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"Hey, I call it like I see it," he shoots back with a smirk. "And I see you, brother. Something—or rather someone— has got you wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. So, spill. Who is she? Where’d you meet her?"
"Alright, Dr. Phil," I grumble, setting the beer down with a little more force than necessary. "Thanks for the session, but I've got it under control."
"Sure, sure." He backs off, but his look tells me he's not convinced. "Just remember, I'm here if you need to talk. No judgments."
"Got it." I nod, grateful for the out even as guilt twists inside me. "Now, can we focus on the game before we miss something epic?"
"Fine by me," he agrees, but there's a flicker of concern still lingering in his gaze.
If he only knew the half of it…
* * *
I'm hunched over my laptop, the hum of the machine a dull companion to the clicking of keys as I refresh Molly's profile for what must be the twentieth time in an hour. My fingers pause mid-stroke, my breath catching as a new photo pops up. There she is, laughing with that wide-eyed innocence that punches me right in the gut. She's at the local coffee shop, her caption a cheerful quip about caffeine kicks.
"Damn," I mutter under my breath, the word a mix of admiration and frustration.
I close the laptop with a snap, my decision made. I can't just sit here, stalking her through a screen. I need eyes on her—real, live, breathing-in-the-same-air eyes. It's not enough to know she's okay. I have to see it, reassure myself she's safe and sound. And maybe, just maybe, get my fix of those brown eyes and that smile.
Throwing on a hoodie that does little to conceal my build but plenty to blend into the crowd, I head out the door. The crisp air hits me like a splash of cold water, but it doesn't cool the heat coiling tight in my core. I jog down the street, a purposeful stride taking me toward the heart of town.
I spot the familiar sign of the coffee shop swinging gently in the breeze. Slowing down, I scan the area, my SEAL training kicking in despite the mundanity of the task. Not that watching over Molly ever feels mundane. It feels necessary—like breathing.
There she is, perched at a table outside, her laughter reaching me across the distance. It's like music, stirring things inside me that have no business waking up. I duck behind a newspaper stand, my gaze locked on her. She's animated, her hands moving in the air as she talks to a friend. Safe. Happy.
"Christ," I breathe out, the tension easing from my shoulders even as my heart races double-time.
I should walk away, melt back into the shadows and leave her to her life that doesn't include me. But my feet are traitors, edging closer until I can hear the lilt of her voice, catch the scent of her shampoo carried on the wind.
"Can I help you find something?" a chipper voice asks, and I turn to face the barista who's popped up beside me like a jack-in-the-box.
"Uh, yeah." My voice is gruff, the words tumbling out. "One of those chocolate croissant thingies, to go."
I fork over the cash without haggling and beat a hasty retreat, pastry in hand and heart lodged firmly in my throat.
Fuck I've got it bad. And by God, if this isn't the most reckless mission I've ever taken on.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tanner
I'm perched like a damn bird of prey outside her window, the one veiled by those sheer curtains that tease and reveal just enough to torment me. I watch as she dabs on eyeshadow that makes her big brown eyes pop. She's all focused, sticking out her tongue just a bit as she concentrates—it's cute as hell. Now she's rifling through her closet, fabrics fluttering in her hands until she settles on something that hugs her petite figure like it's made for her. A pang of jealousy bites at me. I didn't even know I could feel like this—possessive and raw.
I watch her smooth down the skirt of her dress and there's this tightness in my chest, hot and uncomfortable.
The restaurant they pick is one of those swanky joints with mood lighting so dim you can barely see your hand in front of your face, and the music—a soft, jazzy number—is just loud enough to make leaning closer a necessity. Damn strategic, if you ask me.
They're seated at a corner table, and Leo's giving her that smile. You know the one, the “I’m not just interested in your hobbies” kind. He leans in, earnest, nodding as she talks about her photography. She's gesturing with her hands, all animated, while he's throwing out words like 'composition' and 'lighting'—like he knows what he's talking about. But here's the kicker—he actually does. And she's soaking it up, laughing at his jokes, flipping that brunette hair over her shoulder.
"Your framing is exceptional, Molly. Have you ever thought about doing a gallery showing?" Leo asks, voice dripping with encouragement.
"Really? Do you think they're good enough?" Her cheeks flush with the compliment, and it's clear she values his opinion. My jaw clenches.
"Absolutely. With your eye? People would be blown away."
He's slick, I'll give him that. Watching them, I feel words clawing up my throat, desperate for release, but I force them back down. I’m a SEAL for God’s sake, a master of control. Yet here I am, ready to blow a gasket over my best friend’s little sister.
My knuckles go white, gripping the edge of the bar like a lifeline. From my vantage point across the room, I watch them, my jaw set so tight it aches. Molly's laugh trickles through the clink of glasses and the low hum of dinner conversations, a sound I realize I'm starving for. It's like a shot to the chest, seeing her light up under Leo's attention.
