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Rory’s not answering my calls or emails. I’m concerned. Your mom says she’s on a boat somewhere and not to worry. But, well, I am. I may call you and see if you’ve talked to her. Maybe text. I’ve started using texts more and more these days. I was resistant to the idea at first, but . . . okay, I just texted you. I know you’re at Ft. Bragg right now and not deployed, so hopefully you get it. A little weird to actually reach out for real. Also . . . kind of nice.
Yours,
Ella
CHAPTER FIVE
JESSE
FAYETTEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA
Inside my bedroom, I fumbled my phone, and it fell to the ground. The screen was probably now cracked, but seeing Ella’s name pop up was not on my 2012 bingo card. Fuck, I sound like my mom.
I crouched and picked it up but didn’t flip it over. I remained frozen, staring at it like it was a bomb waiting to detonate. Why was I so nervous to see a message from Ella?
The knuckles of my left hand were red and purple from the fight I’d been in earlier. What would Ella think about me using leave to make money fighting people in the next town over?
She’d think it was a terrible idea. And it probably was. God help me if the Army found out about it.
But I could only hit the gym so many times to relieve my tension, and I’d stumbled upon the secret fight club last month, and without thinking it through, offered to fight their “unbeatable” guy.
I’d lost.
And I hated losing.
So, I went back for weeks until I finally won. Fourth time was the charm. Won a few grand, too, since I’d been the underdog and bet on myself.
Besides the benefit of the extra cash, the fighting was . . . oddly cathartic. The more I went, the more I noticed my body turn into a lethal machine. I just had to do my best to keep my face from getting damaged so no one on post realized what I was up to.
“Look at the phone, you idiot,” I grumbled, feeling far too anxious to read a simple text. But it was the first one from Ella, so, yeah, kind of a big deal.
Closing my eyes, I sighed. I’d been fantasizing about the woman nonstop lately. Often stroking my cock in the shower, sometimes trying to relieve the leftover tension after a fight, and visions of Ella always ran rampant in my mind.
Her on her knees, plump lips wrapped around my dick instead of my bruised hand. My hand fisting and tugging her blonde hair back to guide her eyes up to mine. Staring down at her while I slowly slid my cock in and out of her warm mouth. Fuck.
Opening my eyes, I cursed at the hard-on I was sporting at the mere thoughts. I forced myself to stand upright and flipped over the phone. Wow, not cracked. Shocker.
I dropped down on my bed and swiped open the message.
Ella: Hey, Jesse, hope this is okay I’m texting you. I haven’t been able to get ahold of Rory, and I’m worried about her. I was wondering if you’ve heard from her. Your mom said not to stress. But I’m stressing. Like a lot.
Ella: Last I heard she was with her boyfriend, Andrew, the guy none of us like . . . and they were in the Caribbean, I think. Anyways, hoping you’ve had better luck reaching her.
I reread her messages a few times. Processing. Absorbing her words. Hearing her voice in my head as if she were in the room and talking to me.
I opened my email to check when Rory had last written me, because, well, damn, now I was nervous, too.
Thirteen days ago. That wasn’t too long for her. She didn’t always have great service.
I went ahead and called her up. Nothing. Tried one more time, and still nada. I had no clue what to tell Ella, and it took me entirely too long to come up with something.
Jesse: Hey, you.
That’s brilliant. Anything else to say? I shook my head at my own ridiculous nerves.
Ella: Hi.
“Okay, we’re on the same page, at least.” Both don’t know what to say. How to do this. And there was a “this” happening, right?
