Okay, I was officially ashamed now. I’d slept with a man I’d just met twice in one night. This wasn’t a date; this was a hookup. Exactly what I hadn’t wanted.

And oh my God—how crazy random was this night? A producer asked Grady to be on Dancing under the Stars? What a nightmare. I could never tell Grady that I’d been on that show.

And even worse—he’d been approached about writing a book. I mean, of course he had, but I wondered if my father or his agent had asked Grady. I knew my dad had his sights on him. Dad kept waxing poetic about Grady’s heroics. He’d even made a point to mention that he would love it if I dated a man like Grady. Ha! If he only knew where I was now, I don’t know if he’d be ashamed or thrilled.

Grady walked out of the bathroom, silent. I gathered my clothes and dressed. My costume barely fit with my sweaty body clinging to the fabric.

When I emerged, Grady sat on the sofa, blankly staring at the screen.

Okay. Awkward. “I’m going to go back to the party. It was nice meeting you.” Isn’t that what you were supposed to say after these hookups? How was I supposed to act? Was there any way I could turn this night around?

He stood up, and I admired his body again.

Stop it, Isa. He probably sees this as a one-time deal. He wanted to drive you home earlier and you insisted on staying. He hasn’t mentioned seeing you again, asked what you like to do for fun, or shown any sign that this is more than just a hookup. Cut your losses and leave.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t need to. It’s just a block.”

He grabbed his keys. “I said I’ll walk you back. It’s late; lots of guys have been drinking. A girl was assaulted on campus last week.”

My belly fluttered—he was being protective over me, but it probably meant nothing. Was this some military honed instinct? He was a Medal of Honor recipient—I was sure this was just how he acted toward every woman. Whatever his reason, I enjoyed being the object of his concern. “Suit yourself.” He probably wanted to head back to the party and find another Black Widow.

We left his apartment, the stars now shining over the San Diego night. We walked in silence to where Marisol had parked, but her car wasn’t there.

Dammit.

I tried to think of a lie because I didn’t want Grady to know I didn’t have a ride. I didn’t want him to feel guilt-tripped into driving me home. “My friend’s car’s gone. Let me text her real quick.”

He grabbed my hand as it slid into my purse. “Gone? She left without texting you?”

I checked my phone. Yup. Nada. “Well, technically I left without telling her, though I did text her that I’d met someone. I’ll call a cab.”

He turned me to him. The starlight shone in his glass eye. “I don’t trust cabs. Stay with me tonight, and I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

I couldn’t get a read on him. Earlier he offered to drive me home; now he was telling me to spend the night. Did he really want me to stay or was he just worried about my safety? “Well, I trust cabs so I’m going to just call one.”

“Stay.” His grip tightened on my arm, but still I felt safe.

“Okay.”

He put his arm around me and we walked back up to his apartment.

Now it was awkward.

He nodded, and then sat down, this time across from me. His gaze leveled me.

After a long swig of his beer, he finally spoke. “Where have I seen you before?”

Great. My insides quivered.

My gut wrenched as I thought about telling him the truth. If I had any hope of dating this man, this hero, I’d better not lie to him. After all, he’d been honest with me. But this situation was awkward enough. If I told him, I was sure he’d see me as some spoiled, rich reality star—the polar opposite of him being famous for saving his men’s lives. But I wasn’t spoiled or rich. I’d left that life. I wanted to help people who had gone through trauma. People like Grady, people like my mother.

People like me.

My hand rubbed my face. “Not sure, I guess I have a familiar face.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I may have only one eye, but I never forget a face. I’ve fucking seen you before. Don’t lie to me.” His voice was now gritty, rough, angry—a wave of fear flashed over me. I was alone in an apartment with a Marine with PTSD. He was trained to kill. Hell, he probably had killed.

This was it. This was the moment, one of those pivotal moments I was certain I would agonize over for years to come. I could tell this man my truth in the hopes that we could turn this one-night stand into something more. But I knew from experience that the second he knew I had been on television, he would probably assume I was one of those trampy celebrity types who went home with everyone they met. Most men saw me only as a conquest once they learned about my past.

That fluttery feeling that I had had in my belly was now replaced by knots.

No, I couldn’t allow a man I didn’t know, didn’t trust into a part of my life I’d said goodbye to forever.

“I’m not sure. Maybe you’ve seen me at another party or around town.”

He exhaled, an audible sound of his disgust. He could probably tell I’d lied to him.

Great. I had just ruined this night.

After a few moments in silence, his phone rang. Saved by the bell.

