Loud bursts of angry gunfire.

Rat-a-tat of rounds.

Roars of engines.

Shouts, all the shouting.

Then the gushing blood all over my hands.

With a start, I woke up in my room all alone.

A light from the street outside spilled onto the floor, broken up into lines from the wooden shutters. I got up, my hands shaking, and picked up a bottle of water, downing half of it. Sweat poured down my face and back as I paced, overheated.

I studied the time on my phone. Three o’clock in the morning.

Fuck.

I hated these dreams. Nightmares. Whatever. Always the same. Every night since Degan died.

Placing the water carefully on the nightstand, I slouched on my bed and reached for my wallet. Sorted my cards. Inspected the picture. Put it all back.

Why him? Why couldn’t it have been me?

Trembling in bed alone, tears fell down my face, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I’d let my best friend down. I should have reacted quicker.

Where the fuck were our tourniquets? Why hadn’t I thrown myself in front of the IED?

Why did I get to live?

I swiped a rough tissue from the nightstand and blew my nose, my shoulders aching from crying. I shoved on my shoes and shirt, grabbed my key, and took off down the hall and outside into the night air. Needing to breathe. Needing to escape from my nightmare.

The cooler air felt fresh on my face, drying the sweat on my cheeks, my forehead.

Peering up at the dark sky, I wondered if Dani would ever be able to forgive me, really forgive me for surviving when her brother didn’t. I winced, knowing that she saw me today at my worst. Did her kindness mean that she would give me a chance?

As I went farther and farther down the quiet street, my breathing regulated. My hands stopped moving in jerks. My racing pulse stilled to normal.

I kept walking, not sure where I was headed. But magnetized to her, I aimed for her place. After our talk today, I felt liked we’d turned a corner. I had something to give to her—a reminder of where she came from, an anchor—and she always gave me joy.

When I got there, only a few short blocks away, I looked up. Her apartment was dark and closed up, the shutters drawn.

Good. She was safe. I headed back to my room and fell asleep.

* * *

“It is hot,” Gustavo said, standing at the front of the room, translating a Spanish weather report.

You could say that again. Today, the focus was on climate in Professor Anderson’s class, although his report mirrored how things were going between me and Dani. The physical heat wave still hadn’t broken, but my sensitivity to her every move was heightened—and on fire. Class was a lot more comfortable now that she’d acknowledge my presence and call on me.

But my mind was still preoccupied, only now instead of dreading what I had to say to her, I had to control my arousal.

“We are expecting higher temperatures.”

The hostility she’d displayed toward me before had completely melted away, and I saw traces of the old Dani. The one who danced barefoot in the forest and loved life. The one I adored. She daintily moved up and down the aisles, while we exchanged our work with our partners. With Didi as mine, I likely was learning Spanish with a German accent. Whatever. At least I tried.

“This heat wave will continue.”

Listening to others in class, I saw that they had as much difficulty speaking as I did. Maybe more. Made me think about how much we’re taught by what we’re around. Our environment. Maybe Dani was on to something with the way she went everywhere. That way you’d be able to pick the influences you wanted on your life, not tied to those from the accident of birth.

When Gustavo finished speaking, he flashed everyone a smile and sat down. Then Dani announced, “Tomorrow, Saturday, I’ve arranged an extra credit field trip to the Alhambra at eleven o’clock, if you’d like to join me.”

“That sounds good,” Didi called.

Gustavo piped up, pointing to Sergio. “We’ll go.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

Dani gave me a confidential smile. At least I hoped it was just for me. A few dozen other pairs of eyes could see it, though.

At the end of class, as she went up and down the aisles passing out practice papers, Dani handed me a folded note. I opened it. “Meet me at 61 Calle de las Teterías, 8 o’clock tonight.”

I caught her eyes and tilted my head up, agreeing.

But she hadn’t been so private.

Gustavo turned around. “The profesora likes you, amigo,” he whispered. “You will get a good grade.” He gave me a thumb’s up.

I shook my head tightly. Fuck. I didn’t care about the grade, and I really didn’t want anyone to know she saw me outside of class. I just wanted to talk to her.

