Her thumb shook as she pressed on the bright screen, the pause before his messages expanded and filled the screen feeling like a lifetime.
Sorry about the radio silence, pretty girl. Got a bit busy.
What are you doing next Saturday? I’ll be back tomorrow night.
And nothing can keep me away from a date with you, if that wasn’t clear. Sorry,
I’m a bit loopy. This is Trick.
She read the three messages over and over again, smiling so big her cheeks hurt. She didn’t pick up on what he wasn’t saying until the third read-through, and then she slowly sat down at her desk, her hands shaking from a completely different kind of fear.
Why was he loopy? And what had he been busy with?
She clicked on his name and pressed the call button.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Gaby.”
His voice sounded strained, and her heart ached. “I just got your text messages. Are you okay?”
“I’m a bit banged up, but I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Where are you?”
He laughed, then wheezed. “You haven’t been given the girlfriend briefing yet. You can’t ask me that.”
They hadn’t even had a date yet—although maybe shawarma counted—and if he was hurt
he was probably on narcotic pain meds, but he’d just said girlfriend. Relating to
her
. Her smile popped back into play, despite her worry. “Okay. But you’re coming home?”
“I sure am.” In the background someone started talking to him, and he muffled the phone receiver. “Gaby? I gotta go.”
— —
Trick reluctantly hung up the phone and turned his weary head toward Nathan Meyers and the military
doc at the foot of his bed. He’d been there for almost an entire day, having narrowly avoided surgery on his arm. The mission had been a success, except for the part where Trick got into hand-to-hand combat with an irate pirate and came out of it with two fractures in his forearm.
At least he wasn’t the other guy, broken everywhere else.
Meyers coughed and held up Trick’s duffle bag—someone
else had brought his ID and cell phone, but nobody had thought of clean underwear until now. “I brought you some clothes. Ready to get back on a plane?”
The doctor made noises about waiting another day to let his arm set while Meyers just grinned and nodded, knowing what Trick was going to say.
“Absolutely, brother. Let me get my gitch on and we can blow this pop stand.” He made an apologetic
face. “No offense, doc.”
“None taken. You special forces guys are always a pain in my ass anyway.” The physician signed something on a form and handed it over. “Here are your discharge papers. See an orthopedic surgeon next week.”
“I’ll wait outside,” Meyers said, following the other man into the hall.
Trick knew he could have asked for a nurse to come in and help him—hell, one would probably
come bustling in any minute, annoyed that he was yanking his boxers and pants on by himself.
But relying on others had never been his strong suit.
He was awkwardly stuffing his prescription bottles into the duffle bag with his left hand when his phone beeped with a message from Gaby.
You don’t sound loopy. You sound like you need a hug.
Jesus, he needed more than a hug from her. Even medicated,
his dick stirred at the thought of Gaby playing nurse for him. She could help him with his pants. Help him take them off.
That sounds perfect
, he responded.
Her last message was before he boarded the plane, wishing him sweet dreams.
A hug. Sweet dreams. All her awkward nerves. He probably had no right to pursue her. Everything about her screamed Good Girl and Fragile. Everything except the
look in her eyes—that was pure steel. And damn it, he wanted that hug, and those sweet dreams.
They’d have to have a talk…soon. After some kissing.
Six hours later, they landed in San Diego. The commanding officer of the team was waiting for them, and he praised Trick for coming back with the group. Like there’d even been a question of it. Even with his busted arm, he wanted no part of a cushy
commercial flight.
As soon as they’d finished the pleasantries, they were swept into another debrief. They’d achieved their mission objectives: the sensitive target was rescued along with the others, maintaining his cover. Some pirates had died. Others had been secured and would be dealt with by border officials in Honolulu.
And Trick was seen, yet again, by medical staff, this time for a brief
psych eval, with the same psychologist he’d seen when he came back from Iraq.
She nodded at his arm. “I won’t keep you long. That must hurt.”
“I’ve had worse.” That was the thing with breaks, and she’d know it—once stabilized and casted, it was really just inflammation that caused discomfort. Another day or two, and he’d be right as rain.
