I blink awake, unsure for a moment if I was actually asleep at all. It takes me a bit to work out that yes, I had actually drifted off, and yes, having sex with Heath really happened. Pale blue pre-dawn light is sneaking through the cracks of my bedroom blinds. When I turn to look at the clock, I see that Heath is sitting on the edge of the bed, seemingly staring off into space.

“Good morning,” he says, voice conversational, not the croaky whisper of someone just roused.

“Hi,” I say creakily. “Have you been up long?”

“A while,” he says, and then turns toward me. It’s too dark for me to make out his expression, but the memory of his cocky half-grin makes me smile.

I sit up, holding the bedsheets to cover myself. Being naked in front of him was so natural, so easy last night, but there’s a different feel in my bedroom right now. Like this space is more…sacred? No, that’s not the right word. Intimate, perhaps, though that’s not quite it either…

I suppose it’s really this: Last night, I wanted to be fucked by Heath in a way I’d never wanted to be fucked by a man before. But this morning, I want to be held by him, in a way I’ve never wanted to be held by a man before.

He’s too far away for me to seamlessly fall into his arms, though, so I chew my lip, mentally willing him to come closer.

“You’re dressed,” I notice as my eyes adjust to the light.

“Habit,” Heath says, looking down at his clothes almost like he’s only just now realizing that yes, he’s dressed. “You don’t spend a lot of time naked in the military.”

“You can make up for it here,” I say with uncharacteristic devilishness, and I’m delighted when Heath’s still-shadowed face breaks into an obvious smile.

“Really though, how long have you been up? It’s barely even seven o’clock,” I say after a few moments of peaceful silence, in which I can’t stop myself from yawning. “I can’t believe I’m awake, actually.”

“Not an early riser?”

“Not really. But only because I need eight hours of sleep to function. If I want to get up at seven regularly, I’d need to be in bed by…well, eleven. That doesn’t sound crazy now that I’ve said it aloud.”

“Eight hours,” Heath remarks, nodding. “I don’t know the last time I slept that long.”

“No?”

“Maybe six here and there… In SEAL training there’s a stretch of five and a half days where they keep you running on four and a half hours of sleep.”

“That is literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, eyes wide despite the drowsiness still lingering there.

He nods, and there’s and almost nostalgic air to it— like he misses that week of sleep hell. “It was good, though. You say you can’t function on less than eight hours of sleep, but you could. You just don’t want to challenge yourself to do it.”

My eyes narrow— it’s awfully early to make a comment like that, one that I can’t help but find a little insulting. “I guess,” I answer warily. “Though I don’t really feel the need to undertake that challenge. I’m not a SEAL.”

“Neither was I when I did it. I was just training,” Heath says.

“Okay, yeah, well, then I don’t want to challenge myself to run on such little sleep. Why would I? Why did you?”

Heath sits a little straighter, and I can tell he knows the answer to this question. “Why did I want the challenge? Same reason all SEALs want it. I want to know what I’m capable of. I want to know what my team is capable of. I want to find out just how far I can be pushed, and if that means bleeding and getting shot at and going without eight hours of sleep, then that’s okay. It’ll show me what I’m made of.”

“That doesn’t mean that people who don’t want to go through that are weak, though,” I say hesitantly, because I actually, truly think he may not know this. “I’m strong in other ways.”

Heath seems to be genuinely considering this, and then he nods. “Of course. I’m just proud of being a SEAL. It’s hard, sometimes, going between that life and this one.”

“I can imagine,” I say gently, and the tenor of his voice has softened me. I crawl forward, tangling the bedsheets as I do, and gingerly lean down to lay my head on his lap. For a moment, Heath seems alarmed, but then I feel the muscles in his legs relax. He touches my hair with his fingertips, cautious as if he were stroking glass.

“You like it, though? Your job? Being in the military?” I ask, because I’m not totally sure. It’s a part of him, sure, that’s clear, but I don’t know that that’s the same thing.

“I love it. I love everything about it. Always have. Always knew it was what I wanted to do. Navy, anyway— my dad was in the Army. I knew going into the Navy would piss him off.”

I laugh a little. “He can’t be mad anymore now since you’re in the SEALs though, right? Because that’s like…a huge deal.”

Heath shrugs, massive shoulder muscles rising and falling like boulders down hills. “He’s always pissed off. It’s just his nature.”

“What about your mom?” I ask.

Heath pauses, and then says, “What about your mom? You said you were on your way to take care of her when you hit me.”

