Chapter Sixteen

- MASON -

WTF?

I’ve never been one for those stupid text acronyms. LOL, BRB, and IDK look more like ticker symbols on Wall Street rather than parts of a conversation.

But right now, WTF pretty much sums up how I feel as I shove my cock back into my shorts and zip myself up.

What the fuck am I doing? I hold her, hoping she doesn’t sense the panic in me as I do it. But it still feels so damn right, pulling her close to me, so close I can feel her heart beat against my chest.

No wonder I’m terrified.

There are no regrets. Just like there weren’t last night for me. But I should regret this. She’s my friend. I confide nearly everything in this woman. Everything except the way I’m feeling right now. Shell-shocked, I think, pretty much sums it up.

Tomorrow at oh-six-hundred I’ll be letting in the movers, throwing my rucksack and sleeping bag in the back seat of my SUV, and heading south. I have every intention of visiting Freya and, well, I wouldn’t have forced her over that damn bridge if I hadn’t hoped she’d come visit me, too.

But as what? A girlfriend?

Hell, she doesn’t need a guy like me—a SEAL who disappears on a moment’s notice. A guy who lives 220 miles away from her and might only get to see her on a handful of weekends a year depending on the state of the union and whether some new enemy needs a smack-down.

She deserves better than that.

Better than that Patrick schmuck, too. But better than this—a quick fuck in the back seat of my SUV.

Yet despite all the crazy shit spiraling in my head, I manage to hold her close for at least a half hour—and it’s not even a struggle. It just feels right. Too right. Like I might want to tie her up to the back seat of my SUV and drag her down to Little Creek with me.

She did want to get tied up. Well… there you are, then.

I drop Freya off straightaway at her apartment so that she can shower and be ready in time for her afternoon shift at the bookstore a couple blocks from where she lives. I hate parting ways with her. Looking back, I always have, as if my soul seems a little calmer, and laughter comes a little easier in her presence.

Even when I was dating other women, I’d look forward to the next time I’d see Freya. I wonder now if it was wrong for me to do that—as though I’d never truly vested myself in the brief relationships I had while I’d been in Annapolis. Always, it had been Freya who was the constant in my life.

After pulling on some PT gear, I take a run over the Navy Bridge and cut through the Academy headed toward downtown. I’m a powerful runner; after a couple iron man competitions, I can pull off a marathon in my sleep. But this afternoon, the humidity seems to press against my lungs a little more than usual and my feet feel like they’ve been lined with lead.

We made plans to meet for dinner at O’Toole’s after she closes up the shop, and while I would usually look forward to it, I’m dreading it because these last hours in Annapolis don’t seem to be enough time to figure out where the hell Freya and I are headed.

I kissed her when I dropped her off at her apartment.

But it made me think of how I’ll say goodbye to her tonight. With a kiss? Will that be enough, when I really just want to spend the night with her again, taking advantage of every waking minute I have with her?

If we had another couple weeks, we could work all this out—figure out if a relationship was where we were headed.

But a relationship—a relationship like I usually have with a woman—doesn’t feel right with her either. Forever does, though… that pesky F word that guys don’t like to utter out loud as though their balls might shrivel up at the sound of it.

Forever with Freya seems pretty damn right to me right now.

I spot Harris getting out of his car in front of Rickover Hall. With me, sweating like a pig in the midday sun and him looking pristine in his Navy khakis, I feel my gut roil.

“Hey, Mason. I’d think you could slack off on PT with you officially on PCS leave now.”

“I’d rather keep up with it. I’ll get schooled by the Team when I show up in Little Creek tomorrow. I’ve probably lost five pounds of muscle mass since I got here.” I hate that it’s the truth. No matter how much I’ve worked out in the gym while I’ve been here, there’s nothing like the competitive spirit of a SEAL team to make a guy work out a little harder and chug a few more protein shakes in lieu of donuts in the morning.

And then there’s Freya’s cooking. Her grandma’s recipes have made everything sag on my body a little more than it used to.

“Great party last night,” Harris comments.

“Yeah, it was. Good to see everyone. Thanks for coming.” My heart’s only half-invested in those words, remembering how it felt to see Freya talking to him last night. Remembering how it felt to imagine Freya seeing Harris again, at some point in time when I’m hundreds of miles away, or even thousands of miles away while on a mission.

I have no claim on her. Even after last night.

And this morning.

And tonight, if I get my way.

“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Freya,” he says, interrupting the lascivious images of Freya that just flitted through my skull at the thought of what I hope will happen after dinner.

“Huh?” I ask.

“She slipped out when my back was turned. But we made tentative plans for coffee next week. Think she’d mind if I texted her?”

He has her number already?

Unable to speak, I shrug and mumble, “I dunno,” like some third grader.

“She’s really broken it off with that Patrick guy?”

Remembering the imprint of my knuckles on Patrick’s jaw, I can safely report, “Yeah, they’re done.”

“His loss. My gain.” He flashes a smile, looking like a goddamn toothpaste ad.

No. My gain, I want to tell him. Mine. If I were a wolf right now, I’d be pissing a circle around Freya, a gesture she probably wouldn’t appreciate. Especially since less than twenty-four hours as sex partners hardly necessitates a conversation about exclusivity in this day and age.

Or at least, it certainly hadn’t for me until I’d reached this point in my life.

“Well, have a good trip down there. Drop me a line if you head back up some time. We can meet for a beer,” he says, his amicability grating on my nerves.

“Sure thing, asshole.” Except I didn’t really say asshole. I just thought it. Or at least I think I bit the word back before I resumed my run.

Dammit. Thick with a fusion of anger and jealousy and frustration, my blood is simmering in my veins as I pound the pavement along the rocky shoreline of Turner Joy Road.

I can remember sitting on these rocks with Freya more times than I can count. She’d always wave to the kids on the tour boats that motor along the shore here, making their smiles light up as they waved back. She’s so damn cute with kids, I realize suddenly, that it makes me feel like I must have some kind of genetic defect that prevented me from ever picturing her with her own kids one day, years from now, until today. She’d be a great mom.

She’d be a great wife.

Why the hell wouldn’t she? She’s a kick-ass best friend.

And while I might think that the whole BFF bullshit is totally a chick-concocted fantasy (as a SEAL, my closest equivalent would be whomever had my back on a mission, or was buying drinks after we were stateside again), I guess in these past two years, Freya has really become my best friend.

She is the one I want to call up when something good happens, or when the shit hits the fan. And if I ever won the lottery, I’d totally buy her a waterfront mansion next to mine.

Except now, I’d like to have an underground tunnel connecting our bedrooms.

Shit. I’m fucked.