“Hello? . . . Yeah, man, hold one sec.” He looked at me. “It’s my buddy, his wife just left him. Make yourself at home.”

He opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony, closing the door quickly behind him. I wanted to give him some privacy, so I grabbed my purse, headed into his bedroom, and went into the bathroom.

One look in the mirror, and I almost didn’t recognize myself. My hair was wild, my eyes had mascara pooled under them, and my cheeks were splotchy.

I left the bathroom and something shiny caught my eye. His nightstand drawer was ajar, and a glimpse of steel deflected off the moonlight.

A gun.

A motherfucking gun.

My blood chilled. A flash of my mom’s skull busted open, blood staining her gorgeous black hair, the smell of gunpowder, the lethal weapon still clutched in her hand, a final reminder that she’d given up the will to live. She’d never see me walk down the aisle; my future children would never know the love of their nana. After she’d taken her own life, I’d lost the desire to ever dance again.

My hand shook. Only an hour ago I’d seen Grady suffer from a combat flashback. He’d been blank, out of his mind, unreachable. What if he had another flashback and no one was around? What if this truly turned into nothing more than a one-night stand? Did he have someone to talk him down off the ledge? Would he call someone for help? I’d recently read an article about the suicide rates of vets and the lack of mental health care they receive. He’d even told me that he didn’t believe any of the therapies worked. A grenade had blown Grady up. He’d watched his best friend die. Was he suicidal?

I peered out the window—he was still on the phone.

Luckily, I’d gone shooting with my dad many times prior to my mom’s suicide, and I knew how to operate a weapon, though I hadn’t seen a gun since I’d discovered her. My hand shaking, I slid the magazine out—it was empty. But I saw a single round in the chamber.

One round. One bullet.

Enough to end his life.

Enough to end mine.

I removed the round, clutched it in my hand, and buried the bullet in my purse.

I walked back into the living room, my heart racing, but I was certain I’d done the right thing.

But I was also certain I had to get the hell out of here. What if he found out I stole his bullet? In the haze of lust and desperation, I’d put myself in a dangerous situation—alone with an armed stranger. Emotions twisted inside me. Grady was sexy and a true hero.

But it didn’t matter.

Ultimately, I didn’t feel safe. Though I wanted to be a clinical psychologist, I didn’t have the tools to help Grady, and one glance at the bullet in my purse made me realize I was in way over my head.

But what about our connection? I liked this guy—my heart raced when I thought about him. We had just had the most incredible sex, twice, and he’d opened up to me, revealed himself to me, showed me his scars. He asked me to spend the night. How could I leave him now when he had just begun to let me in?

After a few more minutes, Grady came back into the room. “Sorry about that, my buddy’s going through a rough time.”

“No worries. It’s great that you’re there for him.”

We sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say to him. I had so many questions about what had happened to him in Iraq, what his life was like now, how he coped. But I had no right to ask these questions. I never wanted to start a relationship with sex first. But we’d already crossed that line, and there was no going back.

My phone vibrated. Marisol.

Marisol: You hooker! You ready to go home?

Isa: I’ll be back where you parked in a few minutes.

Marisol: K.

“Grady, my friend is going to pick me up downstairs. I’m going to go.”

His face fell and it was as if I could almost see hope escaping from his eye.

What had I just done? I hated myself.

“Good.” He stood up.

Good? Ouch. Maybe he had only asked me to stay the night because he was a gentleman. Guess he didn’t want to be held responsible if a cabbie murdered me.

Or maybe the sting of my rejection had caused him to turn cold.

I’d been wrong to think there was a connection here; I was probably nothing more to him than another random hookup.

This was for the best. As much as I craved getting close to a man, I truly doubted that I could really let my guard down, especially with someone who was going through his own issues. Plus once he realized I’d disarmed him, he would probably never trust me again.

I refused to let him see my hurt. “It was really nice to meet you, Grady.”

My arms extended for a hug but he brushed me off. Double ouch.

I wanted him to throw me over his back and take me back to his bed, fuck me all night. Grady’s wounds, his scars of war, were likely so deep, that no amount of love could heal. Maybe he was actually right—no amount of therapy could help either, especially with an unwilling patient. He was not right for me—I couldn’t risk getting involved with and loving another person who would leave me.

Pathetically I still hoped for a second that he would ask me for my number, or out on a date. Somewhere public, without a loaded gun in the vicinity. Some sign to show me that this was more than just a one-night stand.

But he just opened the door.

Isa, you’re embarrassing yourself. He doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just make a clean break now and forget this night ever happened.

I squeezed his hand, gave him a kiss on his cheek, and darted out of his apartment.