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“It can be,” I admit.
“How did you get involved in that?”
“I used to be in the military,” I say vaguely. My missions were top secret and I don’t tell anyone about them. After spending 15 years leading a tier-one counter-terrorism unit, I’ve seen it all. Not much surprises me and the way this date is crashing and burning? Not a shock. Not in the least.
“Oh, like in the Army?”
I nod and take another bite of my roasted chicken. I have a feeling it doesn’t matter what I say about my past career because Cameron is only being polite. The last thing she wants to hear is details about how my unit was highly skilled in sniping, close quarters combat (CQB), explosives, and dynamic and covert entry. We also engaged in direct-action missions, hostage rescues and covert ops directly with the CIA. That’s a lot of noise for someone who wasn’t there with us.
Cameron Sullivan would rather talk about socks, which doesn’t surprise me, and she starts telling me how her older sister Lakey helped her get the company up and running.
Lakey?I try not to wince.
“That’s nice,” I murmur and sneak a glance at my watch, wondering how much longer I have to pretend that a second date is in the cards.
Because I’m pretty sure we both know that it’s not going to happen.
Chapter Two: Lake
Leaning my head against the cool glass, I look out over the airplane wing and watch as the ground gets closer and closer. Frank Sinatra croons in my earbuds, currently serenading me with an upbeat song. I’ve loved Ol’ Blue Eyes for as long as I can remember. Guess because I’m an old soul.
Never could carry a tune
Never knew where to start
You came along, when everything was wrong
And put a song in my heart
Dear when you smiled at me
I heard a melody
It haunted me from the start
Something inside of me, started a symphony
Zing! Went the strings of my heart
We’re on our final approach to San Diego and I’m buckled in with my tray and seat in its upright position like a good passenger. The man beside me is still asleep and a flight attendant has to call over the woman sitting on the aisle and remind him to follow instructions and put his reclined chair back up.
I’ve never reclined my seat during a flight. I think it’s rude and it barely makes a difference, anyway. We’re all so crammed in to begin with, so any extra leg room in front of me, even a millimeter, is nice.
That’s me,I think. The nice one. The rule follower. I don’t stir up any trouble and bend over backwards to be accommodating. The more I think about it, the more boring I sound.
No wonder I’m eternally single. I suppose it also has something to do with the fact that I fall for unavailable men. Without fail.
Every. Single. Time.
I breathe out a sigh, my knees pressed painfully into the reclined seat in front of me—occupied by yet another inconsiderate rule-breaker—and try not to think too hard about the two men I wasted so much time on.
Giovanni was Heartbreaker number one, with eyes the color of the Caribbean and an Italian accent that made twenty-three-year-old me weak in the knees. He was flirty, a little older, and hung around longer than necessary when he came to pick his niece up from my preschool class, often waiting until all the children had been picked up so we could talk. He told me he was divorced and single.
Asshole.
I began looking forward to our conversations and seeing him. I found myself wearing more makeup and choosing my outfits with more care, donning fewer ugly holiday sweaters and more sexy high heels. I loved my students, but suddenly I couldn’t wait for the school day to end. It was all a complete waste of time, though, and now I regret wearing those uncomfortable shoes that pinched my feet all day.
Gio had not been worth the blisters.
