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She pouts prettily. “I’m nineteen. Technically old enough to die for my country like you, so I think I should be old enough to drink alcohol.”
I size her up, and then her shoulders slump as she finally confesses, “Actually, I hate the taste of beer anyway.”
I chuckle at that, and then I go quiet as I wonder who gave her a beer before. Was it another guy? Did he kiss her? Touch her? My grip tightens aroudn my beer as I try to tamp down the sudden jealousy that pumps through me at the thought of another man’s hands on her.
Instead, I discreetly study her. Her cherubic face with puffy pink lips. The slight blush to her cheeks. The way her long brown hair sways with each movement she makes.
We settle into a comfortable silence, leaning side by side against the cool granite. She sips her drink, and I can't help but notice the way her throat moves, the soft curve of her lips. Damn, this is not the little girl I left behind.
"Your stories are insane," she says after a beat, her eyes wide with wonder. "You've really lived."
"Something like that," I say with a chuckle, the memory of danger and adrenaline still a shadow in my mind. But it's different now, sharing it with her. It feels almost cleansing.
"Would you do it all over again?" she asks, tilting her head, the brown locks tumbling over her shoulder.
"Every damn day," I answer without hesitation. But as I look at her, something inside me shifts, suggesting that maybe there's more to life than what I've known.
The hours slip by unnoticed, dusk turning to evening, the room bathed in the warm glow of sunset. We're nestled on the couch now, Jake monopolizing the conversation with tales of local drama, but Molly and I, we're in our own little world.
Our knees touch, just barely, but it's like a fire's lit between us. I sneak a glance at her, and find her already looking my way, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. I return it, my heart thudding a wild rhythm.
As the night deepens, shadows play across Molly's face, giving her this ethereal beauty that's hard to ignore. My eyes keep darting to her, like she's a magnet and I'm just a pile of iron shavings. There's an unspoken conversation happening in those stolen glances, questions and answers we're both too hesitant to voice out loud.
"More stories, Tanner?" Molly's voice is softer now, almost intimate. And hell, if I could, I'd spin tales until the sun comes up just to keep her looking at me that way. But I hold back because there's something terrifying about this, about how much I want to spill my guts to her.
"Maybe another time," I say, the words thick in my throat. "Don't wanna bore you with war stories all night."
"Impossible," she whispers, and the promise in her eyes is something fierce.
We share another secret smile, and yeah, I'm screwed. Because every look, every innocent touch, is cracking open the door to something I'm not sure I'm ready for. But right now, I let myself bask in the warmth of her presence, the night young and full of possibilities.
I inch closer to the edge of the couch, my body tensed as if I'm preparing for an unseen enemy. The tangle in my gut tightens with each laugh that Molly's voice sends echoing through the room. She's sitting there, cross-legged on the armchair, her eyes lighting up with every anecdote Jake and I toss into the air, and it's like watching a live wire spark—dangerous but impossible to look away from.
"Damn, you've really turned this place around, Jake," I comment, throwing a glance around the room, trying to distract myself from the girl who's occupying too much of my mental real estate.
"Thanks, man. It was a helluva project, but worth it." Jake beams, proud as punch. But his words are background noise because my attention snaps back to Molly as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers delicate and precise.
“Dad would be proud,” she says softly, and we all sober. Their dad might as well have been my own. I spent more time here at their house than I did my own parents’ growing up. I remember the day I got the letter from Jake telling me of his heart attack.
"Yeah, he would have," I affirm, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
My inner battle rages like a storm at sea. I'm caught between wanting to dive headfirst into whatever this thing with Molly could be and anchoring myself to the shore for Jake's sake. I mean, she's his sister. Off-limits should be my middle name, but the way she tilts her head when she laughs shreds my reservations to bits.
"Hey, Tanner, you're awfully quiet over there," Molly teases, her eyes twinkling like stars I've navigated by in darker times. "Lost at sea?"
"Something like that," I reply, forcing a laugh that feels like it scrapes against my throat. It's not a total lie. I'm adrift alright, lost in the depth of her gaze.
"Thinking about your next adventure?" she probes gently, leaning forward ever so slightly, and the space between us feels charged with something electric.
"Maybe," I breathe out, and my words hang heavy in the room. There's truth there, an admission that goes beyond what I'm willing to explore.
I catch Jake's eye for a moment, searching for any sign that he sees through me, that he knows his best friend is dangerously close to crossing a line. But Jake just winks and turns to grab another round of beers from the fridge, clueless to the silent storm brewing inside me.
As I steal another glance at Molly, my eyes linger a touch too long on the curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her neck. And damn it, I want to taste every inch of that skin, map it out like uncharted territory.
"Tell me about the ocean," Molly whispers, almost as if she's reading my thoughts, her voice a siren's call.
And I'm thinking, fuck it, let's drown.
