“Don’t bail on me now. You need to get out and have some fun.”

I slouch down on the couch on the deck of my boat and tip back the last of my beer. “I get out plenty.”

My cousin shakes his head and opens his hands palms up, then he faces the towering buildings to our left. “You need to experience the real New York, not the dive bars you go to for a quick beer.” Cam leans back against the railing and folds his arms, attempting to stare me down. Yeah, good luck with that.

“I’m not a nightclub kind of guy.” I rest my empty bottle on my thigh. “Besides, I’m in New York for one reason only.”

Lily.

Of course, I only get to see Lily on Sundays, and it’s always at Cindy’s rich uptown loft. Her boyfriend is never home when I pick up Lily, and so far, I haven’t met the son of a bitch. Cindy must realize my self-control has limits.

But I put a smile on for Lily, and I suck it up. I do it for her. And Cindy and I have agreed that once we’re officially divorced and I get a home—not living on a boat at the docks on the Hudson—I can have Lily on the weekends. I’m trying to scratch together enough cash to do right by my daughter.

I don’t know why the hell I put up with Cindy’s bullshit. Why I let my ex dictate what happens. A woman I’m still married to for another three weeks, five days, and fourteen hours—yes, I’m counting down.

As much as I hate Cindy for what she did to our family, I know that allowing my anger to consume me won’t do Lily any good. Well, not every damn moment of the day, at least.

“You’ve been in this city for six months now, and I don’t think you’ve even begun to discover it. Just give me one night, cuz.” Cam pats his black, gelled, spiky hair and cocks his head to the side as he studies me. He’s only twenty-five. Seven years younger than me. His concept of the real world has always been a little different than mine, and age doesn’t have anything to do with that.

When you’ve seen and done the shit I have, it changes your perspective.

“One night.”

Hooking up is the last thing on my mind, and I know that’s the real reason Cam wants me to go out. He thinks it’ll be good for me to screw half of New York to get Cindy out of my head. Yeah, well, I don’t miss my ex. I miss having a family to come home to, but I can never miss someone who could cheat on me and break apart our family like she did—and right before I was about to jump out of a plane into Iran. Give me a break, what kind of woman with a heart does that shit?

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Thirteen years for what?

“Hell no.” My mind drifts to the few women I did have sex with last winter—my so-called revenge sex.

I didn’t enjoy it, though. It was too soon. Call me old-fashioned, but after being with someone for a decade plus…well, it’s not that easy to turn off the switch, even if Cindy did cheat on me with the jackass William Fletcher. Jesus. Even his name sounds like some Upper West Side rich fucker.

Money. It’s about money, and Cindy still can’t look me in the eyes and tell me anything different. I should have known better back when we first met in high school. She came from a wealthy family. Her sixteenth birthday gift was a Mercedes, and mine was a shooting lesson at the gun range from Pops. I think she dated me just to piss off her parents, but somehow she fell in love with me.

I clear my throat and rub my palms together while lifting my gaze up to see the Freedom Tower. It’s a thing of beauty, with the perfect octagon at the center. LED lights behind the stainless-steel panels illuminate the structure. I joined the military to pay for school so I could become an architect, but once I became a SEAL, I forgot all about the dream of creating my own structures.

“Noah?”

Cam’s in front of me, but I keep my eyes on the building. I can almost see the ghost of the World Trade Towers in its midst, and I have to swallow the sudden knot in my throat, knowing I’ll no longer be going abroad to stop terrorists. Instead, I’m about to drink an overpriced cocktail.

“Where are we going?” I stand and toss my beer in the recycling bin before facing him.

A sneaky smile meets his lips. “Well, I have a friend who can get us into Club Y. He’s the bouncer, and we can bypass the line.”

“Great. Sounds like fun,” I say while rolling my eyes, but I probably shouldn’t be a dick to him. Cam’s only trying to help me get back out there again.

“But you can’t go like that.”

“Like what?” I’m in jeans and a black tee.

“This is New York.”

As though that’s supposed to mean something to me.

Cam holds up his hands. “Fine. Fine. But at least lose those dirty work boots.”

* * *

I scratch at the stubble on my jaw, and my hand slides down to my throat, where I pinch at the skin there. I’m mentally preparing myself for what I’m about to do. Enter a club named one letter, and it has an honest-to-God red velvet rope. I thought that was for the movies.

“We’re good to go in. Come on.” Cam motions for me to follow him, and we walk past the long line.

I nod my thanks to the bouncer and follow Cam into the club. It’s not what I was expecting. A dark hallway, lit only by a strand of lights trailing along the sides as if I’m at the movie theater in search of my seats.

