SAWYER

I was on the verge of an anxiety attack when I’d finished getting ready to go out tonight. I’d flipped that stupid coin like I promised my sister I would, and of course it determined I would go out to the bar tonight. After tossing around all the clothes I brought to San Diego searching for the right thing to wear, I succumbed to picking through Cece’s closet.

Tight jeans, a loose-fitting and still insanely flattering tank, and I left my hair wavy the way Cece wore hers. I felt pretty good when I was swiping on makeup heavier than I usually wear, but it wasn’t until I stepped in front of that mirror that I saw it.

It wasn’t Sawyer staring back at me.

It was my sister.

I was Celia.

The clothes, the hair, all of it was my sister, but that wasn’t what made the image before me so surreal; after all, those things are only skin-deep. It was the glow on my cheeks that even the most expensive makeup couldn’t provide, the spark in my eye that was looking forward to doing something irresponsible. It was my posture, the confident bend in my knee and the strength in my shoulders that spoke of a woman not constantly bogged down by worrying about every single tiny detail of life.

What I saw in the mirror was a girl who, even if for only that brief second, had given in to what could be rather than having her hands wrapped up in manipulating her future into what it needs to be.

And as soon as I recognized it, I chased it away.

Suddenly the room was too small, the clothes were cutting off my circulation, my legs felt numb, and I raced outside for air . . .

Only to run into him.

Aden.

The way he looks at me dulls my pulse to a slow and desperate throb. With him, I’m not Celia or Sawyer, I’m some hybrid that he seems to find interesting enough to be around, to kiss, to date.

When he opens the passenger-side door to his truck he flashes a cocky smile that makes me think he can read my thoughts. That he knows the effect he has on me. And he likes it.

But when I smile back something happens. His grin falls and he’s briefly knocked off his game as wonder dances behind his eyes.

A tense moment builds between us until he clears his throat.

“Buckle up.” He dips his chin and runs a hand over his hair before shutting me in.

I pull my seat belt on and blindly buckle it as I watch him jog around the hood with all the grace and agility of a seasoned athlete.

He climbs inside and the engine roars to life. “You like Italian food?”

“Yeah.”

He cranks the wheel around and takes us toward town. “I know a place. It’s a hole in the wall, but they have the best baked rigatoni I’ve ever had.”

“Sounds good.” I struggle for something to talk about as he turns the dial on his radio to some alternative rock station. There’s no CD player, but only an old tape deck. Although the thing must be vintage, its interior is clean and well taken care of. “This is a great truck.”

“Thanks, it was Cal’s. It’s old but I like that I can pop the hood and fix shit if it breaks. No computers on these old Chevys.”

I don’t know anything about cars so I simply nod and grip my purse in my lap to hide my nervousness.

He makes a sharp right turn and something silver slides from beneath my seat to settle at my shoe. I reach down and scoop up a set of dog tags. They jingle as I pull them closer to inspect the name.

“Are you still in the Army?”

His eyes dart between the tags in my hand and the road ahead.

“No.” He leans over, pops open the glove box, then swipes the tags and tosses them in.

“Were you in the Middle East for a long time?”

He works his jaw back and forth for a few seconds then nods. “Four deployments, longest was fifteen months.”

“Fifteen months?” That’s insane. “I thought you guys only go for a few months at a time.” Over a year in a war-torn country sounds like hell. “You must’ve had a pretty important job.”

His eyebrows drop low and he hits the brakes so hard that if I weren’t wearing a seat belt I would’ve hit my head on the dashboard. He turns and smiles, but it seems forced. “We’re here.”

I look out the windshield to see a sign that has Rizzario’s Italian Ristorante painted on a red brick building. It’s quaint and has a romantic feel, which sends my stomach tumbling.

He hops out of the truck and circles the hood, but the way he’s carrying his body is different. Stiff shoulders and slower, more controlled movements. He opens my door, avoiding my eyes, but gives me a hand to help me slide as gracefully as possible out of my seat.

To my disappointment he releases my hand and walks ahead of me and into the restaurant. Weird because he seemed to purposefully slow his pace to walk side by side when we left the cottages.

After a quick request for a table on the patio we’re led to a small outdoor area that’s sheltered by wisteria vines and twinkle lights. Aden pulls my chair out for me and despite the 180-flip in his mood I smile at the gentlemanly gesture.

