by Kristy Marie
“Sit down,” I scold her, pulling on her tight as shit shorts. “I can’t see with you jumping around in front of me. Video games were meant to be played sitting down.”
Breck pulls against my hold and remains standing, tossing me a cocky look over her shoulder. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Major.”
Is she serious?
Me? A spoilsport? Eh, maybe. But fuck!
Can her ass not look so fucking edible while she swishes it in front of my face as her guy rushes the next forty? No wonder I’m fucking losing. I’m distracted as hell.
“I’m not being a spoilsport,” I say, pulling her down again. This time she sits on the edge of the couch, next to me, and huffs out a breath. I cock a brow in response to her attitude and she laughs. “I seriously can’t see the TV,” I tell her.
“You seriously are down fourteen points. Your QB has eaten more grass than Killer.”
How do I argue with that? Especially when she widens her eyes and flashes me a genuine smile that deepens the perfect dimple in her cheek.
“You talk a lot of smack for someone who falls down the stairs on a daily basis.”
The smile she was sporting plummets and I almost feel bad for saying it. Yeah, I hear that catastrophe every morning when she stumbles down the stairs. Why she doesn’t take her socks off, I’ll never know.
“Well, you suck at hand-eye coordination. What rank were you again?”
Obviously, I didn’t hurt her feelings that bad for her to retaliate so quickly. The challenge sparkling in her eyes conjures up something inside me. Something like … need. The old Cade would have snatched the controller out of her hand and put her on her knees for a proper apology. The old Cade would want the new Cade to flip her over his knee and blister her ass until her laughter turns into moans.
But the new Cade wins out and faces forward, trying to reclaim his man card by intercepting her quarterback’s pass.
“Suck on that!” I shout.
It occurs to me then that I don’t even know her last name. Around here, and in the military, we refer to each other by last name more often than first name.
“What’s your last name?” I ask her, never taking my eyes off the screen as my guy weaves through her safeties.
Breck pauses the game, and I whine.
“Why?” She looks oddly nervous about answering the question. It’s just her last name, not her social security number.
“Uh, because I don’t know it. I think most employers know their employees’ last names. The bank prefers both names, usually.”
Breck lets out a fake laugh and fiddles with her controller. “It’s Bennett.”
Bennett.
The name pierces my chest as if she had just stabbed me.
His name still haunts my dreams. Right alongside Drew, Parker, Lewis, and Kyle.
“Are you giving up?” she taunts me, shoving her elbow into my side, pulling me from thoughts of the past.
I swallow down the memory of the nineteen-year-old kid I once knew and shove her back. “No one is quitting, Bennett. Let’s finish this.”
It’s Breck’s turn to be quiet as she studies her controller, digesting my comment. Is it from calling her by her last name or from being too candid? I’m so off and on with her she probably has whiplash trying to keep up with my mood swings.
Ignoring her has proven difficult. Each day she draws me in and chips away at the wall I’ve worked on building for the past five and a half years. I try so hard to keep her out but she keeps at me with her soft curves and smiles that could literally join warring nations.
This woman is my kryptonite.
The jelly to my peanut butter.
And I’m fucked.
Because as often as I deny myself of her presence, I still feel her. When she’s in bed at night, typing away on her laptop, I fantasize about what those fingers would feel like drifting under my sweats, across the swell of my boxers. I want to know what she tastes likes when she dances to some ridiculous song while she cooks, dipping her finger in the food when she thinks no one is looking. When she gazes at me like she knows all my secrets and still stands beside me, I want to take it all.
Everything.
I want everything she’s willing to give and everything she’s going to make me work for.
For the first time in years, I want to be greedy and take what I’ve been denying myself.
“Better move that ass, Jameson. Your guy is going down in three, two …”
Breck takes a cheap shot and un-pauses the game, immediately intercepting my guy from the ten-yard line and wins the fucking game with a touchdown of her own.
She springs from the sofa and tosses her controller beside me like she made the touchdown instead of the animated character on the screen. Like a siren, she sways in front of me, grinning.
“Looks like I’m the winner, Major Jameson.”
The air conditioner must be out because it’s hot in this living room. And it gets even hotter when she laughs and pokes my chest with her pink-coated fingernail.
“Are you going to congratulate—”
I blame it on the heat and her scent. Thick and sweet, it invaded my senses and I couldn’t take it. I launch myself from the sofa, clutching that taunting finger in my hand, and yank her flush against my chest.
I’m fucking panting, she’s got me so worked up.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I’m going to hell on the express train.
Instead of answering her breathy question, I grind the steel fucking rod in my pants along her stomach. She gasps and I don’t miss the opening.
My mouth descends on her, my tongue sweeping in and silencing any further bullshit remarks she might have made. Her bottom lip rubs against the stubble along my face and I hold her still, palming the back of her head. I suck that pouty bottom lip, savoring the unique taste of Breck. Her free hand goes to my shoulder and squeezes down the side of my arm, gripping my bicep. My dick throbs painfully in my pants, and I can’t get enough, exploring every crevice that makes up the smart-ass mouth of hers.
I taste it all.
Until the front door slams.