Oh, and it gets better. Once we reach the end of the hall, there’s a door painted a variety of colors—swirls of red, pink, bright orange, and something close to green without looking like geese shit. And I have to wonder if we’re about to cross into Neverland or that place where Alice follows the rabbit down the hole. Okay, so maybe I’ve watched too many kids’ movies, but I’m just not ready for this scene. When we walk through the door, it’s like I’m tripping on acid, even though I’ve never done drugs aside from accidentally eating Cindy’s hash brownies back in my senior year.

No, I’m not some schoolboy saint, and I don’t currently perform miracles, but I’m not a fan of altering my mental state.

“What do you think?” Cam smiles at me and slaps his hands together.

All I can do is squint as I try to gain visibility in the room. I need my night vision goggles for clubbing in New York.

Is the place on fire, or do they purposely fill the room with so much smoke people can barely breathe? And what the hell is with the people dangling from the ceiling from what looks like hula hoops? And are they naked?

I do a double-take at a pretty brunette, but the two guys on either side of her…well, seeing a guy’s junk on display isn’t exactly what I’d call a good Thursday night.

“I can’t do this.” I turn away before Cam can rebut and make my way back out to the street, where I suck in a breath to clear my lungs.

“Give it a chance. Come on, let’s go back in.”

I face Cam and cringe at the idea of subjugating myself to that place again. Nope, it’s not going to happen. I tip my chin toward the bar across the street. “Let’s grab a drink over there. And then you head into Wonderland, and I’ll go to bed.”

Cam laughs and slaps a hand to his chest, his fake Rolex glinting beneath the city lights. I hope one day Cam can make enough money to buy himself some stupidly expensive watch if that’s what will make him happy, but to be honest, if my cousin first learns to stop trying to impress other people and just live for himself, that would be a big improvement.

Maybe that difference between us doesn’t have to do with age. When I was twenty-five, I was on a US destroyer—no need for pretending.

My mind races to my broken marriage again. To a woman I’d thought I loved. Maybe love doesn’t exist. Well, at least not for me. Maybe Cindy’s right and, aside from loving my daughter, I can only ever love being a SEAL.

Am I addicted to the fight?

“Okay, so maybe this place has a few perks,” Cam says once we’re inside the bar across from Club Y.

“Yeah, like being able to see,” I say before cracking a smile.

“Whoa, wait a second.” Cam sticks his arm out in front of my chest. “Do you see that chick talking to the bartender?”

I follow his gaze to a woman in a pair of white dress slacks and a red silk sleeveless blouse. Red and white. Like a Fourth of July gift. Her hair, the color of a dark golden honey, is swept up into a high ponytail, pulled so tight I wonder if it’s giving her a headache. I can’t see all of her face, only her profile, but she’s definitely hot. And entirely out of poor Cam’s league.

“Dude, I have to talk to that woman. She’s got that hot secretary look.” Cam rolls his shoulders back and pushes his chest forward a little, trying to gain another inch. He tucks his hands into his gray slacks, his eyes still zoned in on the woman at the bar.

“Why does she have to be a secretary? Maybe she’s the boss.”

Cam looks over his shoulder at me with an “are you kidding me” look. “When did you become so goddamn progressive? And if she’s a boss, I’d be happy to bend her over her desk.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t need that visual image.”

“Wish me luck.” Cam pats me on the back and moves toward the woman.

I stand off to the side of the bar, near a high-top table, and observe with amusement, waiting for what I assume to be lightning-quick rejection.

The woman is facing him dead-on now, and it gives me the chance to look her over and see how little of a chance Cam has. Not that Cam’s a bad-looking guy, but his youth and inexperience, coupled with his crass behavior, won’t go far with a woman like her. Tall, firm body, her shoulders squared back with an edge of obvious confidence. She has curves in all the right places.

I start for the bar, unable to stop myself.

Her eyes drift away from Cam and meet mine as I come up next to him. Her eyes are a light blue-gray. Like the color of slate.

“You okay?” I’m not even sure who I’m asking. The words just fall from my lips and hit the counter with a heavy thud.

“You were just leaving, right?” she asks Cam and raises a perfectly arched brow before turning from the both of us and facing the bar again. She reaches for the stem of her martini glass and looks at the TV screen on the wall, above the rows of liquor bottles.

Cam nods toward a few women who have come to the bar at the other end and starts their way.

I should follow, but I don’t. “Sorry about him. I hope he didn’t say anything offensive.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” she says while glancing over her shoulder at me for a fleeting moment.

“Right. Well, can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” I have no clue why I’m still standing here, but damned if I can get myself to move.

“Ohhh, I get it.” She slips her hand free from her glass and faces me. “Is this some party trick of yours? One of you approaches and acts like an ass and the other guy steps in for the rescue? It’s kind of a tired routine, don’t you think?”