* * *

Later that evening, I hiked up a winding cobblestone street so narrow that a Smart Car would have to push in its side mirrors to make it through, to a tea room district in the old quarter, full of activity. As I passed by one restaurant after another nestled in whitewashed buildings, people spilled out of busy shops and loitered, ate crepes, and smoked. A three-legged dog limped by. As the sun set late, turning the white buildings to gold and then pink, the call to prayer sounded from the tower facing Mecca.

I pushed past the muted red curtain into a dark, low-ceilinged tea room and saw Dani. She smiled and waved me over, wearing a little, sleeveless, cream-colored top embroidered with flowers, which showed her tan skin, and navy blue shorts, with strappy leather gladiator sandals.

Ducking my head once I entered, I scanned the tea room. Lit by candles and scented with incense, you sat on embroidered cushions on the floor, drank “infusions” of floral or herbal tea, and ate crepes off of tiny tables that were barely taller than my damn shins. Traditional Arabic music with vocals, strings, drums, and lutes played while people gathered to sip their drinks. This place was a riot of color—bright painted ceilings, walls, and furniture. A large group of Spaniards lounged on tufts to the right, talking and smoking. Curtains hung between tables, offering privacy.

She perched on a red bench covered in a matching red cushion emblazoned with gold embroidery. Her toned legs were crossed in some sort of pretzel position while she sipped tea in a clear glass cup.

This wasn’t heaven, although I’d bet my dog tags that heaven wasn’t far from southern Spain.

I hesitated for a moment to speak. It was like breaking a spell. “Hi.”

“Hi, Trent,” she said, and scooted over.

Army boy here felt a bit out of place in a room so ornate. It wasn’t that it was girlie. It was just…decorated. I’d never seen anything like it. And seeing so much of her skin? My mouth got dry.

A slim, mustached man handed me a laminated menu in English.

“Guess he could tell I was a foreigner.” I sat across from her on a small cushioned bench, a tiny table in between us, our knees almost touching.

“They’re used to tourists,” she said, her eyes bright and her face flushed. “I can order for you if you like.”

“No, I can do it.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I read the selections. Problem was, while I understood the words, I had no idea what the difference was between “Exotic” tea and “Traditional” tea.

“Dani?”

“Yes?”

My knee almost knocked over the little table. “What’s the difference between blue tea and black?”

“Oh, I’ll ask the waiter what he suggests.” She waved him over.

He bounded over and pulled a tiny notebook out of his pocket with a flourish.

“¿Algo para tomar?” he asked.

Dani began babbling in Spanish. “Mi amigo soldado quisiera pedir un té, pero él no sabe qué tipo.”

The word “amigo” meant friend, right? That was about all I understood.

“Tenemos té internacional, incluyendo marroquí, libio, turco, ruso, egipcio, y iraquí. ¿Quizás un té marroquí?” The waiter pointed at a Spanish-language menu.

She gazed at me and then indicated her choice to the waiter.

“Esa es una buena opción para él. Y dos aguas del grifo, por fa.”

The waiter snapped his notebook shut. “Volveré pronto con las bebidas.” He gave us a quick smile and turned around.

I crossed and uncrossed my arms, then slipped my hands into my pockets.

“What did you do?”

“I ordered you some Moroccan tea.”

“I don’t think I’ve had anyone order for me since I was a baby.”

“Well, you have a lot to learn.”

I tapped my heel on the floor then looked at the tea in her glass cup. “What did you get?”

“An antioxidant tea from Tibet.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. It’s awesome.”

I sat back and observed the activity in the room. “This place is amazing.”

She cupped her tea in her hands and glanced around the low-ceilinged room. “Spain? Or this tetería?”

“Both.”

“Agreed.” Glancing around the room with appreciation, she sighed. “There isn’t any place like Spain. The way the culture is so relaxed. People enjoy life, you know? And the language is so romantic.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “How long are you here?”

“In Spain? Or this tetería?”

She chuckled. “In Spain.”

“At least for your class. Maybe longer.”

Her torso pointed directly at me as she reached out to brush my fingers. “How long are you staying in this tetería?”

My eyes lingered on her fingers, then followed them up the freckled skin on the upper part of her arms. “As long as you’ll let me sit by you.”

The waiter returned with a small pot of tea and a glass, as well as two cups of water. I reached for the teapot.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she said, holding up a finger. “Let me do it. Men aren’t supposed to pour tea.”

“Why not?”