“How’d you feel being on a mission?”
“Come on, doc.
You know that was a routine thing, as was this.” He lifted his arm gingerly. “I’m fine. I was cleared for active duty.”
“But we decided you shouldn’t head back to Iraq. I just wanted to check in and make sure this wasn’t a mistake.”
He leaned forward and stared her straight in the eye. “I’m tired as fuck and need my bed. That normal enough for you?”
She laughed and held out an appointment card.
“As long as we can have a longer talk next week?”
“Fair deal. See you then.”
Meyers was waiting in the anteroom, and Trick just shrugged. They didn’t talk until they were settled in the other man’s pickup truck. Trick would have to come back for his SUV in the morning, but he wasn’t stupid enough to fight about it now. He’d let Gibs mother-hen him a bit. Make the old man feel better.
“What
are you thinking about?”
“How old you are?”
Meyers snorted. There were only two years separating them. “You’re staring thirty in the face. Don’t mock. Besides…chicks dig older guys. And scars. Chicks really dig scars. So any day now you’ll start doing okay.”
“Yeah?” Trick smirked and closed his eyes. God, he was so tired. And he only wanted one chick to dig him right now. “What time is it?”
“Almost four in the morning.”
“Damn.” And his phone was dead, anyway. He’d charge it and text her when he woke up. Yeah. Tomorrow…
The next thing he knew, Meyers was opening the passenger-side door and thumping him on his knee. “You need help up the stairs, there,
old man
?”
“Shut up.” Trick grabbed his bag with his left hand and hoisted it over his shoulder. ‘Thanks, man.”
They just stared
at each other for a second. They both knew Trick was thanking him more for the mission and not making a big deal about the injury, than for the ride home, but whatever. It was all good.
“Yeah. ’Kay, get some sleep, brother.”
Trick let himself into his too-quiet apartment, plugged his phone in, took a painkiller, and lay down. His cast bumped his hip as he reached for his cock, and he cursed
at the pain and the frustration—no jacking off while there was fucking plaster wrapped around his palm. Maybe he could cut the cast off in a couple of days.
He twisted onto his belly, carefully resting his hand on his pillow, and drifted into an uneasy sleep, wishing he had a slim, dark-haired beauty next to him.
— SIX —
Gaby knew she didn’t have it in her to focus on anything other than when the next text message would come from Trick—where was he,
how
was he, and when the hell could she see him? So she tossed her lesson plan for the day and set up Lego and craft stations instead.
None of the kids complained.
Her principal might, if it was a regular occurrence, but Gaby could allow herself one
day of worried distraction. All she could think about was Trick and the obviously not-your-regular-Navy job he had.
Not long before the dismissal bell, it dawned on her that he was probably a SEAL.
The thought made her feel kind of faint and silly for not figuring it out sooner.
He
looked
like a Navy SEAL, with his occasional scruff and slightly-longer-than-military-standard haircut. The bad-ass
muscles and super-cool attitude. The way he literally ran circles around a bunch of other sailors.
The muscles.
She’d never thought of herself as being particularly affected by the male physique, but thinking about Trick’s body—imagining what he looked like without a t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, or those jeans that cupped everything just so—that did it for her in a big way.
Sitting alone in her classroom as the late afternoon sun slid through the windows, telling her to go home, she only wanted to go and find him instead. Wrap herself around him and touch him all over.
When her phone beeped, she jumped two feet in the air.
And when she saw his name on the screen, she squealed out loud without shame. His message was even better.
So, about that date…how does pizza
and a movie at my place on Saturday night sound?
It sounded like a set up for making out. She grinned.
Are you back?
Yep.
Yep. She stared at the word, so casual on the screen. She didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but she didn’t want to wait until the weekend to do it.
Any reason we need to hold off until Saturday?
You free tonight? I should warn you, I’m a bit banged up.
Right. Maybe
she shouldn’t leap straight to hanky-panky. Except…casual. An uncharacteristically flirty response sprang to her fingertips.
