Chapter Seven
WILL
Fifteen months ago
Regardless of which country or time zone I was in, I woke up with the dawn. It was a habit that annoyed the shit out of me when I was on leave, but today was different.
Today I opened my eyes and found Shannon’s head on my chest, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her lips pursed in the sexiest pout I’d ever seen.
Spending the night with her wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was fucking her again. Hell…I didn’t even think I’d see her. It was within the range of possibilities when I’d landed in Boston, but I figured she’d have her hands full disemboweling slow-talkers or castrating banker boys or hosting a regatta gala. Why would I expect Shannon to show up at my sister’s place on a Thursday night when she could be out serving up verbal gut punches to her minions?
Yeah, I was going to keep telling myself that. It was pure coincidence.
But then she stepped onto the terrace last night, shot me one of those looks intended to fry testicles, and the bell sounded for round two. Nothing could stop us from going hard at each other, even with her brother and my sister as an audience.
Waiting for her outside the bathroom made all this about much more than fighting words. It made this tangible, and I knew where it would go from there…but I wasn’t letting that comment about submission go down easy.
I didn’t care whether she had the world by the short hairs. She didn’t scare me with her balls-out attitude or her cobra venom glares. If anything, that shit turned me all the way on. I’d spent the better portion of last night with one of my sister’s lime green cloth napkins over my lap because my belt was strangling my dick.
By the time I made it to Shannon’s apartment, I was ready to throw the fuck down.
None of this was part of the plan. This was supposed to be an easy weekend, some time to unwind before leading a string of training ops. A quick visit to keep an eye on my sister’s new husband followed by lots of beer, surfing, and sleep. That sequence of events didn’t involve bullshitting with a doorman, picking a lock, or watching Shannon put a showerhead to work.
I’d spent a solid minute with my jaw on the ground, and another five convincing myself to keep my pants on. Only the structured brutality of football was enough to stop me from getting into that shower and giving her what she needed.
Instead, I wanted Shannon to come to me.
I thought about leaving after she fell asleep last night. I wasn’t the guy who stayed over, but there never came a point when it felt like we were finished. Every time I got her off, I was thinking about what I wanted to do to her next.
Right now, I wanted to grab her ass and go back to sleep. I was in no rush to leave this bed.
Hours later, I stirred when Shannon murmured something incoherent and rested her hand an inch from my dick. He was a good sailor and snapped to attention, lengthening and twitching and just fucking desperate for her touch.
A part of me knew it would always be that way.
I rolled Shannon off my chest and positioned myself between her legs. She tasted different after a night of rowdy sex, and I liked that shit. It was a wicked kind of heaven. Her hips stirred as my tongue circled her clit, thrusting against me as her body found its natural rhythm. A raw moan slipped from her lips, and I glanced up to see her watching me with sleepy eyes and a rosy flush on her cheeks.
It was a good look on her.
I licked and sucked until she came against my tongue, then I pushed inside her and we rocked together, slow and gentle and the complete opposite of everything we did last night. No demands, no spanking, no swearing. Just sighs and hums and the subtle language of bodies that understood each other.
It didn’t matter that we hated each other. My cock craved this little spitfire.
We stayed tangled together, kissing and stroking while morning light filled Shannon’s bedroom. I was half hard again and fully convinced that I wanted this for the next four days. Beer, surfing…they could wait.
“Mmmm, that was nice,” she purred, stretching beneath me. She glanced at the clock and groaned. “Fuck, it’s late. Time to get up. Busy day. I’m going to shower first, and then you can hop in.”
She wiggled out from underneath me, tossed the sheets off, and sat up, and if there was any doubt about whether I was a greedy prick, it was put to rest when I wrapped my arm around her waist and hauled her back. “That won’t be happening.”
I trapped her on the mattress with my legs on either side of her torso and my cock between her breasts. With my hand fisted around my shaft, I dragged myself over her nipples, and those sweet little peaks perked up for me. A thin streak of fluid painted her skin. “You’re staying right there.”