She poured the tea and handed me the cup. As I went to take a sip, she said with wide-eyed seriousness, “It will get a woman pregnant.”

I sputtered, choking on my tea. My eyes popped open. “What?”

“It’s an old wives’ tale. If women allow men to pour tea, then it’s like, you know, they’re spreading their seed.” She turned pink and laughed a husky laugh. She stared at my forearms. I leaned back in the seat and set my ankle on my knee.

“Hate to break it to you, but from where I come from, pouring tea isn’t how you get a woman pregnant.”

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed, and now I knew what she was thinking about. Because I was thinking the same thing.

But I needed to be clear on where we stood.

“I have to tell you something, Dani.”

“What?”

“I want to be with you. In every way.” I reached over and held her hands. “I want to spend all the time I have on this earth with you. I learned in the army that I don’t have much time. We can’t take any second for granted. And I’m not wasting any moment I have with you. I want to lay it all out. Dani, I want to date you.”

She closed her eyes. Then she opened them, pulled her hands from mine, and put one on my chest, pushing me back. I leaned into her. “Trent, we can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?” I swallowed.

“I’m not ready for any relationship.”

Well, there goes that idea. “Great,” I said sarcastically. “Glad I brought it up.”

“My last relationship was bad. I swore I wouldn’t do that again. Let myself get too involved. I’m too used to not having to answer to anyone.”

“If anyone is gonna fight for your freedom, babe, it’s a soldier.”

She shook her head sadly. “I just can’t.”

“Well, fuck.” I collapsed into my chair and sipped my tea in silence.

Her eyes pleaded with me. “I’m so sorry, Trent. I like you, I do. But I’m not in it for the long term. I leave.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I rubbed my jaw.

Her hand came over mine, and her earnest eyes caught mine. “No matter what, I’d really like us to be friends.”

“Fine,” I said heartily, pressing my hands to my temples. “Friends it is.”

Damn.

Always just out of reach.

“It’s not that simple, though. I mean, we’re more than friends. Part of me wants to kick you out of Spain because of what you remind me of. And the other part wants…” She trailed off.

“Wants what?”

A grin lifted her pretty lips. “Wants to get to know you better. Four years looks good on you. I remember that time in the pizza parlor…”

I tilted my head to the side, and hope reared up. “So when I take you back to your apartment, you’d let me kiss you the way I did before I left for boot camp?”

She nodded. “And maybe more than a kiss. Just for tonight.”

I leaned in. Better to be blunt than to be misunderstood. “Casual sex. Friends with benefits.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, if you put it that way.” She shrugged then gave me a huge Dani smile. My God, there was my dream come true. I didn’t have to keep her out of reach any more.

“Got it.”

And my heart sunk. Because I wanted more than that. Still, I had to know.

“Danika.” I lowered my voice. “There’s nothing I want more than to get you naked.”

A glow of heat spread across her cheeks. “Really?”

I leaned in. “Did you know that every time you lean over to pour tea, I can see your nipples? You’re not wearing a bra.”

Her breath intake was sharp.

My legs parted as I straddled the table between us. “I wanna make you moan so loud that cats would start wailing.”

“Ohmigod,” she whispered, her tongue darting out to touch her lips. She took a breath. “I like you.” My pulse started racing and my heart leapt up to the decorated ceiling. “I really do. And I’m really fucking turned on by you.”

I clenched my hands briefly, then released them. “That makes two of us.”

“You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

At some point in my life I learned to let the pretty boy comments pass over me and not stick to my ego. “Not as hot as you.”

She smiled.

“No relationship, no strings attached?” I continued.

“Right.”

I took a breath and arranged the cups on the tea tray so that they were even. I wasn’t up for casual sex. Not with her, because it’d never be casual to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught two old men playing chess at a tiny table on the left, surrounded by a crowd.

Her hand reached out and rubbed up my thigh.

She wanted my body. And maybe the connection to her past.

Nothing more.

Not enough.

* * *

Two more pots of tea later, I paid the bill and we left. “I can pay my own way,” she said.

“I know.” Like I’d let her pay even if we were “friends.”

She tilted her head to the side and gave me a small smile of thanks. We stepped outside the tea shop to the sound of a band playing in the distance.

“Let’s go see what’s going on at the plaza.”

“Sure,” I said. I’d take every moment I could get with her.