I’ll bring Band-Aids.
He fired a response back so quickly she felt a little thrill of pride at getting it right.
You’ve been reading my mind.
Two hours later, after doing some shopping and going home to shower and shave her legs, she was pulling up to an apartment building
a few blocks closer to the base than her place. On her passenger seat was a six-pack of beer, another of root beer in case he couldn’t drink, and a box of Band-Aids to break the ice.
She climbed the exterior set of stairs to the second floor and found his apartment in the corner. He opened the door a split-second after her first knock, so her second froze in midair.
“I saw you park,” he said
with a blinding smile, so bright and happy she almost didn’t notice the cast on his forearm.
Almost. She took a step toward him, then froze, because she didn’t want to touch him lest it hurt. “Oh my God, Trick!”
“I warned you I was banged up.” He shrugged and nodded his head into the apartment. “I’m fine. Come in.”
He didn’t move as she stepped out of the doorway and into his space, which meant
she brushed against his chest. He let out a barely audible grunt.
She dropped her bags against the wall and turned carefully in the shadow of his bulkier form, tipping her face up to catch his gaze. “Just how banged up are you?”
“Some bruised ribs. The arm. Maybe a concussion.” He said it with complete ease, like all of that was possibly routine for him. And none of it was as important as the
two of them, standing so close they were almost touching.
“And there are rules where I can’t ask you questions like what and who and why?”
One side of his mouth curled up in a wry smile. “The last one’s always the same answer, pretty girl.”
She swallowed hard. “What are you, some kind of superhero?”
“Nah, I’m just a guy who sometimes kicks ass for Uncle Sam.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “So…just
so you know, that’s superhero material in my book.”
— —
He’d meant to take it slow, but Gaby was staring up at him, eyes wide and shiny pink lips parted. She’d called him a superhero, and he wasn’t, but after all the wariness and doubt because he’d slept with the wrong person at the wrong time, this felt like a moment he should grab with both hands. He should haul her against him and
finally confirm that their chemistry was as off-the-charts as he suspected before she remembered he was just a regular man. An imperfect man.
Before he could do that, or greet her properly in any of the dozens of ways he’d imagined, she stepped back, breaking the spell. “Anyway. Hi. Welcome back.”
She looked nervously at his cast—fucking thing, messing up his chance to get the girl.
“Hi.”
He reached out with his left hand, offering it to her. “I think you promised me a hug, remember?”
She exhaled, a sigh of relief maybe, and nerves too, as she closed the gap between them, twining her fingers around his. She hovered in front of him, holding her slight body an inch short of where he wanted it—plastered against him. He squeezed her hand, then lifted their hands and showed her she
could touch his chest.
Like magic, her touch spread warmth through his shirt and deep into his body. He left her palm there and slid his hand to her hip, pulling her tight to his left side. No bruising there. “Hi,” he whispered again, this time into her hair, and she smiled against his chest, her cheek pressing into his shirt. He wanted to feel that smile against his bare skin, but that couldn’t
happen until he no longer looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a Sumo wrestler.
Because he’d nearly gone ten rounds with a Sumo wrestler, pirate-style. He sighed, ignoring the aching twinge in his right side. “See? Nice. And man, did I need that.”
She laughed gently. “I find that hard to believe, but yeah. Nice.”
“Can I get you something to drink? Show you the place?”
“I brought some beer.
And root beer, if you can’t…”
“Oh, I can. Pretty much all I can’t do at the moment is—”
Jerk off
. Right, he couldn’t say that. He cleared his throat. “Push-ups. Bit of a challenge.”
That was a lie. He could do a couple of one-handed push-ups on his left hand. Only a couple, and it would kill the ribs, but if she wanted him to…
She froze against his chest, then laughed again, this time deeper.
Throatier. Jesus. Of all the sounds he’d heard Gaby make,
that
was by far the hottest. And when she glanced up at him, her tongue resting on her lower lip, all wet and shiny and
pink
… He had the feeling she knew what he’d been about to say anyway.