“You’re cute. This is really charming, the whole jerk off on my tits and brand me with your spunk routine,” she said, a disapproving look aimed at my dick. “But I have to work today, and you’re not on the short list of people from whom I take orders.”
“You took plenty of orders from me last night,” I said. I kept stroking, slower now but much, much harder.
“Will,” she sighed. “Seriously. I have appointments. My brothers are going to wonder where I am.”
“Your brothers have already taken off for the weekend.” I pulled her hand away from twisting in her hair and placed it on my cock. She threw a sour scowl in my direction but immediately caressed me like she was trying to prove a point. “Yeah, I got the whole rundown from Matt last night,” I said, groaning. “You’re the only one punching in today, peanut.”
I knew what I was doing when I tailed Shannon home and convinced her doorman I was one of her brothers last night, and I knew what I was doing right now.
I wanted her all to myself.
And this didn’t require analysis. I mean, fuck…after three years of near-continuous deployment, wasn’t I supposed to drown myself in pussy? It was probably listed in the Navy’s official Rest and Recuperation Policy as a suggested activity.
Visiting loved ones, hunting and fishing, comfort food, consensual sex.
But I couldn’t blame this on post-deployment horny anymore. The past three months hardly qualified, considering they were spent in the scorched Nevada desert, teaching a team of rookie SEALs how to survive the dry heat.
This was—oh, hell, her fingers were fucking incredible—this was too complicated to figure out right now. My only priority was hidden somewhere between prolonging this as much as possible and exploding right this second. “I’m leaving for Montauk this afternoon. Come with me.”
She stared at me, her brow furrowed and a frown pulling at her lips. “What? Why?”
Her hand stilled, and I covered it with mine, urging her to continue.
“I have a buddy who has a house there. He’s away for the weekend,” I added.
I could handle her saying no, but I could also throw her over my shoulder and kidnap her. It wasn’t like her kicking and screaming didn’t turn me on.
“Why?” she repeated. Our hands were moving together, fast and firm.
“Don’t you ever want to disappear? Leave this all behind for a few days?”
I didn’t know where those questions came from, but they were the right ones. She blinked at me twice, that fierce poker face dissolving, and I saw the same flash of vulnerability I’d seen months ago. Her eyes shifted to her phone—the one that didn’t stop vibrating and chiming all damn night—and her teeth sank into her bottom lip. There were instances when she dropped the bitch boss act, and even though the bitch boss was hot as hell, the real Shannon was addictive. I couldn’t get a taste of her like this without wanting it again.
Something snapped inside me, and those hot, prickly sensations clawed their way down my spine. I couldn’t even choke out the words to tell her I was coming.
Gripping her velvet-upholstered headboard for support, I groaned and panted until my eyes were capable of focusing again. I couldn’t look down yet. I couldn’t see my seed splashed over her creamy skin and not spend the rest of the day worshipping her sassy little ass.
Shannon’s phone skittered across the bedside table, singing with alerts for a minute straight. Snatching it up, I keyed in her password and powered down the device. “You’re not turning that thing on again until Tuesday.”
“How did you unlock my phone?” she snapped, trying to tear it away from me. I held it out of her reach and tossed it under the bed.
“Commando tactic,” I said, scooping her up and marching toward the shower. “We’re leaving in half an hour. Don’t pack any underwear.”
*
“I would like my phone back,” Shannon said, her voice cold and shrill. “Now.”
I admired how hard she worked at that attitude. She put everything into being pissed off, and it made me want to throw her up against any of the cars in this underground garage and fuck her while she insulted me.
“Not happening,” I murmured.
“Motherfucking meathead,” she huffed, stomping away.
“Could you change that to lawyer-fucking meathead? I really prefer precise insults.”
It was a prime opportunity to study her ass in a tiny pair of yellow shorts. And those legs. Fuck me, those legs.
I was almost too preoccupied with the thick freckle clusters on her hamstrings to notice she’d opened a Range Rover’s rear gate and was busy piling her things inside. Stopping beside her, I grabbed the bags from her and stowed them myself.
