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Jeremy’s hand tightened against the bottle, until he forced himself to let go. “It was plenty relaxing, until a fist got up close and personal with my face.”
She snorted. “Sounds like you got what you deserved.”
Erica strapped in, shifted into gear, and pulled onto the road. Uncomfortable silence descended. Jeremy relaxed against the seat and tried to focus on the cool air and refreshing water—not the woman at his side. He might as well try to forget his own name. He was grateful when she slid on her sunglasses; they hid her dark, unreadable eyes behind an equally impenetrable barrier.
She fidgeted at the gearshift. “What’s your MOS?”
“Since when do you know military lingo?” he countered. “I’m a mortar man.”
“Oh.” Her brows wrinkled. “So you get shot at. You’re not on a ship somewhere, or safe at the base.”
“’Safe’ is relative in Afghanistan. But yeah, I get shot at.”
Her knuckles went white against the gearshift. Her motions were tense when she changed gear. “Oh,” she said again.
“Don’t worry. I’m too ornery for anyone to hit me.”
Her lips quirked and she glanced at him. “Someone hit you pretty hard last night.”
“Funny. You know what I meant.” He snapped a mock salute. “Sergeant Jeremy Addison, at your service. Too proud and determined to get shot.”
She laughed. “You mean too stubborn and bullheaded.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”
She chuckled and fell silent. Jeremy turned his attention out the window. Before long they passed the first straggling outskirts of civilization, which quickly blended into lushly groomed lawns and houses that seemed to get larger with every block. Posh. Luxurious. Somewhere he didn’t belong. He’d never have a house like these, or a wife like Erica. Both were as far out of his reach as the stars, and just as untouchable.
“Where are you staying?” She nibbled at her lower lip. “I can take you back, or to my place. It’s only five minutes away.”
Of course it was.
“Depends. I am still in Vegas, right? A little fuzzy on that detail.”
Her lips compressed. Past her sunglasses, he caught one sharp brown eye watching him. “Still in Vegas. You didn’t walk that far in your drunken stupor.”
“I’ve done worse.”
No, he hadn’t. But a perverse and hurting part of him wanted to disappoint her. If she was going to look at him like that, she might as well have good reason to.
“Besides,” he said. “Last I heard, you were in California.”
“It’s been seven years. I moved. How did you know I was in California?”
Great. Now you think I’m a creepy stalker. “Old classmates,” he fumbled. He drained the water a little too fast; the sudden cold rush left him dizzy, and he gasped and dropped the empty bottle into the cup holder. “So. Yeah. Could we hit your place? I could use a shower sooner rather than later.”
“Sure.” Her hands tightened against the steering wheel, and she fidgeted in her seat. “So. Besides getting drunk, beaten up, and left for dead…how’s life?”
He laughed, harsh and humorless. “When you put it that way, pretty shitty. But otherwise, not bad. Enjoying being back in the States.”
She flashed him a small smile. The dimple in her right cheek made him want to kiss it. She only had the one, but he loved it. “Maybe things will get better after last night.”
“They can’t possibly get any worse.” He idly toyed with his dog tags. “Sorry you had to find me like that.”
“It’s okay.” She patted his knee. His thigh tensed. “I’m glad I did. Who knows how much longer you’d have lasted? You looked like death. You’re lucky it’s only April. In July, you’d
be dead.”
“Instead of just a little dry and crispy?”
