Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I said to Sergeant Gray. When he nodded, I shut my door, locked it, and then leaned back against the wood, sliding down slowly until my ass hit the floor.
I should’ve been angry about a lot of things. My father’s constant political chess moves, the flippant way Jeremy treated his cheating, or my own participation in something that obviously never had a chance.
But the ire that consumed my thoughts prickled my skin because Jeremy was right about one thing.
It didn’t matter who I met, who I dated, or who I tried to love.
Nate would always be in the way, even if he was never physically there.
It was impossible to give away a heart I’d never gotten back in the first place.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NATHANIEL
Georgetown
March 2015
“I only get two days with you, and you want to spend tonight at a bar?” Izzy shouted over the pounding beat of the bass in the club as we surveyed the grinding bodies on the crowded dance floor.
“I promised your sister I’d take you out,” I replied. “That was the deal for her keeping my trip a secret.” My pulse leapt at the crush of the crowd around us, its proximity, its numbers. There were too many people between us and the exit. Too many people to keep track of whose hands were where, who might be reaching for what. Too many fucking people in general.
This had been a bad idea, and yet I’d fought tooth and nail for special permission to take a weekend pass before completing reintegration training with the rest of my unit. Not like that shit helped, anyway.
“I know you must be exhausted after not sleeping last night,” she started, two little lines appearing between her brows. Damn, I’d almost forgotten how long her lashes were. Pictures didn’t do her justice.
“I’m okay. We’re not spending your birthday worrying about me.” Guess I hadn’t been as stealthy as I’d thought during my sleepless hours, but at least I’d kept my personal promise to rack out on her couch and keep my hands to myself. Looking at her now, in that V-neck wrap-style blouse, and jeans that looked like they were created with the sole purpose of hugging her ass, I was pretty sure I deserved sainthood. Hell, I deserved sainthood the second she’d invited me to sleep in her bed and I had managed to decline.
There was nothing I wanted more than to pull her against me and pick up where we’d left off nine months ago, with my tongue in her mouth and her legs wrapped around my waist. But there were things she didn’t know, and I had the feeling that once she did, she wasn’t going to want me in her bed, even if we were only sleeping.
It didn’t matter how badly I wanted Izzy, when I logically knew I could never have her. She was out of my league in every way. She would be out in the world soon enough, changing lives, and the only thing I was good at was ending them. I was turning out to be immeasurably more violent than my father was. At least he’d never killed anyone.
“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand. “Let’s get you the drink I promised Serena.”
“One drink and we’re out.” She laced her fingers with mine, and just like we were back on that plane, tumbling toward uncertainty, I felt the unmistakable warmth of home.
“Agreed.” I led us through the crowd, fighting the rise of my blood pressure that seemed to spike a little higher with every person who brushed against us, then claimed the only two empty barstools at the counter.
Izzy took the one closest to the door, and I sat so I faced her, casually looking back over my shoulder to see how many people were behind us. There were only a half dozen or so between the corner of the bar and the wall, so this was definitely the lesser of the evils.
But it was all still pretty fucking evil. There were people between us and every exit in this place.
“So, what’s it going to be?” I asked, lowering my voice now that we weren’t in the direct blast radius of the speakers. “Beer? Tequila? Cosmo?”
“Nope.” She drummed her painted fingernails on the counter and looked over the shelves of liquor as the bartender approached.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, flashing me a smile.
A few years ago, the brunette would have been just my type.
But I’d found out over the last year that my type was now Isabeau Astor. Not just blonde. Not just brown eyes. Not only quick wits and an infectious laugh. Not just a tendency to talk about fourteen subjects at once through lips softer than silk. Only the complete package of Izzy seemed to do it for me. No one else. I’d fallen for her a little harder with every letter, every secret she shared, every time she made me laugh. And it wasn’t that I hadn’t had offers while we were in the sandbox, or that I’d deluded myself into thinking she was back here waiting for me, especially after I’d told her not to. It was just that no one was Izzy.