by Zoe York
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.
— 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 teaching, 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.”
They placed their orders, then settled into a booth along the far wall.
Then they stared at each other for a minute.
Trick didn’t get nervous with women, but now he found himself unexpectedly tongue-tied. He didn’t really have a clear end-game in mind. He didn’t expect Gaby to invite him back to her place—not tonight, or probably ever—but he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“So…” Gaby ran her finger along her side of the table. “Trick. Is that a nickname?”
“Short for Patrick.” He watched her absorb that, her lips silently saying his whole name. He didn’t love his name, hence the short-form, but all of a sudden, he wanted to hear it roll off her lips. “How about Gaby?”
“Gabrielle.”
He repeated it, and she shrugged. “It doesn’t really suit me.”
“I like it. I like Gaby, too.”
“I guess you’re not really a Patrick, either?” An adorable little frown formed between her eyebrows. “I mean, is that why you go by Trick?”
He could fill in the unspoken parts of the question. Patrick was a serious, mature name, heavy with tradition. Trick wasn’t heavy with anything, except now he felt like his playful nickname might be loaded with a million reasons why Gaby wouldn’t be interested in him.
Instead of answering, he glanced toward the counter, and seeing that their sandwiches were ready, excused himself.
A mistake, because when he came back, she had her guard up. She dug into her sandwich, politely ending the awkward-conversation part of their encounter.
Wasn’t that the sum total of all of their encounters to date? What would it take to bust through to the other side?
He ate as well, because a snack was always good, and food might help him think.
Quietly they sat there, and it wasn’t as awkward as talking. It was kind of nice. She kept glancing up at him, and after a few brief looks, started smiling as she slid her gaze over his face. Then she bit her lip, and his dick stirred.
Maybe silence would be their thing. He could do a lot in the quiet. He crooked a grin at her, and she laughed, a lovely, lilting sound.
Shifting in the booth, he took the excuse of having a big body and long legs to stretch out under the table, sliding his calves on either side of hers.
They sat like that, the outside of her legs pressing against the inside of his, until their sandwiches were gone.
Gaby tilted her head, first to the right, then to the left, and finally leaned across the table. “You’ve got a little sauce right here,” she whispered, brushing her thumb against the corner of his mouth.
The innocent touch sent a bolt of desire straight to his balls. She froze, her fingers still touching him. He jerked his gaze to meet hers. Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted…she felt it, too.
Ever so slowly, she pulled her hand back, wiping her fingers on the napkin. Still she stared at him, and he stared back. Time slowed, background noises faded, and it was just the two of them.
Pretty, awkward Gaby, and the idiot who had slept with her roommate. He was going to make that a non-issue, but it wouldn’t happen tonight, or any night soon. He needed to dial his lust back a billion points.
That would be easier if she stopped looking at his mouth.
Fortunately, a crowd of teenagers came in and broke the spell. Unfortunately, once it was broken, Gaby was done. “I should get going,” she said quietly, grabbing her messenger bag.
“I’ll walk you out to your car.” He slid out of the booth and stood, waiting for her. As she adjusted her bag, he spied a bowl of plastic-wrapped mints on the counter, and sauntered over to grab two. No particular reason, he told himself, which was a complete lie.
If he got a chance to kiss her goodnight, he was going to take it, and he didn’t want it to taste like tahini.
She took the offered candy with a small smile and popped it into her mouth.
After exiting the restaurant, they stopped just outside the door, and she stared at her car.
“This was nice,” he said quietly as he brushed his arm against her shoulder. She was easily a foot shorter than him, but she didn’t seem small. She had this inner strength which radiated out of her. He wanted to spend more time soaking that up. “We should do it again.”
“Next week?” She kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead.
“How about Saturday night?”
“Shawarma Saturday sounds like fun.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“I’m pretty sure you’d rather go to The Wave on Saturday night.”
“Okay, let’s do that.”
She pressed her lips together, another attempt at repressing a smile. Another failure.
“No?”
“No.” She laughed. “Trick, what are you doing?”
He slid his hand over the small curve of her upper arm and turned her so they faced each other. “I’m asking you out.” He leaned in, curving his body over hers. “On a date.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she breathed, mint and doubt mingling in the air between them. The lights from the row of shops beside them reflected in her eyes as she tipped her face up to his.
God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to haul her hard against his body and cup her ass in his hands, kiss her until she was breathless and couldn’t remember her roommate’s name, let alone the fact that Trick had bumped uglies with the other woman.
But there wouldn’t be any hauling, or grabbing. No, from the look on Gaby’s face, he was about to be shot down.
She lifted her hands and pressed them to his chest. He flexed under her touch because he couldn’t help himself, and she sucked in a breath. Good. At least he wasn’t being rejected because she found him hideous.
“This is crazy,” she whispered, biting her lip.
“That sounds like a yes,” he rumbled. He was totally posturing, playing the alpha male. He didn’t care. She brought it out in him—not that it was ever far from the surface. Trick liked to get his own way.
Success was the only option.
She traced the faded Avengers logo on his t-shirt before stepping back.
“Not a date,” she said quietly. “But lunch, maybe?”
“A lunch date. I like it.” He winked as she shook her head and laughed. He pulled his card out of his pocket, his cell phone number already scribbled on it. “Here. Text me. Or my email address is on there, too. Let me know the best way to contact you. Should I pick you up?”
Her head shook quickly. Damn. “I’ll meet you wherever we decide to go.”
“’Kay.” At some point, he was going to want to pick her up. At some point, they’d have to settle that issue and put it behind them. How, though…fuck if he knew.
He dropped hi
s gaze to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her goodnight in the worst way. She offered him another of her small smiles. Nice, but missing something. And then she licked her lips, and even though they were saying goodbye, his blood flowed to the most unhelpful of places.
“Good night, Patrick,” she said, ever so quietly, and turned quickly, moving to her car.
Damn. Just like that—pow. She destroyed him. Maybe he liked his name after all.
He watched her drive off, then headed home.
In the shower, he thought about the way her cheeks turned pink, and the way she bit her lower lip. His cock thickened against his thigh, then crawled up his belly as he imagined Gaby perched on top of him. Naked.
Jesus Christ. He groaned and took himself in hand, slowly. He wanted this fantasy to last until he was stretched out in his bed and could imagine her curled up on top of him, rocking her wet pussy against him, whispering about how it wasn’t a date. Scowling at him as he slid deep inside her, that sharp little look making him hard as nails. Her tongue licking the corner of his mouth the same way her thumb had. The way she said his name. His given name that no one else ever used. Patrick.
His release hovered right there, his balls tight and his primal brain taking over, but Trick made himself ease back. He needed more of Gaby. He needed her to tuck him into bed. He turned off the shower, drying himself off as he padded through his pitch-black room, crawling under the covers naked with just his towel.
He imagined her kissing up his spine. Wishful thinking. But the slide of her cool hand over his side, wrapping underneath his hand to stroke with him…that felt real enough in his lusty haze to do the job.
He groaned her name as he stroked himself faster, harder, right to the edge of pain. He rode the edge into the darkness, spurting into the towel as he tipped his head back, eyes pressed tightly shut.
— FOUR —
The next morning, Gaby slammed the kitchen cupboard door shut a little harder than was necessary. She sloshed water into the coffee maker, glowered at the toaster, and thought seriously about calling into work sick because her mood was not fit for children. Or any other human beings.
