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)
Just. Wallets.
Not weapons.
Because I was stateside, not in Afghanistan.
Fuck. It wasn’t this bad last time. Then again, I hadn’t spent nine straight months in hell, facing extension after extension. Rangers were supposed to have shorter, more frequent deployments, but that hadn’t been our luck. I hadn’t been wounded this time, but I hadn’t stood in four separate formations in front of makeshift memorials of boots and rifles last time either. Hadn’t—
Not here. I took as deep of a breath as my tight chest would allow and shoved all that shit back in the box where it belonged. I glanced back at Izzy to see her watching me in that way she had, like she could cut through all the bullshit with nothing but her beautiful eyes.
“If you had to pick a zombie-apocalypse partner, who would it be?” she asked, then threw up a finger. “Present company excepted. That’s just an easy way out.”
“Rowell, I guess.” Torres would have chosen his girlfriend, and it felt wrong to deprive the man of his love life, even in a hypothetical situation. “We’ve fought our way out of some shit together.”
“Fair answer. Now, let’s get out of here,” she said.
“You haven’t finished your drink.” There was no way I was forcing her out of her birthday celebration because I couldn’t hold myself together.
She rolled her eyes, downed the last quarter of the glass, and set it on the counter. “I have officially finished the drink you promised Serena.” Slipping off her barstool, she held out her hand for mine. “And I’d honestly rather spend the rest of my night at home. With you.”
“Not even a dance?” I glanced toward the crowded floor, and every muscle tensed reflexively.
“Not even a dance.” She wiggled her fingers, and I couldn’t resist her. If she wanted to go home, I’d take her home.
Our fingers twined, and I led us back through the crowd and out of the club. The brisk March air was a godsend as it hit my face, filling my lungs as I took my first full breath since walking in.
“You okay?” she asked as we started walking down the sidewalk, heading the half-dozen blocks to her apartment.
“Okay is a relative term.” I picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. The touch was innocent enough, but the scent of her perfume had my thoughts dipping into flat-out carnal territory. I wanted to stretch her out underneath me and kiss every curve she possessed until that scent was branded on my brain, replacing every bad memory I’d gained over the last few years.
“You haven’t talked about the last nine months for you,” she said, her finger flexing around mine as we started to walk again. “Even in the letters.”
I looked both ways before crossing the first street with her and fumbled for the right words, if they even existed. “Writing you was my escape. I wasn’t exactly eager to put all of that on you.”
“Even if I want to know?” She flinched. “Crap, that came out weird. I mean, even if I want to listen?”
“I know what you meant,” I replied softly, pulling her closer against the bite of the cold. She’d been against bringing a coat, but I guess it gave me an excuse to hold her. “But it’s not a conversation for birthdays.” Or ever.
“Oh.” She nodded slowly. “Right.”
We passed the rest of the blocks in an awkward silence that I loathed. Everything with Izzy had always been . . . easy, and I’d just put up a barrier. It was for the best. I didn’t want the ugliness of what went on over there to touch her in any way. But I felt that wall I’d erected like a tangible fence between us as we made our way into the apartment.
I followed her into the kitchen, and she dropped her purse on the counter, grabbing the box we’d carried home from the bakery earlier. “Cupcake?” She put the box on the counter, then braced her hands and hopped up to sit next to it, her feet swinging gently. “I always like sugar with my movies.” Flicking open the box top, she revealed the ten cupcakes we hadn’t eaten earlier.
Taking the olive branch, I leaned in to see what we had left.
“You don’t seem like a vanilla guy,” she teased, looking over the contents. “Maybe a carrot cake one?”
I shook my head, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Those were always Torres’s favorites. I swear, he had one every day for an entire year. I can’t stand the smell of them anymore.” It took me a second to realize she’d stopped breathing. “Izzy?” My gaze shot to hers.
“Torres. That’s your best friend, right?” Fear widened her eyes.
“Yeah. One of them.” I nodded, my brow furrowing at the look on her face.