I’m sitting at the elegant wood bar in Clyde’s when a hand lands on my shoulder. My reverie is broken as I glance back and find a familiar face staring back at me. “About time, Woodruff, I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.”

Chase laughs and slaps me on the back. “You know me. It’s good to see you again so soon, Hill. Two times in four months, right? I think we’ve beaten a record.”

With his dark jeans, hunter-green flannel shirt, and gray suede high tops, Chase Woodruff looks like he should be sipping an espresso in some trendy Seattle coffeeshop instead of grabbing a beer at an upscale bar in Georgetown. It’s not until you look a little closer that you notice his sculptured musculature, thousand-dollar watch, close-cropped hair, and a general air of lethality. Then it all clicks into place.

Special Forces. Washington, D.C. is crawling with them.

“Looks like you let yourself go since I last saw you,” Chase says, eyeing my longish hair.

“It’s called ‘growing it out’.” I slick it back with my hand before motioning to the empty seat next to me. “Wanna drink?”

“Absolutely.” Chase loops a long leg over the leather-topped stool and lowers onto it, moving with the ease of a highly trained athlete. Which is exactly what he is.

We met on a mission in Syria a few years back. Chase was part of the Air Force Special Tactics Force that paired up with our SEAL unit. If he hadn’t done some fancy air-ground communication from an alcove of rocks in the Syrian Desert as an enemy search party closed in on our location, well…let’s just say we wouldn’t be in this bar right now, ready to enjoy a stiff whiskey.

“It suits you,” Chase says as he catches the bartender’s attention. “Goes with this whole bodyguard persona you’re embracing.”

“Personal protection.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

I’m saved from wiping that smirk off his face by the arrival of the bartender. “Hi, honey, what can I get for you?”

Chase gives the pretty brunette a cocky, lopsided grin. Her own smile deepens under its charm. “Rye, straight up.”

“Any particular brand?”

“I’m sure I’ll love whatever you choose.”

She runs her dark-green eyes over my friend. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Huh,” I say, following the captivating sway of her hips as she moves away.

Chase glances at me. “What?”

“Didn’t know you were into bartenders.”

“I’m not.” His fingers begin to pick at the paper napkin in front of him. “She reminds me of someone, I guess.”

My eyes find her again. Long brown hair, graceful figure, eyes that look like polished emeralds. Makes me wonder what that girl he told me about looks like, the one that broke his heart two and a half years ago.

The bartender saunters over, highball in hand, and sets it down on the lacquered bar. “Whistle Pig, small batch. I think you’ll like it.” Her long hair cascades over her shoulder as she tilts her head toward Chase. “I’ll check on you boys in a few.”

I take a swig of my whiskey as Chase grabs his drink and swirls the amber liquid around the sparkling glass. “So what’s new since I was last here?” I had stopped in on my way back from Maine in July.

“A lot, actually. I’ve been offered a promotion that will take me out West only to have a rather lucrative gig suddenly dangled in front of me. It’s in your new line of work. ‘Personal protection.’”

“You’d leave the Air Force?”

“You left the SEALs.”

“That was different. I was weighing my options when Autumn asked for my help—uh, I mean, for a favor.”

“Couldn’t say no?”

“Didn’t want to.” I catch his skeptical look and roll my eyes. “Alright, no. I couldn’t.”

He tilts his glass toward me. “You’ve got it bad.”

“And you don’t?” I bite back. To my knowledge, Chase hadn’t dated since the breakup. He didn’t talk about her much, but I’d heard enough to know that the split gutted him.

“Sorry,” I say, turning toward my friend. “I’ve been on edge because of this tour.”

“It’s cool,” he mutters. “Anyway, I’ve pretty much crossed the job offer off my list. I think I was more interested in the money than the work. It was for this oil bigwig.”

“Wait, if you don’t want this private job, then why aren’t you taking the promotion? I enjoy our stimulating conversations over damn fine whiskey, but man, what’s keeping you here?”

Chase shoves his sleeves up to his elbows and leans his forearms against the bar. “You remember that my dad was in the Force, right? Well, I used to live in Colorado Springs and that’s exactly where this job’s taking me.”

“What’s wrong with going home?”

“Because it’s where I met my ex. We went to high school together.” He stops and takes another sip of rye. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay sane there.”

I let out a heavy sigh and lean back. “I’m not the guy to give advice. I’ve made it a point to avoid home for almost a decade.”

“Did it help?”

“Nope.”

A weary laugh leaves his lips. “And now you work for her. How’s that going, anyway?”

Now it’s my turn to take a swig. “Besides watching her work herself to the bone? Sunshine and rainbows.”

Chase lets out a low whistle. “Then how about I do you a favor? I’ll ask this oil guy if he’d be interested in a wimpy Squid instead of a Flyboy.”

I hit his arm. “Calling me names isn’t going to help…Zoomie.”

I get a punch on the shoulder, and then a “whatever.” Chase gives me a piercing look before adding, “What’s your answer? Make a fuckton of money, or stay with the girl you like?”

“It’s not that simple—and liked doesn’t come close.”

“I don't know about you," Chase begins slowly, "but acting like I'm cool with being just friends with a woman I like sounds like hell."

"It is," I answer grimly.

Chase tosses back the rest of his drink. "Well, the money’s unbeatable, but you’ll probably be bored out of your mind. CEO’s are not rockstars.”

I turn to him. “You’re serious about passing me gig?"

Chase shrugs. "I said I was thinking about it, don't get cocky. I've still got that promotion, remember?"

I snort. “Right. The promotion you're going to pass up because of some girl from your past.”

Chase rolls his eyes and shifts his gaze over my shoulder. “You’ve got one, too.”

“I’m well aware.”

"So what do you say?" Chase asks, his eyes roaming the packed bar. "Should I make a call?"

I meant what I said back there—that liked doesn't come close. Truth is, I’ve wanted Autumn for so long that I can hardly remember a time when I haven’t, and based on the way I can’t spend more than few minutes alone with her without thinking about how good she’d feel in my arms, I knew there’d never be a time I’d stop. Maybe distance is the only cure.

"Sure. Might as well keep my options open." I raise my glass to my lips and enjoy the hell out of my last sip of whiskey. It’s not until I’ve put my empty glass back on the bar that I notice something’s caught my friend’s attention.

“What’s up?”

He shrugs. “You never told me Autumn’s prettier in person. Or so short.”

“She’s not short,” I say while I consider getting another round. “We’re just taller than—”

I look at him. The smug look on his face would give Jensen a run for his money. “You’ve met her?”

He shakes his head and motions over my shoulder. “But I’m about to.”