“When you braked suddenly and caused me to hit you,” I correct. I stall for a beat, picking at threads on my quilt. “She’s paranoid. Like, actually, medically paranoid. With good reason— my dad is an abusive dick. He’s been in prison since I was eleven, but he’s up for parole soon, and it’s made my mom worse.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. Go ahead. Say it. “Daddy issues”,” I say, rolling my eyes a little.

“You and me both, then,” he says kindly, and I appreciate it. Way too many guys have made daddy issues jokes around me, like a girl with some prick as a father is a lucky find. That’s right, bros of the world— I watched my dad emotionally and physically abuse my mother for years all so you could get a freak in the sheets. It’s all about you!

“We can talk about something else,” he offers.

“Hm?”

“Your whole body just went stiff. You clearly don’t want to talk about your parents,” Heath says.

I frown, then realize he’s right. I force myself to relax, though I’m not sure I’ve actually accomplished the task. “It’s okay. He’s not getting out, by the way. My dad, I mean. But my mom is just…she hasn’t left the house in years. The reason I was dressed like a lunatic when you braked—“

“When you hit me,” he interrupts.

“When you made up a story about a dog,” I continue, “was that she wanted me to come over and check for intruders. If so much as a pine cone hits her roof, she’s sure it’s some prison assassin my dad sent for her.”

“Is that likely?”

I shake my head. “Dad is way too dumb for that. He’s a stock, basic abuser. But right after he went away, he had his best friend swing by the house at all hours to watch us. The cops had to get involved, and in the end that guy went to jail too for something totally unrelated, but it wrecked my mom. The lawyers and counselors and everyone had been saying that once he was locked up, she’d be safe…and then she wasn’t. So I think she gave up on ever feeling safe again.”

“Wow,” Heath says. “That’s awful.” He waits a beat, then looks down at me, meeting my eyes. “What about you? Do you feel safe?”

I’m surprised by his question. It’s the first time anyone’s asked me that— my mom has always been the focus. But I nod. “Yeah. I’m not worried about my dad.”

“But you’re worried about your mom.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“Who wouldn’t be,” he agrees, nodding. “Well, for what it’s worth, I thought you looked hot in that ridiculous outfit. And I thought you looked even hotter when I found out you were driving way too fast in order to help out your mom.”

“I was not driving fast!” I say, shoving him in the stomach. It barely works— it’s like punching a concrete wall. He laughs at my failed attempt.

“I’ve got to go,” he says after a few minutes. “But I’ll text you later?”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. I sort of expected— and more than sort of wanted— another round between the sheets. I mean, I’m sore as hell, but I bet I could grin and bear it for a shot at another orgasm like the one he gave me last night. “Where are you going?”

“To work out,” he says.

“Now?”

“I work out every morning. Even when I’m on leave. It’s easier to just keep doing it than it is to start and stop.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“You’re on leave,” I say.

Heath frowns, though there’s humor in it, like my statement is a few degrees shy of ridiculous. “That’s sort of how it works when you’re in the military, Karli.”

“Yeah, I just— for some reason I didn’t think of it like that. I figured if you’re here, then you’re…here.”

“I am. For twelve more days.”

“Twelve days?” I ask, eyes widening. I sit up, hair swinging in front of my eyes. “Twelve days?”

“It’s a two-week leave,” he says, looking astounded by my reaction. “So yeah, twelve days, and then I’m doing training outside of San Diego for and upcoming mission.”

“And how long will that be?”

He shrugs. “Probably at least six months.”

I stare. Is he serious right now? He tells me I’m beautiful, he goes to weird lengths to get my number and message me, he fucks me in the most mind-blowing of ways, and then…he leaves for six months? And doesn’t even tell me that that’s going to be the case.

“I just…I thought we were really…” I don’t know how to end the sentence. I don’t know how to end this conversation, actually, or this morning.

“What?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s just really soon, I guess. We just met. You made me hit your car like…two days ago.”

Heath snorts. “I made you hit my car?”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry— I forgot. There was a “dog”,” I say, making a face. “Was there really a dog? Tell me the truth.”

“Of course there was a dog,” he says, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes. I grab a pillow from the bed and chuck it at him hard as I can, but he deflects it with a laugh. His laugh makes me hungry for him, and I bite my lip, ready to ask him for another round—

“I need to get going. I’ll talk to you later today,” Heath says, and pats his pants pocket to confirm his wallet and keys are there. “Bye, Karli.”

I blink, stunned, surprised, more than a little hurt— all emotions that I’m not sure he sees in the dim light. What right do I have to complain, though? We just met. We weren’t even on a date. We didn’t agree to a time schedule or plan this morning.

So I say the only thing I can stomach at the moment: “Oh. Right. Bye, Heath.”