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Oh well. I can handle him.
*
Well over an hour later, someone knocked on my door.
“Hold on,” I said, standing up.
I crossed the room and stopped.
Be strong, I told myself as I took a deep breath.
After opening the door, I saw Max dressed in camo pants and a tight green tee-shirt, all standard issue. He grinned and stepped forward. I had no other choice but to step back and allow him in.
“You made it,” I said.
“I keep my word.”
As he shut the door behind him, a sense of dread rushed through my body.
“Have a seat, and I’ll pull up my list of questions,” I said, walking to the desk.
He stepped over and closed the laptop lid while looking into my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“We can do the interview after.”
“After what?”
I narrowly avoided his kiss as he lurched forward.
“Whoa. Hold on a minute,” I said, stepping back toward my bed.
“The hard-to-get act is getting old,” he said, his voice thick.
“Are you drunk?”
He laughed.
“Alcohol isn’t allowed on the base. How would I get some?”
“Smuggling,” I said, staring into his eyes, wishing I could read his thoughts.
“What do you know about smuggling?” he asked as he stepped toward me.
I took a step sideways, toward the door.
“It’s happened during wars throughout history.”
“Yeah? Well, Afghanistan ain’t no war. It’s a hell-hole all the time.”
As he spoke, I continued sliding toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “You afraid of me or something?”
Or something, I thought but said nothing. What have I gotten myself into now?
“Come on,” he begged. “You want this hot body.”