“Hand over the keys, peanut,” I said while I tossed my backpack beside her brightly colored quilted bags. “Unless you’d like to see some more commando tactics.”
Shannon chucked the keys at my head, growling and murmuring to herself as she pivoted, marched to the passenger side, and flung the door open. She was still fuming when I settled beside her in the driver’s seat. She really wanted that phone.
“What?” I asked, gesturing to the car’s tricked-out interior. Why a little girl needed a badass SUV was beyond me. “No up-armored Humvees available?”
She crossed her legs and stared out the window. “You can suck my dick, William.”
Fuuuuuuck. She made furious look too hot for words. I was ready to blow off Montauk and drag her upstairs for angry sex, but we’d agreed upon a disappearance. We both needed a reprieve from who we were every day, and we weren’t going to get that in the middle of her city.
“I would, Shannon,” I said, “if you didn’t have it shoved up my ass at the moment.”
She leaned back, tapping her finger against her lips, a predatory smile breaking across her face. “Hmm. I’ve heard your sister enjoys ass play too. Like, really enjoys it.”
My groan vibrated through the car and Shannon covered her mouth as evil giggles spilled out. “You didn’t fucking go there.”
I shook my head and drew a deep breath. I could accept my little sister being married. I could tolerate the general concept of her having sex. I could not handle specific details about her sex life, and I was morally obligated to execute her husband if they were having anything other than bland, infrequent, missionary sex.
“Tell me you didn’t go there. You know why? Because if you fucking went there, I’ll have to scramble a wet team to dispose of your brother’s body when I’m finished with him. And that’s not on our agenda for today, peanut.”
“I could be bluffing,” she said. I spared her an impatient look while backing out of the parking space. “Could be. But you’ll have to give me my phone back.”
I didn’t respond until we were on the highway and well past the city limits. Everything seemed brighter out here, greener and less congested. I hated the closed-in feeling of urban areas, the wall-to-wall concrete, the noise. The beaches and wide-open spaces were for me.
“You can go a few hours without screwing around on your phone,” I said.
Shannon shifted, tucking her foot under her leg, and faced me. “Do you have any idea what I do?”
“Explain it to me,” I said. I met her glowering expression with a shrug.
She sighed and leaned against the center console. “My brothers—and Andy—handle the architecture. They draw the designs, they manage the builds, and they select the materials. They’re phenomenal at what they do but that’s all they do. I handle the purchase and sale of all our investment properties, manage billing, accounting, and payroll, file taxes, titles, and permits, and keep the office running so my brothers can focus on their projects. I handle the legal shit, too. Plus,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’m the point person for everything external. That includes media, branding, and dealing with the local bullshit. The preservation societies, the city council, the planning boards, the neighborhood committees…and there’s never a moment when one of them isn’t going apeshit over something.”
“You’re a beast. I know.” I scratched my chin. “Can none of that rest for one weekend?”
“I buy and sell properties on the weekends, too,” she said. “And family businesses are—they’re about more than business. Running this operation is just as much about scheduling Sam’s medical appointments and getting Riley’s trousers dry cleaned as it is managing a revolving line of credit and making sure our contracts are water-tight.”
Shaking my head, I frowned at Shannon. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“Excuse me?”
Shannon’s indignant face was enough to make my jeans feel too tight. “You’re ready to claw my eyes out over dry cleaning? Do you tuck your brothers into bed, too? Maybe wipe their noses or read stories until they fall asleep?”
She held up a finger, her mouth still twisted in an angry pout. “That’s not what I was saying—”
“Do me a favor,” I said, “and don’t tell me you can’t take a weekend off because you need to fetch some goddamn dry cleaning. I’ve known for a long time that you’re too good for that. Your brothers are adult fucking men. They might even be smart guys, though I have my doubts. They’ll figure it out, and it annoys the shit out of me that they let you do all of that on top of everything else you just listed.”