I jump back first, pushing her away and scanning the room for any prying eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Breck mumbles out quickly like it was her damn fault. Her eyes dart to the floor as if she is ashamed.
She shouldn’t be.
I’m the one who should be tied up to a tree for a good lashing. This beautifully sweet woman wanted to kiss me and I freaked the fuck out, pushing her away like she was a virus.
I need my ass beat. Hard.
Inhaling, I try calming the fuck down so I can focus on not acting like a dickhead, but it’s too late.
The new Cade buries the protests of the old Cade and I do the right thing by this girl. She deserves better than me. She deserves someone able to love her. Not me, who can’t even love himself.
With a strength I don’t want to use, I meet Breck’s pleading eyes and beg for the last time. “Please let me take you home.”
She doesn’t flip me off like I expect her to. Instead, she makes a small noise and nods. “Okay.” She sighs and gives me a fake smile. “I think it’s time. Give me thirty minutes to pack?”
My Adam’s apple bobs but I stick to my decision. “Sure.”
Her lip quivers and it’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to beat my own ass. She turns and heads up the stairs to her room when Hayes pokes his head around the wall.
It’s hard to tell if he wants to punch me in the face or hold me down for Breck to do it.
Honestly, I would let either of them do it.
I’m a cold-hearted bastard.
It’s been two days since I took her home.
I tried asking Hayes if he’s heard from her, but he’s pissed and won’t tell me if he’s spoken with her. I want to know if she’s okay. I haven’t slept since she left, replaying our kiss over and over. I’m having a nagging sensation I fucked up royally, keeping me from resting more than u
sual.
Breck wouldn’t even speak on the way to the orchard. She sprang from the passenger side of the truck so fast I couldn’t even open the door for her. With a half-assed wave, she hopped in the bed of the truck and struggled to toss her suitcase to the ground.
I tried to help.
Insisted even.
But she made up some bullshit about me doing too much for her already.
So I stood at my truck like a douche, watching as she dragged her heavy suitcase along the gravel, waving a hand behind her shoulder and then flipping me off as she closed the door behind her.
She was officially done with me.
I should feel happy, but I don’t. I feel like I have the flu.
My head hurts and my body aches. The only bright side to this shit-tastic morning is that Anniston and Theo are coming home. Thank God. I could use a few days to not think. To be told what to do and when. My brain needs something to think about, other than Breck.
“So how did it go with Breck?”
Anniston is snuggled in one of the patio chairs with her legs tucked under her and a cup of decaf coffee, wasting no time getting to the inquisition. After she cried and hugged us all, making sure we were all in one piece, she made a pot of coffee and asked me to join her outside.
“It went okay,” I say, taking a seat in the chair next to her.
“Just okay? You didn’t pick up any cooking skills you want to show me?”
My brow arches and I hope she can see the bullshit look I give her. Her intent with Breck was not to teach me how to cook. I know as much as the next man.
Anniston meets my expression, her forehead wrinkled with how high her brows are arched. She knows I’m not being forthcoming with her.
“What did you do?” she asks, sighing after a moment, leaning back in her chair as if she’s settling in for a long story.
I pop up out of my chair, my temper igniting from all the pent-up frustration over the last forty-eight hours.
“I was an asshole, okay! Is that what you want to hear?”
I pace around the patio, ten seconds from a meltdown, pulling at my hair before kicking the football Vic left out. I go through a myriad of sounds but none of them makes me feel any better.
It’s quiet when I finally turn around and face Anniston who has a stupid ass smile on her face.
It pisses me off.
“Why are you fucking smiling?” I grit out, fighting to keep from yelling and acting like an even bigger asshole than I already am.
My question only makes her smile bigger.
“Commander!” I yell, not able to hold it any longer.
Anniston chuckles. “Why, Major, I believe this girl has gotten in your head.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No.” There is no fucking way Breck is in my head. On my nerves maybe, but not in my head.
Anniston continues to smile at me like she knows something I don’t. “Huh,” she muses.
What the fuck is “huh” supposed to mean?
We’re silent after that, Anniston sipping on her coffee, staring out into the night, me pacing ruts in the grass. The cicadas are out, humming their rhythm. It’s peaceful in a world full of chaos. I pace for a few more minutes, willing myself to settle down and find neutral ground with Anniston.
“Where’s Theo?”
“He and Hayes are having dinner with a new prospect.”
I only saw Theo long enough for him to say, “I see you didn’t get laid. How pathetic.” After that, he and Hayes holed up in my office and then disappeared. I assumed it had something to do with their latest prospect for the Atlanta A’s.
“Hmm.” I say, not sure where I was heading with the conversation. I flop down onto the chair next to Anniston, huffing out a breath. “I kissed her,” I admit into the darkness.
I don’t see Anniston turn in her chair but I hear her.
“Oh?” she breathes.
I nod, not sure if I want to reveal any more.
“And was it good?”
I inhale another deep breath, readying myself for the tongue-lashing coming my way.
“I freaked out afterwards,” I say, shame coating every word like a dirty blanket over pristine sheets. “I pushed her away.”
