We spend the next ten minutes planning out what Amos and Sam will eat for the first week, and I help him get a shopping list together.
We keep it simple with chicken nuggets one night and omelets another, dinners that Amos can handle making. While I make the list, Amos checks out a cooking course online.
He enrolls right then and there, and I love how committed he is and how he gets things done. He's a man of action, and there's something appealing about that.
I go with him to the supermarket, which takes longer than I anticipated as he checks the labels on everything we buy, looking for low sugar and high fiber options.
By the time we get back to his apartment and put everything away, he's a lot more relaxed. He grabs two beers from the fridge and hands me one.
I hesitate before taking it. Helping a client is one thing, but having a drink with them is another.
"A friendly drink," he murmurs. "I won't try anything." His fingers brush mine as he hands over the beer, and heat jumps up my arm. "Unless you want me to."
He leans in and murmurs it, and the heat of his breath against my cheek sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
When he pulls back, he's grinning. He knows what effect he has on me, and I grip the side of the kitchen counter, wondering if I'll be able to resist him.
Everything about Amos is pulling me toward him like a giant magnet. His masculine scent of male body wash and traces of gunpowder, and the way my body responds every time he's near.
I take a large gulp of beer and swallow down my disappointment. I was the one who turned him down. I created this barrier. And it's for the best, I remind myself.
"Thanks for your help today," he says.
"Any time."
He raises an eyebrow. "You might regret saying that."
I take another swig of beer, gulping it down too fast but needing to take the edge off the heat inflaming my body.
"You're going to do great. It really doesn't matter what you feed him. What's more important is that Sam needs stability. He needs a home."
"I know. It's just..." He runs a hand through his hair. "I have no intel on this kid. I'm used to missions where I have a single objective and a team around me. This is scary."
"You weren't a regular sailor, were you?"
Hs shakes his head and takes a sip of beer, not giving anything away. I try to ignore the way his muscles are pulled tight under his t-shirt and how good they look when he raises his arm.
I read the file on Jake and he was a Navy SEAL. It makes sense that his brother was the same.
"Were you a SEAL?"
Amos assesses me, and a smile plays on his lips. "I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you."
My eyes go wide, and he chuckles. "I'm kidding. Yes, I was a SEAL. We just don't spread the info around."
"And miss out on the bragging rights?"
"If someone's bragging about being a SEAL, they're not a SEAL."
I sip my beer. "I'll keep that in mind next time one tries to chat me up."
His expression darkens. "Who's trying to chat you up?"
I laugh until I realize he isn't joking. "I'm kidding. I'm not one to go out to bars and meet men."
"Good." It comes out as a growl that reverberates through my core.
Amos turns toward me, and suddenly he's so close I can see the shades of blue in his eyes and the way the outsides of his irises are paler than the insides.