“But they don’t have any—”
“Dry-cleaned pants. Yeah, you mentioned that,” I said. “The world won’t fall apart if you step away this weekend, peanut. It might teach them something about handling their own shit.”
“It’s charming that you think you can walk in and explain my life to me, but you know nothing,” she said. “Maybe I do too much, but there is one thing I will never stop doing, and that’s taking care of my family.”
Shannon turned her attention out the window. She didn’t speak again until we boarded the ferry in New London. The journey across Long Island Sound would last about an hour, and while I was interested in getting some ferry head, Shannon hopped out of the car, slamming the door behind her, before I pulled the parking brake.
I found her on a bench near the bow. It wasn’t hard to spot her. The wind caught her ponytail, and my eyes snapped to those flowing red strands. Big, dark sunglasses hid her eyes. Her feet were propped on the railing and her arms were folded over her chest. A smart man would have handed over the phone and walked away. Fuck, a smart man would have bailed last night and been surfing right now.
I sat down beside her without a word.
The ocean air wrapped around me like a loving embrace. Minutes passed with nothing more than the sound of wind and water, and that was enough for me. I leaned against Shannon, hungry for her warmth. I was kidding myself if I thought this was only about sex.
Shannon glanced in my direction and then jerked her chin toward the bridge. “Can you drive one of these? Is that one of your commando skills?”
“A ferryboat?” I scratched my chin and scanned the deck. This vessel was a hell of a lot smaller than the pirate-held oil tanker my team assaulted some years back. “If I had to, yeah.”
“That would probably be strange for you,” she said, the sarcasm heavy in her voice. “You probably aren’t used to handling something this size.”
My thumb passed over the callous on my trigger finger. “I’m pretty sure you say that so I’ll pull out my dick and prove otherwise.”
She shrugged and stared off into the Sound. “So there’s ferryboats, stalking, and breaking into apartments. What else does a commando do?”
“Whatever it takes,” I said.
A sharp laugh slipped from her lips. “Right, me too.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got the global war on terror. You’ve got the war on lazy pussy-men. By comparison, I have it easy.”
She sighed, and her shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Do you ever wish you could take a break from your life? Like…run away, even for a minute?” She glanced at me, and if it were possible, her eyes were the greenest I’d ever seen them, even through the dark layer of her sunglasses.
“I think that’s what we’re doing right now.”
She frowned. “Is that why we’re doing this?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe we both need a break from life, and…and that’s all this is.”
“Just a break? From life?”
“Yeah,” I said, and as we stared at each other, we knew it was a lie, just like all the others that’d brought us to this point.
*
Kaisall’s place was on the north end of Ditch Plains, the legendary Montauk surfing destination known for its rocky-bottom shore. The house sat on a narrow slice of beachfront property, with a dense cluster of trees and bushes hiding it from the main road. The interior was simple and comfortable, and the screened-in porch with its wide lounge chairs and sea breezes was the closest thing to heaven New York could offer.
The only reason I knew any of this was because I’d been here before. We could have been in any city, any house. It didn’t matter where we were because all I could see was Shannon. I had her half-naked, on the floor, and riding my cock before the front door clicked shut. From the sound of the waves crashing on the beach below, it was an ideal surfing day, but the ocean wasn’t going anywhere. The clock was running on this weekend, and the real world was waiting for both of us on the other side.
Day passed into night while we indulged in each other, and if it weren’t for my growling stomach, we would have stayed in bed straight through to morning.
The walk into the heart of town was short, and filled with Shannon’s commentary on area property values. She stopped in front of a real estate office with glossy fliers advertising local homes for sale in the front window, her head cocked to the side and her lips pursed as she read. I didn’t see a single listing for less than seven figures.
“Huh,” she murmured, frowning.
“None of these up to par?”
She shook her head and stepped away from the window. “Not my style.”
I stared after her, captivated by the flex of her lean calves as she walked. It was strange seeing her without the neck-breaking heels. They seemed like her trademark, right along with her vibrant hair and infinite freckles, and the dark purple flip flops belonged to a side of her only I knew.
