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Rolling out of bed, he stretched and yawned, glancing over his shoulder at the clock. It was seven thirty, and he didn’t have to work today. Neither did she.
So why the hell was he so damn awake?
He turned back to Lauren, frowning. She slept peacefully, her back to him, and she hadn’t moved all night. He’d pretended to fall asleep, giving him a chance to think in some peace and quiet. He’d lain awake throughout most of the night after they…what? Made love? Fucked? What should he even call last night? It had been different than any other experience he ever had. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it—or her. Or how she made him feel. What they could be, if only he dared to find out.
And if he forgot all the reasons she deserved better.
As if she could sense his thoughts, her brow wrinkled and she squirmed, letting out a soft sigh. She mumbled something under her breath, squirmed some more, and rolled over, reaching across the bed as if she sought him out. He waited to see if she would wake up, but she settled back in and breathed evenly once more.
Over the span of his adult life, he faced bombs, bullets, war, and death. He could kill another man without blinking an eye, if it was for a good cause. He could shoot, bomb, fight, fuck, and drink. But when it came to living, to taking a chance on something like him and Lauren, he hesitated. When it came time to try maybe being happy…
He wasn’t sure he could do it.
If that wasn’t dysfunctional, he didn’t have a clue what was.
Crawling back into the bed carefully, he lay completely still, staring at her nightstand, while trying not to freak the hell out about all the “feelings” shit going through his head. What he’d seen inside of it, through the glass lid, had triggered a memory…
One long forgotten.
It was nine years ago, when he’d just gotten back from his first tour overseas, and he and Lauren were alone—just the way he liked it. They hiked to their favorite pond in the woods, because he told her he needed some peace and quiet.
She instantly helped him get it.
After a few drinks and a couple of hours, she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. Even now, he could still remember the way the sunlight hit her hair, and the way her blue eyes sparkled, like it was yesterday…
Reaching out, he smoothed her soft hair out of her face. She watched him closely, biting down on her lower lip. “What was it like over there?”
“Awful. Bloody. Hot.” Steven shrugged and turned away, not wanting her to see him. He lifted the beer to his lips and took a swig, but it tasted bitter. “I don’t know how people do stuff like we do over there, and come home to their wives and kids. How they just…go back to normal.”
“Do you wish you had a wife to go home to?” she asked, still staring at him as if she read his thoughts and knew him better than he did. Sometimes, he thought she just might. “Or kids?”
“I don’t need a wife. I have you.” He scooted closer and threw his arm over her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest again, snuggling in. He immediately felt at peace with the world. He had her in his arms. “That’s much bette
r.”
“What if that changes, though?” She tilted her face up to his. Her mouth was inches from his. His heart rate increased, though he didn’t understand why. “Even worse, what if neither of us gets married? Like, ever?”
He snorted. “Why would that be bad?”
“We’d be alone.” She sighed. “That’s sad.”
“We wouldn’t be alone, we’d be together.” He laughed, gripping his beer bottle tighter. “Hell, if we’re still single at thirty, we might as well get married.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“I’m serious,” he said, sitting up straight. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the yellow twist tie off the bread they’d brought for sandwiches. He made quick work of turning it into a ring shape, holding it out to her with a silly grin. “Lauren Brixton, if you’re single when I’m thirty, will you marry me out of pity?”
She stared at him, all wide blue eyes and soft pink lips. After a long, pregnant pause, she extended her left hand. It trembled. “Yes. It would be an honor.”
Well, he’d turned thirty a little over three weeks ago…
And they were both single. Fuuuuccccckkkkkk.
She rolled over again, her lids drifting up. For a second, she smiled and stretched. When she reached over and felt skin…she froze, the smile slipping away. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. Her eyes were the same bright blue they’d been that day at the pond. Her nose was still small and pert, and she still had freckles across her cheeks. But she was older. Wiser. More beautiful.
And she looked as if she would rather be anywhere but here.
With him.
