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“What was he supposed to do, hold it?”
I just blinked at him, putting my chin on his chest as I leaned over him.
“So, what happens if you have to stay behind cover and can’t dig a hole?”
He snorted.
“Then you do as the two year olds do and you shit your pants.”
I gagged.
Ashton laughed.
“War’s not pretty,” was all he managed through his chuckles.
“I imagine it’s not, but ew! Gross! Why can’t you just hold it?”
His laugh was a bark now.
“Have you ever tried holding it for a six hour firefight? There’s a lot more to worry about than a little nasty in your cargos. It washes out.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, pressing my hand flat against his belly as he laughed at my revulsion.
“Ok, I don’t think I can handle any more of those stories tonight. Tell me what you did in Florida over the last two years.”
“Damn, there’s even less to tell about that,” he admitted. “I work, I ride my bike, and I go home and drink, watching whatever drivel is on TV.”
“There wasn’t any girl there for you? You didn’t date anyone?”
“I tried a little at first, but I never really went out of the house unless it was to work or with Yamin. When he left for training and briefing, I basically became a shut-in.”
“Do you like being a shut-in?”
He shrugged, making my whole body bounce as he moved. “Not really. I mean, I don’t much like people. You know that. But I like you, and I like taking you places.”
“I’m a total extravert. I’d die if I didn’t do something at least once or twice a week. The girls know that, so they make sure at least someone comes out with me for drinks or dancing or something.”
“I’d take you out for drinks.”
“Not dancing?” I teased.
“Not unless you want to be embarrassed,” was his response.
“You can’t be that bad.”
“You’d be surprised. Especially after getting my leg blown up, I’m not as graceful as I once was.”
I hummed in understanding, my hand sliding down to the big scar running down his hip and thigh.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Not really. Only once in a while you can tell there’s some nerve damage, but generally it’s fine for regular, day-to-day stuff.”
“Does massaging it help?”
“Help? Not really, but it feels nice.”
My fingers curled into a fist and I dragged my knuckles across his skin, digging into the muscles beside the scar,