She darted into a gifts and home goods shop, the door chimes clanging in her wake, and I followed. A display of silver bowls in the shape of starfish and sand dollars drew her in.
“Hang onto this,” she instructed, handing over a large dish.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, and I didn’t miss Shannon’s smirk.
The woman could hold her own, and it was hot as hell. Giving orders and expecting obedience was natural to her, much like it was natural to me. It made this battle of wills even sweeter because I earned her surrender every goddamn time.
“Can you get that one?” Shannon pointed to a long tray on the top shelf. It was a good arm’s-length beyond her reach.
“Yes, ma’am,” I repeated, passing her the tray. “You going to start calling me your errand boy now?”
“No,” she said, “that’s what I have Tom for.”
“Tom? How many brothers do you have? Which one is Tom?”
Shannon knelt to the bottom shelf and selected three sets of miniature knives, each adorned with a silver lobster handle. “Tom’s my assistant. Or…he’s more like a chief of staff who also gets coffee and anything else I ever need.”
Maybe I was a dickhead with an overactive sense of possession, but I didn’t like this jack-of-all-trades already.
“Anything else you need?”
“Oh, aren’t these to die for?” We glanced over when an aproned woman appeared at the display. “These are from a local silversmith. Everything is one of a kind.” Her gaze dropped to the items in our hands. “Can I get these boxed up for you?”
“These are wedding gifts,” Shannon said. “Can you gift wrap and ship them directly?”
“Of course,” the clerk said. “You keep browsing, and I’ll get started.”
When the clerk was out of earshot, I leaned into Shannon and said, “So what’s in a chief of staff’s job description?”
She rolled her eyes and inspected a shelf filled with regional photography. “Not what you think, commando. He’s my consigliere, and a little brother to me. And we’ve…” Her voice trailed off as she fingered a small print of Montauk Harbor. “We’ve been through a lot of the same things. Things other people don’t understand.”
The photography no longer held her interest, and she wandered off. It was her way of telling me that, yes, her comment demanded further explanation but no, she wasn’t saying a damn thing more. Her hand glided down a rack of afghans and quilts, then over the surface of a fully-dressed dining room table. Finally, she stopped at a carousel of jewelry.
“What’s the deal with the wedding presents?”
Shannon’s index finger traced a row of silver and gold charm bracelets. “People got married. I owed them gifts. Before you kidnapped me for the weekend”—she sent a purposeful glare over her shoulder, which I summarily ignored—“I was planning to go shopping.”
“You strike me as the type of guest who wouldn’t dare show up empty-handed.”
She tried on several bracelets. Replaced all of them. “That’s usually the case. I didn’t go to any of these weddings, though.”
“Why not?” I shook my head as she held a hideous pair of octopus earrings to her lobe. “I thought you loved weddings.”
She returned the earrings to the carousel. “Everyone says that,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I don’t understand why.”
“Because the first time I saw you, you were telling Lo’s wedding planner how to do her job. Then you were bitching about flowers and appetizers and tents. And after that, you ran the reception. I could be wrong, but you might have officiated the marriage, too.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding while rubbing her thumb over a thick metal cuff. “I wanted to give my brother and my best friend an incredible wedding. It was project management with cake and flowers, not wedding fever. There’s a big difference.” She pivoted, her arms folded over her chest. “You want to know who has wedding fever? Andy. She wants the whole damned thing, and you know what? She deserves her Cinderella moment. Not me. I don’t need any of that. I’ve never thought about getting married, but if I did, I wouldn’t want a big, frilly event.”
“No buying out beachfront inns for you?”
“No.” She walked away to pay and sign the enclosure cards for her gifts, but I was insane. I wanted to know everything about Shannon, and I wasn’t done with this topic.
“What would you want?” I asked.
She paused, then returned to writing the cards.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t given it much thought, but…the wedding is just one day. I don’t believe in that one day being the best day of your life. That’s a lot of pressure for the universe. It’s too easy for little things to go wrong, and make it seem like the marriage started on the wrong foot. I want the best day of my life to be a lazy Sunday morning with raspberry pancakes and open houses and my person. The wedding is a party with legal documents, and I don’t want a party to matter more than a marriage. But that’s just me.”
