"I do not get paid enough to deal with this shit."

I grin over at the pure disgruntlement in Deacon's voice as he taps the iPad violently to ring up the latest tab.

"What’s happened?"

He doesn't want to tell me. I can see it written all over his face. But he's going to. Because he's Deacon and no matter how much we may both try to pretend there's nothing but rampant hostility between us, once upon a time, we used to be friends.

It hits me suddenly, violently, like a wave of light and heat: I want that again.

Maybe I just need to sleep. Maybe I'm starting to hallucinate feelings instead of little dancing unicorns.

But in that moment, the sudden want crashes over me.

He glances over at me and sighs heavily. "Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I won’t,” I promise.

Deacon makes a face. “Guy just hit on me. Asked me to dinner at The Durham Hotel."

"You should be flattered." I'm trying really hard not to laugh at his irritation.

It's not working.

"Yeah, well, it would have been if he'd genuinely been interested in me but he offered to buy my time for the night, if you catch my drift."

And just like that, the laugh escapes, ripping free of my best efforts to keep it contained. I slap my hand over my mouth but it’s too late. "He wanted to pay you for…"

"Don't say it," he snarls. "You said you wouldn't laugh."

"Oh, that's so priceless. We should have Eli put up a sign. ‘Not for sale’, maybe?"

"Ha ha ha. You wouldn't think it was funny if it was you." He turns back to his customer, handing over the iPad for them to sign.

I pour another round. "What are you talking about? I get offers like that all the time. Along with random dick pics from pathetic losers who think that's the same as asking someone for coffee."

Deacon shakes his head, his lips pressed into a hard, flat line. "You're too nonchalant about that stuff. Guys should not be sending you pictures of their junk. It's fucking rude."

Because I can't help myself, I reach over and pat his cheek. I blame the lack of sleep and the alcohol mixing in my brain for the sudden courage to shatter the barriers I’ve kept between us.

I’m tired of fighting. So fucking tired.

His skin is warm, his stubble rough against my palm. I play it off but it burns where I touch him. "Not everyone is as chivalrous as you."

He stills beneath my touch. The world falls away, the noise from the bar suddenly distant.

It was a mistake to touch him. To dance that close to the fire. He snags my wrist, even though he’s got to be fully aware that everyone in the bar can see him.

We've done this before. Flirting behind the counter, making the customers think we're repressing violent sexual feelings for each other.

But tonight, it's not a show.

Maybe it never has been.

Maybe I've been lying to myself all along.

He lowers our hands, drawing me closer until I'm a breath from him, until I can feel the heat from his body. "I'll show you chivalry," he whispers against my mouth.

The move is stunning in its simplicity. One minute, we're putting on a show for the customers. The next, heat arcs between our bodies and mine is craving for him to touch me.

It's amazing how much my body still remembers how good we were together.

All of the good is gone, though…isn’t it? Tainted and dyed in blood and waking nightmares.

There are a thousand things I want to do in this moment. Press my lips to his. Lean into his touch. Or maybe let his hands wander over my body. I don't even care that people could be watching. My body aches for him. For the way things used to be.

"You shouldn't touch," I whisper. I can feel all the eyes in the bar on us. Watching as all of my feelings for this man escape in wild abandon. "I might fall for you. And I hate falling."

I don't know what’s drawn those words from my lips. I really couldn't say.

"I'll catch you," he whispers, suddenly more serious than I've seen him in a long, long time.

The moment wraps around us, luring me closer to the temptation that he represents. The risk to the carefully drawn boundaries I've had to erect to stay sane in this new world of yoga pants and lattes.

I want to take the leap.

But fear is a powerful thing.

"I've got to get a bottle from the basement." A convenient lie. I back up, searching for my escape path.

One he accepts as he releases me, saying nothing.

I slip away from the bar. Not heading into the basement, but just moving away from the bar for a moment to catch my breath and lock away the emotions that are threatening to rip free.

We tried this once before. When I first saw him back in the States. Everything was raw and wrong and ragged. The sex was different. Hotter. Less urgent. More powerful.

And then the dam broke and everything I'd been avoiding for fifteen months crashed into me.

I look over at the pictures Eli has on one of the walls. He asked all of us for pictures.

I never gave him any.

"Hey."

I look up. Deacon is there, just there. A little too close. A little too worried.

I smile sadly. "Who's watching the bar?"

"Eli. He's showing Parker how to make a martini."

I smile at the image. Parker is good at many things, but mixing drinks does not seem to be one of her strong suits. "That's probably not going to go well," I say quietly.

Deacon takes another step closer.

Something has changed tonight. I can't say what it is.

But he steps closer, until he's right there, his palm pressing against my cheek. "There are so many ways things could have been different between us."

"They can't be," I whisper. "You know that."

This is the most honest I've ever been with him.

"I wish I didn't know. I wish I could just hate you and call you terrible names."

My brain detours sharply. "What, like ‘wheezing bag of dick tips’?"

He laughs quietly. "I was thinking more ‘wilted cockthistle.’"

I laugh with him over our shared love of Deadpool. And I don't pull away. This interlude won't last. Even if I went home with him tonight, I'd run. I always do.

