by Zoe York
Maybe while Miles was overseas he could temporarily indulge…
He frowned.
No. While Miles and the rest of their team were overseas, he’d be concentrating on work. Doing his fucking job, supporting them however he could, and filling in where the other teams needed help.
And just like that, the good post-sex relaxation was gone.
He should be overseas with them. It was his fucking turn in the sandbox. But he wouldn’t be there because he couldn’t fucking sleep and couldn’t keep his stupid blood pressure under control on a medical.
Panic attacks.
The medical staff had talked all the way around PTSD without actually naming it, because he’d made it clear there was no way he’d wear that label. He was fine. Just a bit stressed. And there were ways to deal with that and still function in the job.
So far, his commanding officer was being supportive. One tour staying behind. A training rotation, they were calling it.
Once. He’d get a free pass once. If he didn’t get his head sorted out and his health under control, he knew his days as a Navy SEAL would be numbered.
That wasn’t an acceptable option.
Lila started when she came running out of the bathroom, hair damp, fully dressed in what looked like a waitress uniform. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“I’m going, no worries.”
“Uhm…” She made a face. “Okay.”
“Yeah.”
Fuck him. These random hook-ups had to stop.
He gave her a three-minute head start, and when the apartment sounded safely quiet, he got up, used her private bathroom to freshen up, then finished dressing and went to find his boots, which he vaguely remembered kicking off in the living room.
They weren’t beside or in front of the couch. He leaned over the oversized armchair, wondering if they’d been tossed further than his vague recollection indicated.
From behind him, an unfamiliar female voice cleared her throat, then asked, “Looking for your boots?”
Gaby asked the question gently, but it still sounded abrupt in the quiet of the apartment. She actually hadn’t realized anyone was still here.
The oversized man Lila had brought home the night before—the one with the size thirteen boots she’d tripped over this morning, and the super-fine butt she was trying really hard not to ogle—stood up with unexpected grace and turned around slowly.
“You must be the roommate,” he said as he twisted. His eyebrows pulled together when he got a good look at her. “Oh. Hi.”
“Uhm, hi.” She smiled politely. “And you must be Lila’s date from last night. I put your boots by the door earlier.” Which you can use any time now, because I have marking to do in peace and quiet.
“Thanks.” He glanced in that direction, but he didn’t move. Instead, he looked at her again, frowning this time. “You were at the bar last night.”
She had been, for a while, but when her friends hit the dance floor, she’d come home and gone to bed. Early and alone, as usual. If this guy hadn’t slept with her roommate, she’d appreciate that he’d noticed her. But since he had… “What bar?”
“The Wave.” He frowned again. “I’m sure you were there. Red t-shirt, hair in a ponytail with…” He pointed to the sides of his chiseled face. “Loose bits of hair around your face.”
She could feel her face turning red as she shook her head. “You must be mistaken.”
He stared at her for a second, then nodded. “Okay, my bad. Well, see you around.”
She watched him cover the short distance to the door in a couple of long strides, then shove his boots on his extra-large feet, quickly check his pockets—left front, back right, back left. It looked like an unconscious routine, the way he patted himself for all his valuables. He’d probably left something behind after a one-night stand before and it had become super awkward.
Ugh. She hated the judgemental edge to that thought. And she shouldn’t think about him, or his routines, or anything like that. Spinning on her heel, she practically ran to her room, trying like hell not to listen for the click of the door. Not to think about the strange man with the sharp brown eyes and extra-soft lips her roommate would probably never think about again.
Gaby didn’t begrudge Lila for having fun. If Gaby was smart, she’d stop thinking so damn hard and have more fun herself.
Getting out of her head, though…easier said than done.
Chapter Two
Gaby love-hated Thursdays. She’d agreed to teach a course at San Diego State because the extra money would help her finally pay off the last bit of her student loans, but the race from work to the college meant dinner was always on the run—or skipped entirely—and then she invariably found herself starving at quarter to ten at night.
On the other hand, she was using her master’s degree in education for something other than wiping sticky fingers and mediating Lego fights. She wouldn’t trade her job teaching kindergarten for anything in the world, but five- and six-year-olds didn’t appreciate her in-depth grasp of primary education pedagogy.
Less than two months to go, she told herself as she parked in front of Sammy’s Shawarma. Six more weeks of late-night, junk-food dinners on Thursday nights. And then she’d have the summer term off, and could re-evaluate whether or not being a part-time instructor was for her.
Maybe she’d do something crazy in the summer, like actually date boys.
A group of guys was already in line, so she pulled out her phone and checked her email. She’d assigned a group project, and from the grumpy looks on her students’ faces when she left, she expected to find a bunch of questions already.
She was right. Sigh.
“What do you mean you don’t like hot sauce on your shawarma, man?” The guy right in front of her pushed his friend, who pushed him back—right into Gaby.
“Hey,” she said quietly, putting her hand up to block the bump.
“Nothing says I must eat what you eat, Jase.”