With a shrug, Shannon slipped each card into its matching envelope and placed them beside the gift-wrapped boxes.
She couldn’t make it easy on me, that was certain. She couldn’t be a spoiled bridezilla brat who required a big-ass wedding. She couldn’t even be a bitchy workaholic who threw tantrums when forced to take a day off. She wouldn’t fit into any neat compartment, and maybe it was time to stop trying.
“I’m hungry,” she announced. “Point me in the direction of food. Preferably good food, and decent adult beverages.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We headed to a casual restaurant away from the town’s quaint center, and sat at the outside bar. She asked me about Kaisall over dinner, and provided an oblique explanation of her refusal to eat anything off a bone. Ribs, wings, fried chicken: all out of the question.
That was no way to live.
The girl was a handful, but…it was amazing to watch her stress melting away. Some of it remained, but she was present. Her words softened and flowed more freely. Her body loosened, as if she wasn’t bracing for battle anymore. Her gestures slowed, and her smile…that smile. The real thing was unexpectedly powerful, like a riptide.
Once the plates were cleared, she studied the dessert menu like she was being quizzed on it. I ordered another beer and let a deep sense of contentment wash over me. The salt air was sinking into my skin, there was a feisty lady at my side, my belly was full of low country barbeque, and unless there was an act of war this weekend, my time was my own until Tuesday.
“Okay, commando,” she said. “I’ve done all the talking. Now it’s your turn. What are you all about? I want the Will Halsted story.”
“You should know I’m obsessed with IPAs,” I said in my best lilting hipster voice. Shannon’s fist landed on my shoulder, and the smiling scowl on her face told me she didn’t find that kind of comment amusing. Not entirely.
“Meatheads can’t handle conversation. Noted,” she said, raising her arm to catch the bartender’s attention. The chick with the skinny jeans and nose rings who took our order was busy at the other end, and a big, fisherman-looking dude sidled up.
“What can I getcha, sugar?”
I narrowed my eyes at the bartender. Setting aside that overactive sense of possession for a second, was it not obvious that Shannon was here with me? If she was anyone’s sugar, she was my sugar.
“Irish whiskey. Whatever’s top shelf. Three fingers,” she said, “on the rocks.”
“Sure you can handle that?” he asked while dropping ice into a tumbler with a wink. He fucking winked at her. What kind of asshole winked?
I cleared my throat and draped my arm over the back of her chair. That was my first warning. This guy did not want to see my version of a second warning.
“Oh I’ll be fine,” she said, jerking her thumb in my direction. “Muscles over here will throw me on his shoulder and get me home. He can’t have a conversation, but he’s really good at manhandling.”
“Shannon,” I growled.
“Here’s my best top shelf Irish. It’s a Midleton, the Barry Crockett,” he said, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of Shannon. “It’s smooth. You’ll like the way it feels in your mouth.”
Yep, I am going to have to kill this guy now.
Shannon let out a raucous laugh. “I usually do.”
“Let me know if you need anything else, sugar.”
“She’s good,” I snapped. “Thanks.”
The bartender glanced at me for the first time since arriving at this end of the bar. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, backing away. “Of course, man.”
“If you two want to whip your dicks out, I’ll find a measuring tape,” Shannon said. She lifted her glass in salute to no one in particular and took a hearty sip. “I might have an app for that. I’d need my phone, but some lawyer-fucking meathead stole it.”
“Shannon,” I said through clenched teeth. I continued glaring at the bartender as he moved to another group.
“That was entertaining,” she said. “I always knew you were a savage, but whoa.”
Her gaze skimmed up and down my body while she sipped her whiskey, and I couldn’t tell if that look was contemptuous or predatory, or a little of both.
“I do like the feel of this in my mouth,” she said. “It feels like it’s getting me drunk tonight. You’re going to tell me stories.”