I’ll have to leave. I’ll have to face the silence of my apartment and wait for the sleep that won't come.

But here and now, I simply stand and savor the feel of his hand on my skin. Breathing into the sensation and drawing his warmth into me.

"Why is everything so complicated with us?" he whispers.

"The universe hates me." I smile sadly, savoring the absolute normalcy of this moment. "I think I must have kicked a puppy in my former life."

He chokes back a laugh, lowering his forehead to mine. "I miss you, Kels."

It's those words that have me backing away.

A stark reminder of the aching, needing, wanting truth.

I gave up on a lot more than just us in the weeks and months after our first deployment.

And so did he.

The space between us grows, until I am standing at the edge of the stairs leading into the cellar. I stop there, facing the darkness below. "It's terrifying how close to the edge we can get."

I rub my hand absently over my stomach, avoiding the scars hidden beneath the roses and lotus flowers etched into my flesh.

The scars remind me. The past happened. It's not just a memory.

Deacon is dangerous to me.

As I am to him.

And we both need to remember that.

I shouldn't have followed her into the dark but I'm glad I did. I can hear First Sarn't Sorren's voice in my head: Let her know you're still there. That you'll always be there.

But as much as he knows both of us, he doesn't know her like I do. That following her right now could be the wrong thing to do. That it could send her running. Again.

It was a risk, following her, but one I'm glad I took.

And if she's here, I can be near. As near as she'll let me.

My palm burns where I touched her. She's a fire, a flame I can't help but want to touch.

Eli glances over at me when I walk back behind the bar. "She okay?"

"Yeah." I shrug, trying to play it off. Eli has never dug into our history. The trust that man places in those around him is astonishing. He doesn't even Google new employees to make sure they're not secretly Internet trolls. He's got a faith in humanity that I lack.

He makes a noise and pours another drink, something with mint and grenadine and triple sec.

Caleb is talking to a girl beneath one of the low-hanging lights near the pool table. There's something simultaneously surreal and normal in watching him talk to her. Sam is hanging out, holding a beer and talking to someone who looks like they belong in a Harley Davidson commercial. Truth be told, Sam looks like that, too. Hard to picture him as a skinny, awkward, West Point cadet once upon a time.

God, but the fucking normalcy of the moment hits me hard.

I toss back a shot of whiskey, needing the burn to unlock the tension in my chest.

I glance over at Eli. "So, ah, you know how I've got to write a thesis?"

He lifts one brow and keeps mixing the drink in front of him. "That's the normal requirement for graduating, last I checked."

"So anyway. My advisor wants me to interview a bunch of veterans and see if how they transitioned to civilian life impacted whether or not they used the VA."

"Yeah? That sounds really interesting. You need me, I’m in. What questions are you going to ask?"

"Man, you're one of a kind," I say beneath my breath. Have I mentioned that I'd take a bullet for him? Because I would. "I don't know. I think I want to just get people to talk about what transitioning was like for them and work out questions from there."

I wish I'd had an officer like Eli when I was in. I might have stuck around longer than my initial enlistment years.

"Seems reasonable. I mean, I didn't really have a tough time of things but someone like Noah or Josh? Yeah, they had a hell of a time." He jerks his chin toward Caleb. "A guy like Caleb has been out longer but is still very much figuring out who he is without the uniform."

"Why do you think some of us have harder times than others?"

He slides a shot of tequila down the bar toward me. "Why was it easier for you to get out than stay in? You landed on your feet, right?"

I toss back the shot and it burns the entire path down my esophagus. "I had a rough time at first. Did a lot of bartending in New York before you called."

"Bartending doesn't exactly sound like a rough spot."

I grin. "You weren't there to see how much I was drinking."

"But you didn't become an alcoholic. You adjusted."

"Because you called and asked me to come down and Noah sealed the deal for me. And I decided to get my ass back to school and use those GI benefits Uncle Sammy promised me before he changes his mind."

Eli laughs and lifts the shot glass in mock salute. "Well, see? So what's different about how you got to where you are and how Caleb is doing? Or how Noah and Josh did?"

I pour another drink for a customer and slide it across the bar. "Good point. Guess that's where I start, isn't it?"

"Are you going to see if Kelsey will let you interview her?"

"It's complicated." And thinking about asking her makes me think I need another drink.

"What’s complicated?" Caleb has extracted himself from the woman he was talking to and sidles up to the bar.

I turn away, pretending I don't hear him. Caleb is not someone I want to interview, no matter how much Professor Blake seems to think I should.

"Where'd the girl go you were talking to?" I ask Caleb instead.

"Bathroom break. I think I may have some company tonight," he says easily.

I can’t shake the feeling that something has changed with him.

And that maybe I should stop holding his past shitty behavior against him.

I ring up another customer as Kelsey reappears from the basement, carrying a bottle of Johnny Walker.

Damn me for being a judgmental prick.

It's an uncomfortable feeling. While I have personal history with Caleb being obnoxious, he's not right now…and hasn't been for a while.

Which makes me an asshole. I want the elements of my life designated, with clear lines between good and evil. People I like and people I don't. I don't want complicated emotions toward people I don't like.

I toss my towel onto the bar and walk out, hating that things aren't as cut and dry as I would like them.