Page 69 of Home of the Brave

“It’s not a nickname, it’s just my last name, and it’s what all my teammates call me.” I didn’t want to think of her as one of the guys.

“Fine, Josh.”

Man, I loved the way she made that sound.

She stared at me, like she was considering something.

“What is it?” I finally broke.

Her lips twitched, but she kept from smiling. “I’m a direct person, Josh. I gather information and state the facts.”

“Yeah, you’re a reporter.”

“Right, so I call things as they are.”

“Okay?” I wasn’t sure where this was going. Was she about to interview me now?

“So, I’ve got to say, this is pretty romantic.” She turned away, but I caught her grin.

I stared over at the Washington Monument, as if the giant obelisk would give me the right words to say. “Oh?”

My voice broke.

Come on. I didn’t blink when two-hundred pounds of muscle skated directly at me while aiming a shot that would reach a hundred miles an hour, but sitting next to a beautiful woman, my cool disintegrated.

She laughed. “Objectively, this is a very romantic situation. We’ve got the view,” she waved her arm in front of us, “the music and gorgeous sunset. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was your goal all along.”

If she was going to be blunt, then so was I.

“Thanks, I did hope the timing would work out with the sunset.”

She faced me. “So you admit it? You did plan this.”

I cracked. “Since about one this afternoon, when they said we’d have the rest of the day to spend how we wanted.”

“So you didn’t just happen to run into us?”

“No, I’d asked around to see if anyone had seen you, and I was told about the headbands.” I smiled up at the flashing stars. “Then Amelia texted me that she spotted you and Cambrie and told me where to find you.”

“Interesting,” her eyes lowered before meeting mine again. “Since we’re being honest, I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.”

“For how long?”

She smiled, then bit her bottom lip as if she was trying to keep it in. Finally she caved, “Since before today.”

“Yesterday?”

She shook her head.

“Two days?”

“More like since the first time you walked away from my interview.”

“Then?” I was shocked. “You weren’t mad at me?”

“Frustrated, confused, and intrigued. But not mad.” She lowered her eyes. “I still feel bad about the article. I should have reached out when it was published, and we could have cleared it up rather than it festering.”

“I could have reached out too,” I reminded her as I slipped my hand around hers. “I could have been direct with you.”