Gaby froze. She knew that rough, warm voice. You must be the roommate. Itchy, embarrassed heat flooded her torso and started to crawl up her neck. She ducked her head even further, curtaining her face with her hair. Maybe she should go. No, her stomach protested. Maybe they would order and she could keep her head down and—
“Ooof!” Gaby’s phone flew out of her hand as a big, heavy, male body thudded against her, and this time she didn’t see it coming. No sooner had the stunned sound been ripped from her lungs than a different male body was at her side.
“Are you okay? Sorry, we were just goofing around.” The last word echoed something else he’d said, something she hadn’t been able to get out of her head this week. Loose bits of hair around your face.
Staring at the floor, her face now flaming, she nodded roughly. She was fine. Had she been paying attention instead of hiding from the threat of this encounter, the collision wouldn’t have happened at all. It was totally her own fault—on more than one level, because she would be the only one who’d think this was awkward.
“Hey,” he said softly, handing over her phone. “We’re sorry.”
That was nice—genuinely nice—but it rubbed her the wrong way. She was embarrassed, not wounded. He didn’t need to talk to her like she was a frightened deer.
Well, that’s how you’re acting.
She took a deep breath and looked up. “I’m fine.”
Recognition dawned immediately, his dark eyes lifting in understanding. “And so we meet again.”
“And so we do.”
Behind him, the guy at the counter indicated the mens’ sandwiches were ready. She cleared her throat and pointed. He glanced away, pulling out his wallet, but after handing a twenty to his friend, he slid his gaze firmly back to her face. “I still don’t know your name.”
She hesitated. “Gaby.”
“Nice to see you again, Gaby.” He leaned in just a hair as he said her name, his voice dropping half a register into decidedly sexy territory.
; So she did the only thing that made sense. She scowled at him. He was clearly a player, and she wasn’t…playing material. But from the confused look on his face, maybe he wasn’t being gross. No. She re-wound his words. She was just being crazy. She offered him a weak smile that she couldn’t quite make reach her eyes. She was too tired.
He laughed. “Or not. Well, I’m Trick. Hopefully the next time we see each other I’ll have my boots on from the get-go, and you won’t get whacked in the head, and maybe we can get past basic introductions.”
“Yeah.” She wiped the weird expression from her face and offered him a more reasonable, more realistic smile. “Hopefully.”
From the counter, someone called for next order, and she sidestepped him, concentrating on the menu hung from the ceiling.
She could feel him behind her, hesitating.
Yes, she felt it too, something strange and heavy in the air.
But before she could absorb it, analyze the possibilities and act on the potential, it started to fade. And when she turned around, he was gone.
The roommate had a name. A pretty one, to match a pretty face that fascinated him even when she scowled. For the third time in a week, he’d only had a brief glimpse of her, but this time he’d soaked up every detail: her flushed skin, her bright eyes, her blunt bangs and heavy, dark brown, shoulder-length hair that framed her delicate, angular features perfectly.
The way she wanted nothing to do with him.
It was a problem that he’d slept with Lila. He could see it written on her face. But Trick was a US Navy SEAL. Figuring out impossible problems was kind of his thing. There was no mountain too high, no ocean too deep, no terrorist fortress too heavily protected. No woman too frosty.
And Gaby wasn’t frosty toward him.
No.
She was wary, and nervous.
But not frosty.
He knew where she lived and where she got her favorite Lebanese food. It was just a matter of time before they ran into each other again.
Chapter Three
In hindsight, it should have been obvious that he was military. The boots. The muscles. That Lila had picked him up—she loved a man in uniform—and that the hook-up had happened at The Wave. The haircut, although his hair was longer than the rest of the guys he was running with.
Gaby stared at the approaching sea of testosterone, some wearing faded green t-shirts. Others, like Trick, were gloriously stripped down.
Her heart tripped over itself in a desperate attempt to thump loud enough to grab his attention. The rest of her blushed—her standard response—and slinked lower in her beach chair.
It had been two weeks since their late-night run-in at the shawarma place. She was just past the midpoint of the school term and had come to the beach for some sunshine and fresh air while she marked the midterm assignments for her adult students.
She slipped on the hood of her sweatshirt and dug her sunglasses out of her bag. She was a warm-blooded woman and would allow herself a little gawking, as long as it was safely anonymous.
Trick was at the head of the pack as they ran past, and her eyes greedily gobbled up the front-row view of his body in action. He twisted away from her to talk to a younger man next to him, encouragement it sounded like, and his shorts dipped low on his hips, revealing a vee of muscle she’d only seen on Pinterest and in her dreams.
She bit her lip as the herd thundered past, all thighs and pumping arms, sweat glistening in all the right places. The beach had just become her favorite place—despite being a born-and-bred California girl, she normally avoided sun and sand because the combination usually required a bathing suit. And that would mean regular bikini waxes and spending a small fortune on sunscreen to cover all her skin, when clothes took care of both problems for a lot less.
