Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Okay,” Boomer says, peeling the paper from his straw before inserting one end into his drink.
There shouldn’t be a single thing sexy about a damn straw, but the sight of his fingers holding the top as he sinks it into his glass sends a tingle of awareness up my back.
“I was thinking maybe you’d like to hang out after.”
His eyes find mine, his lips slightly parted for a second longer than it would take him to tell me no.
He scoffs as he pulls his eyes away.
“A little fucking service!” one of the guys at the other end of the bar yells.
I hold up a finger to the irritated man, but when I look back at Boomer, his eyes are locked on the man that yelled, irritation evident in the rigid clench of his jaw.
“Just let me know,” I tell him before wrapping my knuckles on the bar and walking away to help the pissed-off guys.
Boomer’s answer is clear when he’s gone by the time I turn back around.
I never see him again tonight, even as I stick around and help Rochelle close.
Chapter 3
Boomer
Two Months Later
“You’re distracted.”
I look up from the bottle of baby wash in my hands, finding Alyssa watching with sadness in her eyes.
We’ve gotten a lot of these looks since we got back last week.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Was this on the list?”
She shakes her head. “The other kind with the lavender in it. You know you can talk to me about anything.”
This isn’t the first time she’s offered, but speaking about what happened in Costa Rica and how it’s left me feeling like I’ve been wasting my life one day at a time isn’t a conversation I’m ready to have with anyone.
“He’s going to be okay,” Alyssa says, her voice soft and comforting.
“I know,” I answer because it’s what is expected, but Aro lost part of his leg on our last mission. Physically, he’ll overcome whatever challenges he faces, but I don’t know how he’ll fare mentally.
I know I’d struggle more than I do every day if it happened to me.
“What else is on the list?” I ask, in an effort to distract her.
Conversations about battle and loss with someone who has never been involved in such things aren’t something I’m going to engage in. Civilians have no idea what it’s like, and their perceptions, drawn from things they watch on television and in movies, are almost always wrong.
“Crap,” she mutters as she scrolls on her phone. “We forgot the hand soap for the bathrooms.”
“We’ll grab them on the way back to the register. What else do we need back here?”
“Diapers,” she says, giving me a small smile. “Always diapers.”
I grab them from the shelves as she lists off the brands and sizes, still a little amazed at how some of the babies have to have certain types based on their skin sensitivities. I never knew children were so complicated. Boys and men back on the ranch where I grew up weren’t involved in such things. The women cared for the children. Once the boys were old enough, they were sent outside to work. Adjusting to life outside the compound was a challenge, but the Marine Corps had a way of getting you ready for everything you could possibly face in life.
“That sexy bartender is here,” Alyssa says, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.
Well, the Corps prepares you for most things, I guess.
I only falter a little as I reach for the next pack of diapers.
“Aren’t you going to go say hello?” she urges.
“Should you be noticing other men?” I ask, refusing to make eye contact with her.
I also won’t look around to find Drake in the store, but it doesn’t keep my cheeks from warming at the knowledge that he’s near.
“Sexy men,” she clarifies. “And Harley knows I’m loyal to him.”
I haven’t had a single conversation with Alyssa about my urges, but that hasn’t prevented her from making her own assumptions. I know she doesn’t judge me. She’d never open her mouth to say something negative, but there are too many occasions where she hints that she wants me to make my confessions.
I’m not confused about who I am, but accepting it without the shame that was ingrained in me as a child and beat into me as a young man at the direction of my brother and friends my last day on the ranch, isn’t possible.
I was raised differently, and with that comes a distinct inability to just flaunt my sins like everyone else seems capable of doing.
“I’ll go get the hand soap,” I tell her after a long moment of her staring at me expectantly.
“Can you also get a couple of pregnancy tests?”
I stop dead in my tracks, my brain going offline for a second before I can manage to turn around and face her.
A smile spreads across my cheeks as I watch her roll her lips between her teeth to keep from smiling.