We walked through the streets of Granada at night and ended up at a plaza filled with people. A band played at the far corner.

“Sevillanas,” she said. Se-vee-yan-as. “A form of flamenco.”

I blinked. “I can’t dance.”

She gave me a playful push. “You just need someone to teach you.”

“No. I can’t dance,” I repeated.

“Here.” She held a slim arm up to the sky. “You pick the apple.” Then she expertly moved her hand in front of her face. “You take a bite of the apple.” Then she moved her hand down to her waist. “You throw the apple away. And that’s how you dance sevillanas.”

I reached up and pretended to grab an apple from an imaginary tree. “I feel lame.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You look good, Trent. Very good.”

And her eyes lit on mine like she wanted to say more.

“Profesora!”

Gustavo, the Latin lover, and his friend Sergio, who was also in our class, walked over, their sleek shirts tucked into neat jeans. “Hello, Profesora Anderson. Hello, James Dean!”

“Hello, guys.”

“And now you dance?” asked Gustavo.

“I don’t dance,” I assured him, then glanced over at Dani. Her sudden withdrawal signaled to me that she was nervous about being seen with me in a public place. I tried to smooth over the situation. “I was out and saw her. I figured I should walk her home.”

“I don’t need you to walk me home,” she muttered under her breath.

But this explanation seemed to satisfy Sergio and Gustavo because they didn’t say anything else. Gustavo leaned toward us so he could be heard over the music. “You will be able to dance before you leave Spain. Like this.”

With a very dignified pose, he did the same flamenco-type move that Dani did, only he clicked his heels to the rhythm of the band. Sergio clapped and then joined him. These Spaniards could dance without feeling like their manhood was threatened.

Me?

Nope. No way.

After we watched them for a few minutes, Dani clapped and cheered. They gave us a couple of eager smiles, and then said, “Your turn, amigo.”

I shook my head.

“Try it,” said Gustavo, but thankfully a group came up to Sergio and Gustavo—their friends—and with apologies, they said goodbye.

I gazed down at her. “I’ll still walk you home.”

Dani spun to me. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

There was no way in hell I’d let her walk herself home. After spending time in the tea shop and then wandering around Granada, now it was dark. It had to be ten o’clock or later.

“It’s not safe for women to walk in the dark by themselves. Anything could happen to you.”

Her lips pressed together in a slight grimace, and she pulled at her ear. “I’ll forgive that statement, because you’re new. But Spain is one of the safest countries on the planet. Safer than the United States. You’ll see. Watch late at night. Grandmothers are out with little kids at eleven o’clock at night. Europe at night isn’t scary. There’s no personal violence. The only thing you have to worry about are pickpockets. It’s perfectly fine to be a woman walking all alone. I’ve done it all over the world, and I feel the safest here.”

I didn’t know if I’d ever met a more delusional female. I stood in front of her, chest to chest. “No, it isn’t safe.”

Her head shook softly. “I’m not gonna argue about it with you.”

I reached for her hand, but she pulled it back. “Spain has had terrorist attacks recently.”

“It had political ones for years and years. None of this is new.”

“Anything can happen, Danika.”

She tapped her index finger to her lip. “I’ve been traveling by myself for years now. I know perfectly well how to take care of myself.”

“Don’t you get scared with all of that travel?”

“I get scared staying still.” With a huff, she turned on her heel.

I followed her. We got closer and closer to her place. Her hand got closer and closer to mine. I could just reach out and hold it. “I’d still feel better if I could walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I could object to this. Strongly.”

“But you won’t.”

She pulled in a breath, then slowly released it. “No. I won’t.” And I got a smile from her that told me she wasn’t really mad.

When we got to her house, she peered down at her feet, then glanced around, finally turning to gaze up at me. “Can I tell you something?”

I leaned against her door and smiled at her while she fumbled for her keys. “Sure.”

Biting her bottom lip as she inserted the key, she said, “I’m glad we hung out. I want to do it again.”

“Me too.”

“And even though you didn’t need to walk me home, well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her brows pulled in, and she ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t want this night to end.”

“Me neither.”

Those huge eyes stared at her feet then lifted up to mine. And she twirled her hair around her finger. With a whisper, she asked, “Is that offer of casual sex still on the table?”

“No,” I said firmly. And gazed down while she blew her cheeks out, then released the air, surprised.