But the beach in the spring, when the only people who bared skin were these men…and that one man in particular—the one with the sexy voice and the piercing gaze who was totally off-limits everywhere but in her dreams—yes, a springtime beach was a very good place to be. She’d come back next weekend.
As the last few runners trailed past, she ducked her head and tried to focus on the essay in front of her, but then she heard his voice. First, it was directed at the stragglers.
“Get the fuck out of your heads, right? Mind over fucking matter.” She peeked up, frowning at the harsh bark, but he was grinning proudly as the younger men sped away from him, their feet churning up the sand faster than before.
And then he turned, and pinned that grin on her.
Busted.
“Roommate Gaby.”
She couldn’t turn his name into a teasing retort, because One-Night-Stand Trick just sounded wrong. So did Hook-up Trick and… “You know, your name is really appropriate for someone who has a lot of casual sex,” she blurted out. “Or inappropriate, depending on the context.”
He walked over and dropped into the sand next to her. “Let’s just say there’s never a great context for that.”
“Sorry.” She was. He flustered her, but that was no excuse.
“Are you always like this with people your roommate sleeps with?”
No, you’re the first I’ve ever thought twice about. “Again, I’m really sorry.”
He waved his hand and stared out at the ocean. “I guess it’s a bit awkward. I haven’t seen her again, you know. I don’t think—”
She didn’t think she needed to hear any more on that topic. “Don’t worry,” she muttered as an interjection. “I think it’s more that I’m awkward.”
He laughed gently like she amused him. It felt warm and understanding, which threw her off-kilter a bit, but he didn’t act like anything was out of order. “So last time we exchanged names. Now you know I’m in the Navy. So it’s only fair that you tell me something about yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do? Exchange pieces of information in a back-and-forth fashion?”
She knew that. She taught five-year-olds to ask those basic types of questions. And yet here she was acting like a complete idiot because she couldn’t understand why this guy was striking up a conversation with her. “Right. Again, I apologize. I’m working two jobs right now and my brain is a little fried. Can we go with that as my excuse?”
“You don’t need an excuse, but sure. What are the two jobs?”
She found herself telling him about her teaching gigs and the freelance book editing she did in the summer when school was out—a job she liked so much more than her short-lived stint as a waitress.
“See?” He grinned. “That wasn’t so hard.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. “Okay, so now it’s your turn again.” She pointed down the beach. “Don’t you have to keep up with those guys?”
“Rule number one for P.T. The guy in front can stop and talk to a pretty girl.”
She swallowed hard. “That doesn’t sound like a real rule.”
“No, but it should be.” He stood and brushed off the sand. “I’ll call it the Gaby rule. I should go and catch up with them, though. Sorry.”
Before she could respond, or even breathe, he’d started walking backward toward the hard-packed sand near the water.
“I’ll see you around,” he said with a smile, and something in her belly fluttered.
Lila’s one-night-stand had just flirted with her. Gaby might be awkward and shy, but she wasn’t stupid. And he’d called her pretty.
He’d slept with Lila, with the blonde hair and the big boobs and the non-stop smile, and then he’d flirted with her. Gaby, with none of the above.
Huh.
She watched, dumbfounded, as he took off at a dead sprint down the beach, and she had no doubt he’d catch his fellow sailors. Catch, pass, and then call them some names, smiling the whole time.
They’d probably love him for it.
Trick put two and two together, and was waiting for Gaby outside the shawarma place the next Thursday night. He went online, found the course she was t
eaching, added ten minutes for post-class pack-up and chatter, twenty minutes for driving, then showed up fifteen minutes early just in case.
It was the most effort he’d ever put into finding a woman who didn’t seem totally into him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And since that first morning when he realized she was Lila’s roommate, he hadn’t slept with anyone else.
Which also meant he hadn’t been sleeping that great.
He didn’t need sex to sleep. He could get the same hormone release from a hot shower and jacking off. But then your bed is still empty.
That was the weirdest part, this new craving for a body next to him.
Trick had always liked his bed big and empty when not in active use. Now he preferred not to be in his own bed at all. That’s where the nightmares had lived since the mission when a Kurdish kid had been killed right next to him.
But he wasn’t a dick. He couldn’t sleep with another woman when this one was on his mind.
The one who’d just climbed out of a little grey car, weariness dripping off her tired shoulders.
She slowed as she caught sight of him. “You.”
He grinned. “You.”
“This is becoming a routine.”
“Isn’t it nice?”
She pressed her lips together, but the smile escaped and lit up her face anyway.
“I was hungry, thought I might get a sandwich.” He held the door open for her. “Since you’re here, maybe we should grab a table.”
“I have to be at work at eight in the morning.”
He laughed. “I have to be at work at six.”
A look of confusion rolled over her face. “And you’re eating dinner now?”
He’d had dinner at five. Second dinner at seven. This was just a snack. “Gaby, I’m here because I wanted to see you again.”
“Oh.” Another frown, then she opened her mouth as if she was going to ask why again, but thought better of it. “Uhm, okay, a table. Sure.”
