d injured her neck. She had internal bleeding. The possibilities were endless. “What hurts?” he asked, slipping even further into Navy SEAL Chief mode. “Where? Show me.” Fear was always pushed aside in favor of action and efficiency.
“Nothing,” she said. “Nowhere. I just wanted you to put me down.”
He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, because when he did, some words came out that he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ever use in front of her. But instead of recoiling in horror, she put her arms around him.
“Oh, honey, I’m okay,” she said into his ear as she held him tightly. “I’m a little shaken and I’m going to have some bruises, but I’m really okay.”
He held her just as close. “I saw you fall. And all I could think of were those stories about people who get trampled to death at rock concerts.”
“I’m okay,” she said again and kissed him.
Relief plus adrenaline plus a kiss like the one she gave him equaled a physical reaction that she couldn’t miss.
“Oh, baby,” she said, pulling back to look at him, amusement in her eyes. “You really do want to rescue me, don’t you?”