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And it was fun. She danced with Connelly and Blake, with Tyler and Mason, and a few other guys she knew from the base. She drank margaritas and did shots with the guys. By the time the club closed, she was buzzing and giggling, the world spinning a little too much as they stumbled onto the sidewalk.
Connelly’s fingers wrapped tightly around hers, grounding her when she felt she could float away. For a moment, just a brief moment, his thumb caressed the back of her hand. The simple contact sent a jolt of something warm up her arm, all the way to her heart. It was so fleeting, almost accidental. Yet, she found herself wishing for more.
“Party at Drafty’s!” Blake declared, and the other men let up a cheer.
Connelly dropped her hand and sighed.
At the Hyatt, Blake beelined across Connelly’s suite for the bar.
“Putting those royalty checks to use,” Blake said, pouring himself a large glass of gin that he topped with only the tiniest bit of tonic. “No way a second lieutenant could afford the presidential suite. Shit, I could barely afford this with my captain’s salary.”
“I forgot Drafty got them dolla dolla bills.” Tyler flopped down on the couch, cracking up like he’d made the funniest joke ever.
Veronica suddenly had a headache. She turned to Connelly, and the movement threw off her balance. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.
“I need to get out of this swimsuit,” she muttered.
“Okay. I’ll help.”
The Three Stooges whooped and cat-called.
Connelly sent them a deadly glare. “Get a grip. She’s drunk, assholes.”
He was drunk, too. She could tell, but he was handling it better than she was.
In his bedroom, she broke away from him, swaying a bit before she flopped down on the bed. She stripped off her tank top. “Why do they call you Draft Dodger? You weren’t alive for the draft.”
Connelly pinched the bridge of his nose like he also had a pounding headache. “Blake came up with it when he found out I was a published author. Play on words. You know, because I’m dodging writing my next draft by being in the military.”
“Ah,” she said without much humor. “Funny.”
“Not really.” He glared at the door as laughter burst from the other side. “Assholes.”
“People on base call them The Three Stooges.” She stood and worked her shorts off her hips, struggling when the denim got caught on her sandal. “I thought it was mean, but... it kinda fits them, right?”
He didn’t answer. She glanced over her shoulder at him and found him watching her with an intensity that made a shiver run down her spine. He looked away quickly, a flush creeping up his neck.
“Yeah,” he finally answered, his voice rougher than usual. “It fits them.”
She managed to get the shorts off and turned her attention to the tiny knot that held together her bikini top. Her fingers fumbled with it, too drunk to work out how to untie it. Noticing her struggle, Connelly moved towards her. She felt his body heat before she saw him standing directly behind her. She looked up and saw their reflection in the mirror over the en suite bathroom sink.
“Here.” He undid the knot, then stayed there for a moment too long, his fingers lightly brushing the curve of her spine.
She held the top to her breasts. “Thank you.” She should go into the bathroom and finish changing. She had no clothes with her, but he’d lend her something to sleep in. She knew it. All she had to do was ask. Then they could go back to… what? The Three Stooges? The idea of rejoining the trio was highly unappealing.
Their gazes met in the mirror.
She let the bikini top fall to the floor.
His breath caught in a sharp inhale.
In that silence, she felt something shift between them, a line blurred and smudged with increasing uncertainty with each passing second. The familiar dynamic of their friendship seemed to dissolve into thin air.
The ache in Connelly’s eyes mirrored the one blooming low in her belly. She turned around to face him, her hands resting against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her touch.
“Don’t say anything,” she whispered.
His eyes darted to her lips, then back to meet her gaze. “Vee, I?—”