“Well, maybe she’s into guys that play hard to get.” Anniston’s teasing tone snaps my head up from its pity party.
“Don’t joke,” I scold her. “This is serious, Commander. She may never come back.”
Anniston snorts out a laugh. “She’ll be back.”
My blood pressure rises and my face flames with embarrassment. “You don’t know that,” I say rudely, way more pissed at the idea of Breck never returning than I should be.
Anniston stares at me with a glint in her eyes, a smile peeking over her coffee mug. It’s the same smile she gives me when I do something that makes her proud. The question is, why is she giving it now?
“I know. She’ll be back. Then you’ll grovel and beg for forgiveness,” she says.
I stare at her, open-mouthed.
“What freaked you out, Gorgeous?” she continues like she didn’t just rock my world with her assuredness.
I shrug and swipe a hand through my hair. Sighing, I admit, “I don’t know. It caught me by surprise, I think.”
Anniston nods before grabbing her book off the side table and standing up. “Well, now you won’t be surprised.” She pinches my cheek before placing a kiss over the sting. “Goodnight, Cade.”
She leaves through the sliding glass doors, and I’m left alone in the dark to deal with my demons and lies. Kissing Breck didn’t catch me off-guard. What caught me off-guard was that I wanted more. I would have taken more had someone not opened the door.
The truth is, I need Breck.
And that scares the fuck out of me.
I’m an asshole, I text Breck.
Within a minute she responds, I agree.
After my talk with Anniston, I felt like I needed to apologize to Breck, not grovel as Anniston suggested. I disagree with that approach wholeheartedly. Apologizing seems a little less pussy than groveling. But maybe girls like it? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never even apologized to a woman other than Anniston.
I’ve never had a girlfriend.
The military was my girl. I lived for the adrenaline. For the adventure. For the honor. My dick was the only one with a weakness for a woman. Okay fine, I admit I enjoyed the hell out of it, too, but it was only ever sex for me. I never wanted to get to know them or meet their parents. I just wanted a wet hole, and I didn’t even care what hole it was.
I was simple like that.
I text her back, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was inappropriate.
Are you serious? I kissed you back! We’re adults. It wasn’t inappropriate, she fires back.
I’m not sure that texting her was the right course of action, given her curt responses. I won’t admit that I’m good with women. I never have been.
Why do you hate me so much? she asks.
Oh God. Is that how she feels? That I hate her? I don’t hate her. Far from it. I want her so much that I hate myself. I don’t hate you.
Three dots appear, showing she’s typing. Why is my stomach cramping? Am I nervous?
Then why did you ask me to leave every day?
Because I’m an asshole and don’t express myself very well is what I should say. But I go with a slight variation of the truth. You make me nervous.
Why? Is her only response.
My hand cramps from texting, something I’m definitely not used to doing for so long. Can we talk? In person? Tomorrow?
I want to talk to her about as much as I want to talk to the psychologist Ans makes me go to a few times a year. But I’m not a dick and I like Breck. Probably too much, and I don’t want her to think the reason for my behavior is her. It’s definitely me.
She still hasn’t texted back, and it’s probably for the best. It’s easier for her to think that I hate her and not that I really like her but
won’t allow myself to form an attachment.
Anniston was the only exception.
She saved my life.
After waiting a few minutes without a response, I turn on the TV and find myself watching one of the movies Breck recorded—Kickass. I laugh out loud at a few scenes, and before I realize it, I’ve watched the entire thing. It’s well past midnight and I need sleep. Theo will be up and ready for a run in a few hours. Most of the time, I can fall asleep to the TV, but for some reason, what I crave tonight is the sound of Breck typing on her laptop. The repetition of her nightly blogging lulls me to sleep better than anything I’ve ever tried.
And I fucking need it desperately.
I roll over and check my phone to see if she’s texted back. She hasn’t, and knowing she had to think about meeting me hurts more than it should.
Great job, Cade. Now you’ll have to explain to Hayes and the rest of the guys why she won’t ever come around again.
My shoulders tense up and my body craves a run due to the anxiety coursing through me. I should sleep. Try to keep my body in a normal rhythm. Most nights, I force myself to sleep early and then I can stay awake if I need to in the wee hours of the morning, but at least I will have gotten some rest.
I pull the covers over my legs and punch my pillow a few good times before I lie back and stare at the ceiling. It’s going to be a long night.
I try remembering the way the key strokes sound but it doesn’t do the trick. Counting sheep or bullets doesn’t either. I’m definitely not going to go ask Ans for a sleeping pill, but honestly, I could use one right now.
After an hour of counting the blade rotations on the fan, frustration gets the better of me. I roll over with a groan, and when my phone chimes, I yell into the pillow. I spring out of bed as if my life depended on it, grabbing my phone.
Sure.
Fucking sure. I can deal with sure. I get back in bed with a grin on my face that I’ll never admit to and debate what to text back or if I should text back at all.
I’m going to text her back. It’s not like I’m sleeping.
Are you writing a review right now?
Her response is almost immediate. Yeahhhh …why?
I feel like a giddy teenager. I watched Kickass tonight. I give it four stars.