I groaned internally. My whole life was classified, and for good reason. Operational security was a big deal. A big fucking deal. There wasn’t much I could tell her, and honestly, I didn’t want to burden her with the details. “What kind of stories?”
She reclined against my arm—another benefit of relaxed Shannon: free-flowing affection—and I let my fingers travel over her shoulder. “What do you love?”
The question took me by surprise, and I paused to get my thoughts in order. “The ocean,” I started. “Spending the day out on the water. My family. Being back home in San Diego.”
Kidnapping mouthy redheaded lawyers.
“Has San Diego always been home?” she asked.
“Yeah, Dad was stationed there before any of us were born. I’ve seen a lot of this world but it’s home to me. It’s the only place I want to be. Even when I leave the teams, I’ll stay in San Diego.”
“When will that be?”
“If,” I said. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
She wrapped her tongue around her straw—yeah, I was halfway hard—and squinted at me. “And what is it that you do?”
“Most of it is highly classified,” I said. “But I can say I spend most of my time tracking high-value terrorist targets.”
“Like…Zero Dark Thirty?”
I nodded. I wasn’t on that raid, but that was exactly what I did.
“You kill people,” she said, her words barely a whisper.
“When they put the lives of Americans in danger, yes, I do,” I said.
“That’s scary,” she said. “Everything you just said, it’s scary.”
“Fear is a choice,” I said. “Danger is real, but you decide whether or not you allow fear into your mind.”
“But it’s dangerous,” she said. “Really dangerous. You have scars from…being over there. I’ve seen them.”
“It comes with the territory,” I said.
“But you could be seriously injured or, or…” She glanced up at me, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. “Why do you do it?”
“I have a duty to serve and protect my country. I have a set of skills few others have and that puts me in more hostile regions and risky missions, but it’s a challenge I willingly accept.”
Shannon stared into the tumbler, her eyes tracking the ice cube as it clanked against the glass. I couldn’t read her and I didn’t know what to say. Most of the women close to me knew as much about SEAL life as I did. My mother and Lo lived it, my college girlfriend’s brothers were Marines, and that was it. I didn’t have any other women. Sure, there was the perky comm officer at the Sigonella base but that only happened a couple of times, and she knew the drill.
Shannon knocked back the rest of her whiskey and signaled for the bartender. Thankfully, Nose Ring responded this time.
With a fresh drink in hand, Shannon said, “We gave you a nickname.” A broad smile filled her face and her cheeks were pink. The alcohol was hitting her. “Only special people get nicknames. It’s a thing we do. When Riley was little, he had the worst stutter. It was so hard for him to talk, and he gave up. He just didn’t speak.”
Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back before they slid down her face. She reached for her glass and looked away. There were only a few emotions Shannon willingly shared: anger, derision, frustration, contempt, impatience. She kept sadness and pain all to herself, but it was obvious they were there. A dark history lived in her, and I saw it when she didn’t think I was looking.
“My father refused to let the school test him for speech disorders. He said Riley was just lazy or looking for attention, and whipped him with a belt every time he heard a stutter. There were some years when Riley didn’t speak at all,” she said. “But he loved comic books and action figures and all that stuff, so I started reading comics to him. His job was to say some of the words with me, and he was down as long as I called him Batman and he was allowed to use the Batman voice. That was the only thing that worked for him. So we read together every afternoon for years, and in the process, he assigned superhero names to me and my siblings.”
There was no correct response to Shannon’s confession. It was another layer to tuck away and examine later, and I continued stroking her shoulder without comment.
Nose Ring appeared and broke the silence. “Any thoughts about dessert? The chef has a really wonderful grilled peach with brown sugar and walnut crumble. Would you like to try that?”
Shannon turned away from me and discretely wiped her eyes. What would it take for her to look me in the eye while she cried? Would she ever let herself give up that much? Would she ever give that much to me?
“Yeah,” I said. “Two peaches.”
