Desiree grinned. “You’re the best.”
“Do you have a ride home?” Carly asked her.
“I’ll drop her off,” Hudson replied.
“I’m gonna bolt.” Ash’s voice boomed over the noisy crowd. “I love you guys.” When he stepped away from the bar, Carly’s heart dipped. Then, he turned and extended his hand. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
When she slipped her hand in his, her heart skipped a beat. She’d held his hand before. In elementary school, when they were field trip buddies. During his mom’s funeral, he clutched her hand for support. Was he in need of her support again? She would give it willingly.
This time, they managed to break out of there in fifteen minutes. Once outside, he heaved in a deep breath. “Where are you parked?”
“Couple of blocks away.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t—”
“Right, like I’m going to let you walk alone.”
“I’m this way.” They headed north on 16th Street, hand in hand.
“I’m going to target practice this weekend,” she said. “Maybe you’ll join me.” Licensed for concealed carry, Carly had only used her weapon a handful of times in her career, but she found time for target practice every week, regardless of her schedule.
“I will if I’m around.” His phone buzzed and he read the incoming text. Instead of replying, he shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Assuming it was someone interested in a booty call, her chest tightened. Maybe that’s the distraction he needs. No…I’m what he needs.
She fished out her keys. “Get in. I’ll drive you to your car.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please. I’ll worry.”
He laughed. “What? You think someone’s going to jump me?”
“I’m concerned if someone did, you’d kill them.”
“I’ve got this. No worries.”
Bullshit.
“Gimme a hug goodbye.” Before she could respond, he hauled her close and held her tightly.
He always smelled so good…and so familiar. When she patted his back and broke away, she glimpsed the sadness he was working so hard to conceal.
“Welcome home, Ash.”
His eyes darkened as he peered into hers. “Be good, Carly girl.” He headed back down the street, favoring his right side. She wished she could take away his anguish, but she knew the deaths of his friends hurt more than his injuries.
As soon as he rounded the corner, she slipped into her car. Knowing him, he’d go home and obsess over his friend’s death, convinced he could have prevented it. Or, maybe, phone someone for a late-night hookup. She doubted he’d bring a woman back to his boat, so, as she pulled onto the deserted street, she formulated a plan.
After stopping for a six-pack, she headed toward the live-aboard marina in southwest D.C. If he wasn’t home, she’d leave the beer. No harm, no foul.
Always on the go, Ashton had sold his condo and purchased a fifty-foot Azimut yacht after leaving the Navy. He felt as comfortable on or in the water as he did on land. The vessel slept eight comfortably and was equipped with a state of the art navigation system and top-of-the-line everything else.
She pulled into the marina. To her surprise, his car was in his assigned spot, so she parked beside him and walked down the pier toward the darkened yacht, her stilettos tapping on the wooden slats.
He’s here, but he might not be alone. Her chest squeezed.