Her pale eyes draw me in before my attention dips down to her lips. No lipstick or gloss. Just full, natural lips. Lips I suddenly want to pull between my teeth to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

This is new for me. This feeling of being drawn to another woman. Even after almost a year of separation, I can’t help but notice the tinge of guilt coiling inside me over being attracted to another woman. Sure, I had those random rebound hookups, but those were out of anger.

“No, it’s not a routine,” I say.

“Well, you’re not my type.” Her eyes wander to my hand, which is pressed to the counter at my side.

“And what’s your type?” I look at her. “Some guy in Armani with a money clip packed with more bills than I have in my bank account?”

Shit. Cindy’s in my head and this woman is fast becoming my target, someone I suddenly want to hate.

Although Miss Fourth of July looks nothing like my ex, she certainly reeks of money. Her clothes probably cost more than my rent at the docks. Not that I’m paying that much thanks to a friend.

But the huge Prada bag on the bar stool next to her could buy my meals for a month. And the bag is another reminder of Cindy, because the only reason why I know it’s Prada is because Cindy’s mom bought her a similar purse on our ten-year anniversary—as if that wasn’t enough to make me feel like shit. Yes, thank you, mother-in-law, for outdoing me about ten times over on my goddamn anniversary.

The woman stares at me with parted lips, not saying anything, and I get the feeling that isn’t the norm for her. There’s a slight bit of red pulling at her cheeks when she finds my eyes again.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, lady, but you’re not exactly my type either.” Okay, so I don’t even know what my type is anymore, but I’m not in the right state of mind to find out.

“Ah. You really are clever, aren’t you?” The woman’s smiling now. Her white teeth tease between her lips, but it’s the sexy way her eyes and nose smile too that has me swallowing.

“Oh yeah? How so?” I place a hand on my chest, forgetting Cindy for the moment. Hell, the way this woman is looking at me right now, I can barely remember my own name.

“You’re trying to make me want what I can’t have. You, in this case.”

I didn’t expect that. Women don’t talk like this where I grew up, but I guess New York is a whole other ball game.

“Oh really?” I’m keeping up this charade longer than I have any business to. “So you have everything you want in life, huh?”

She wets her lips briefly. “I do, in fact.” Her eyes drift away from mine, an attempt to hide a lie.

I step closer and bend my neck a little so our eyes meet again. “You sure about that?”

She sucks in a noticeable breath, and when I realize I have her roped in—right the hell where any man would want a woman—I back up and turn away. Because I know a woman like her can be dangerous, and right now, I have one person I need to focus on. That’s Lily.

Cam’s drinking a beer alone when I move toward him.

“You struck out too? Didn’t you flex your biceps or something? Or at least tell her you’re a SEAL? Works like a charm for me. Women drop their panties when I mention that.”

“Oh, and when did you become military?” I can’t imagine my pretty boy cousin ever even breaking a sweat, let alone shooting a gun in the desert.

“We’re in New York, baby. I can be whoever I want to be on a night like this.”

“Yeah, call me baby one more time.”

He laughs and drinks more of his beer.

“And just a tip, most SEALs don’t go around telling people who they are.”

We live in the shadows like spooks in the CIA. Long hair, beards, it doesn’t matter. We’re designed to blend in. We’re not the typical soldier, and our wives can’t talk about what we do, not that they’re allowed to know much.

Well, I was living that life.

Past fucking tense.

“Anyways, I’m out of practice with this whole dating thing,” I say and steal a quick glance at the woman at the bar.

She rubs the tip of her heel against the back of her slacks, which pulls the material up a little, the ankle strap of her heel briefly on display.

“Nah, it’s just the type of women who hang out in this place. Rich and—”

“Classy,” I finish for him as two women walk by. I’m not in the mood to defend Cam if a woman has the urge to knock him in the face with her three-carat diamond ring.

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbles. “Can we please go back to Club Y?” Cam bumps his fist to my shoulder.

“You can go. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s eleven.”

“Exactly. It’s late.”

I still get up at 5:00 a.m. to do drills. I run ten miles and work out before the sun even rises. I can’t shake the routine, and I don’t really feel like letting go. I’m not sure if I’m prepared to face the reality that I’m no longer military.

A civilian.

The word doesn’t sound right. I roll it around in my mouth and taste the word almost every day, trying to absorb it into my system.

I’m still not there yet. I’m still a SEAL in my head. In my blood.

I start for the door, not wanting Cam to try to talk me into going to Club Yo-Yo, which should be the name, but I can’t stop myself from getting one last glimpse of Miss Fourth of July.

A guy is approaching her, and I have some strange desire to go play interference, but when he kisses her cheek and motions toward a table, I realize they know each other. Of course a woman like that is taken. And the guy’s probably wearing Armani.

But as she walks over to a table with him, she peers my way and our eyes connect. There’s something between us—something I don’t remember feeling for a long damn time.

But it doesn’t matter. We’re from two different worlds, and I’ll never see her again.