She pulled her sleeves down over her fingers and folded her arms on the bar. “He’s the master when it comes to assigning nicknames, and you should feel pretty damn special that he’s bestowed one on you,” she said, laughing.
“I do,” I said. “I’d like to hear it, and yours.”
“They call me the Black Widow.” She grinned over the rim of her glass, and Riley was dead-on with that one. Natasha Romanov was a nurturing assassin, and one gorgeous, ass-kicking redhead. “You’re Captain America.”
“Captain America?” I repeated.
“Yep, and I know The Avengers inside and out—hell, I’d have to after reading them, over and over and over. Steve never gets into Natasha’s bodysuit. It’s a sign.”
“No one does,” I said. Comic book knowledge didn’t live in the forefront of my mind these days. “Right?”
Nose Ring returned and set two miniature cast-iron skillets loaded with grilled peaches in front of us. “They’re hot,” she warned.
“Right?” I repeated.
“Wes got a nickname, too,” Shannon said, ignoring me as she picked at the basil leaves atop her fruit. “Thor. That one works for me. I mean, Wes is really hot. You’re adorable and all, with your chiseled good looks and crusty personality, but if Wes broke into my apartment…well, let’s just say I’d be all over that hammer.”
“You are not Wes’s type, peanut,” I murmured.
Her little fist popped my shoulder. “What the hell does that mean?”
“My brother is gay,” I said, shocked that Lo hadn’t mentioned that. “Despite the fact that you demand I suck your dick, I’m well acquainted with that region of your body and know you don’t have the anatomy Wes prefers.”
“But…he was totally flirting with my sister at the wedding,” she said, incredulous. “I saw and thought, ‘Wow. He’s way too old for her.’ He’s lucky I didn’t have a few words with him about that, because let me tell you something: I’ve had plenty of words with Nick since then. That bastard’s on my list. But back to Wes. If he’s gay, why was he putting the moves on her?”
I definitely needed to see Shannon taking Wes to task at least once before I died. My life would not be complete without it.
“He came out to me when he was in high school but he’s in the closet around our parents,” I said. “My father enforced Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell when he was a commanding officer, and he’s made enough comments over the years to let us all know where he stands. But every time I think about it, I know he wouldn’t shut Wes out. He’d need some time with it, but wouldn’t disown Wes.” I shrugged and dug into the vanilla ice cream accompanying the peaches. “If there is anything I know to be true, it’s that my mother would stage a coup before that shit went down.”
“You don’t think I could turn him?” Shannon forked a piece of fruit and held it up, examining it before taking a bite.
I dropped my hand to her thigh and leaned into her. “Your pussy is busy enough with me. It doesn’t need another challenge.”
Peach juice glistened on her lips like an invitation. My hand moved to the back of her neck and I pressed my mouth to hers, sucking the sweetness from her skin. Her fork clattered to the ground as she sighed against me.
“I like you like this,” I said, my fingers twisting in her hair.
“Drunk?” she asked. “I’ve heard that before. All of my law school friends said I was too much to deal with until I’d had a few beers.”
“Relaxed,” I clarified. “You’re never too much for me. But right now, you just look…” I leaned back and cupped her face, my thumb sweeping across her flushed cheek as I studied her. “Like you aren’t holding up the world. Like you’re as sweet and simple as summer peaches. But sweet and simple are the last words I’d use to describe you. You’re smart and beautiful and really fucking complicated.”
“Too complicated?”
“Probably not,” I said, my lips brushing over her neck. “Why don’t you sit on my face while I think about it?”
“I like you like this, too,” she said.
I kissed along her jaw and cheeks until I landed on her mouth, and there was no way I could pretend this wasn’t the way I wanted the weekend to unfold. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want every weekend to unfold this way. “That’s good because you’re going to disappear with me in November.”
“I am?” she asked. I gave her a quick nod while my fingertips grazed her collarbones. “That’s a nice idea but I’ll have to think it over.”
“Mmhmm,” I murmured against her jaw. “You can think all you want while you’re sitting on my face, but know this: I’ll be seeing you again, peanut.”