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So he’d been attempting to keep things strictly professional between them.
The day they’d learned that their next job would be the bridge inspection, she and Jud had invited him out for dinner, and Jesse had passed rather than risk making clear his concern for her. He’d skipped Warrior Fight Club last Saturday because he hadn’t had a chance to get his doctor to sign off on the paperwork—a handy excuse for avoiding an opportunity to get physical with her again, even in the name of exercise. And when they’d been living aboard the Going Deep during the bridge project, Jesse had only let himself play poker with her one night, because one night was all it took to realize he had no poker face when he was around her.
Her asking him if he was okay during the game was proof enough of that.
So distance had to be the name of the game.
Sitting on the edge of his bed on Saturday morning, he debated what to do with himself for the weekend. What he probably should do was start apartment hunting in earnest. He’d lived in this suite for a month now. It was time. Especially when he knew that part of the reason he hadn’t much looked yet was because it would mean moving away from Tara.
Which was idiotic on many levels. He was well aware of that.
Except when he looked around this room, he saw them stumbling through his door, breathless and wanting. He heard her laughter in his ears from when he’d thrown her over his shoulder and onto the bed. He felt her when he lay on that mattress—the memory and the loss of her.
Fuck, if there was one thing Jesse Anderson was good at, it was torturing himself. He knew that to be true. But because some part of him believed he deserved the torturing, he always found it freaking difficult to stop.
“Fine,” he said to the empty room. “Let’s find a damn apartment.”
His cell buzzed where it sat on the nightstand. Jesse grabbed it and found Jud’s name on the screen. “Hey, Jud,” he said by way of answering.
“Jesse, how are ya?”
“I’m good. What’s up?” The question came out more curtly than he’d intended, and he winced.
Jud didn’t seem to notice. “I think my foot’s feeling up to checking out Warrior Fight Club today. You in?”
Oh. No. “Uh, I might…be busy.” Way to sell it, Jesse.
“Too busy for me? I’m hurt, dude. Get un-busy because you’re coming.”
Jesse chuckled despite himself. “I’m not sure that’s how this works.”
“Sure it is. Be my wingman.”
Exasperated, Jesse got up and paced. “What the hell do you need a wingman for?”
“Be. My. Wingman.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Jesse shook his head. “But you know people there.”
“Jesse, my man. When wingman duties call, the only honorable thing to do is answer that call.”
Heaving a deep breath, Jesse caved. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”
“Good deal. Okay, when and where is this shindig, again?” Jud’s tone was so satisfied that Jesse wanted to smash his head into a wall for giving in. Seeing Tara at WFC was way the hell against his best judgment.
Jesse gave him all the information. “Bring clothes for after if you want to go out for dinner,” he said, a weird hollowness filling his gut. Because it would be hard as fuck to find his way out of going along.
When they hung up, Jesse tossed his cell on the bed. It was only ten in the morning, so he could still spend part of the day making headway on his living arrangements. Which would be a better use of his time than sitting around wallowing like the morose motherfucker he’d been lately. So he opened his laptop, browsed for an online realty site, and began searching.
He was open to both apartments and houses, and he definitely wanted to buy. Between how much of his military income he’d saved over the past twenty years and his pension, he had more than enough savings to get something comfortable, even in DC.
Except, house shopping was a surefire way to remind yourself of everything you didn’t have.
Master bedroom with his and her walk-in closets! Master bath with dual sinks! Awesome, except he had no one with whom to share that kind of space.
Great school district! Fanfuckingtastic, except he had no family.
Close to a metro stop and a dog park! Yipdeedamndoo, except he didn’t even have a fucking dog.
