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My lips press into a tight line. “It’s called a junk drawer. Everyone has one.”
He scoffs, feigning shock. “People as neat and organized and put together as Brinley Kelly don’t have those.”
“Seriously? You’re coming after me about a body wash bottle and a junk drawer?”
“I could go on and on. The labels on the cans face every which way. Actually, you don’t even put like cans together. Corn is in one cabinet and green beans are in a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen.” He opens up the two cupboards as if he needs to show me.
“Sorry if I disgust you.”
“Disgust me?” He lets loose a mocking laugh before stopping himself. “I don’t give a shit about the empty bottle or the drawer or any of that shit. What I want to know is why you want to be someone you’re not?”
Tears gather in my eyes, and I suck in a sharp breath. I cannot cry in front of him. I will not let him see me broken. “I don’t owe you anything. I’m sorry if you think I’m pretending, but I have no reason to act like someone I’m not.”
I turn to leave the small kitchen, but he stops me, taking my wrist in his hand.
“This is not what I want between us.”
I look up at him. “What do you want? Want me to call you out on the weird little secrets you’re keeping? That’s right, I know there’s something you’re not telling me. That’s obvious enough, given the fact that you don’t want to talk about our pasts.”
“You were in agreement with that.”
“Would it have mattered if I wasn’t?”
“None of that matters anyway. You were jealous tonight because you feel this thing between us. I know you do. Admit it, you know there’s something more than roommates between us.” He releases my wrist to wave a finger between us.
Feeling cornered, I nod. There’s no sense denying it. My actions tonight made it obvious.
“Does it help if I tell you I’m scared too?” His voice is soft and sincere.
Suddenly everything Lance said makes sense because I no longer have the strength to deny myself what I want so badly.
I rise on my tiptoes and smash my lips to Van’s. He wraps his strong arms around me, tucking me into his body, and slides his tongue between my lips. In a whirlwind of adrenaline and rapture, now that I’m finally kissing him, all I can think of is him and his tongue as it slides along mine. A million little atomic bursts of energy and pleasure go off in my body. One of his hands slides up and cradles the back of my head as if he’s afraid I’m going to pull away too soon.
I slow the kiss and he bends, his lips on my neck and never leaving my skin. “You have no idea how many times I thought of this moment,” he says just above a whisper. “When I saw the jealousy in your eyes when you walked in the restaurant, I’ve never been so fucking happy because I feel the same way you do even after this short amount of time. You’re mine and I’m yours. There’s no one else in this town that I want.” He slides his lips back up to mine and I grip the short hair on his head.
“Why can’t you be a horrible kisser?” I murmur along his lips, and he chuckles. Then I remember his words and I strip my lips off his. “Wait. Why would you be scared?”
His shoulders tense and I step back. “Because I have an entire life outside these city limits. A life that’s waiting for me, and there’s no room for someone by my side.”
“Are you married? Have kids? Engaged?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No. I’d never ask someone to marry me while I’m enlisted. It’s no life for someone else. I’d neglect them and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my work knowing they depended on me and I was failing them.”
His message is so cryptic.
“I only planned on being in Lake Starlight for eight weeks.” I open my mouth and he places his finger to my lips. “I wasn’t going to leave you high and dry. I’ll pay for the year, but I’m only on leave. I’m reenlisting when the eight weeks are up.”
It’s clear from his facial expression that there’s no room for discussion. So I decide to be honest with him. Might as well get all our baggage sprawled open between us and figure out how to clean up the mess after.
“I’m not divorced,” I say.
Panic flashes in his eyes. “You’re not?”
I shake my head. “I’m a widow.”
Fifteen
Brinley