“What?” He sits across from me, his gaze intent on mine.

“I’ve never had a chair pulled out for me before.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “None of your globetrotting boyfriends pulled out a chair for you, huh?” He shakes out his napkin and drapes it across one thigh. “All money. No class.” He cringes but only slightly.

I try not to read too much into it or let his opinion of my sister’s dating life make me angry; after all, he’s probably right.

I pick up my menu and pretend to be looking at the options when I’m really trying to figure out where I went wrong. He’s only been like this with me twice, and both times it was when I brought up the military.

“Can I get you something to drink?” A female voice sounds from our tableside and before I can open my mouth to order an iced tea, Aden’s barking an order for two whiskeys.

I curl my lips between my teeth and wait for her to leave before leveling him with a stare. “I don’t drink whiskey.”

He leans back and drops his hands to his thighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

I keep my eyes fixed on his and hope he looks away first but he tilts his head and keeps his gaze locked with mine.

I lean in. “I’m sorry.”

He blinks.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Now I do, and it won’t happen again.”

“What’re you talkin’—”

“Your military career.”

He jerks like I socked him in the gut and his shoulders tense.

“It’s a topic you’re not comfortable with, I see that now. I didn’t know that before, so please stop punishing me. I made a mistake, I apologize, so you can stop looking at me like I’m the enemy here.”

His mouth opens to say something but the waitress comes with our drinks. She puts them on the table and turns to leave.

“Wait,” he snaps at the poor girl. “She’d like to order something else.”

I envision Celia in the seat instead of me and imagine how she’d respond.

The waitress looks at me and rather than order an iced tea I pick up the whiskey and nod. “This is fine. Thank you.”

He narrows his eyes. “Really?”

I take a sip and fight the cringe that crawls up the back of my neck as the burning booze slides down my throat. “Delicious.”

A hint of a grin curls his lips and he sips from his own drink staring at me like I’m some freaky side-show he’s enjoying.

We keep the conversation relatively impersonal from that moment on. I ask him about fishing and he seems content talking about different fish, market prices, and San Diego history.

Turns out whiskey isn’t all that bad and the baked rigatoni was as good as he promised. It isn’t until our waitress asks if we’d like dessert that I remember why we’re here and begin to get nervous about going to Lenny’s.

Chances are there will be a lot of people who know my sister and will be asking me things and talking about situations I know nothing about. Luckily Aden will be with me. I figure, two whiskeys and I’m almost slurring, anyone who notices my lack of memory will just chalk it up to me being drunk.

I try to pay half of the bill but Aden stares at me in a way that says “Don’t you fucking dare pull out your wallet.”

Having not been on many real romantic dates, I’m not familiar with protocol, but I allow him to pay. He seems more at ease, and when we’re walking out to his car and he hooks me around the waist I practically melt into his arms.

“Whoa, you drunk, freckles?” He chuckles at my ear, sending goose bumps down my arm.

“I told you I don’t drink whiskey.” I try to push off of him but his powerful arm holds me close.

“What I saw, I’d say you drink it just fine.” There’s humor in his voice as he steers me away from the parking lot to the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?”

“Lenny’s. It’s on the next block over.” He peeks over at me. “How do you not know where Lenny’s is?”

I pretend to window shop in the beachside boutiques so he can’t see my face as I struggle for a believable answer. “I do, I just meant, why aren’t we going to the car?”

“I figured it would be better for you to walk off some of that liquor.”

“Hmm . . . probably smart.”

It’s a short walk and I’m having a hard time keeping one foot in front of the other with the way his thumb is tracing circles on my hip.

The neon Lenny’s sign comes into view up ahead. It’s on a corner, and reggae music filters from the retractable windows along the two street-facing walls. It is what I’d consider to be the typical beach bar but with a modern flair.

Just like earlier, Aden tenses and loses his good humor the second we walk through the door. He leads me to a high-top table in the corner right by an open window, but his eyes are fixed on an older man who is making drinks behind the bar.

That must be Lenny.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He’s lying. “We don’t have to stay.”

Finally he moves his eyes from the man at the bar, but he doesn’t look at me. Now his gaze is shifting from person to person, from one side of the room to the next, and then he pushes in beside me so that his back is to the wall and something about the new position seems to make him relax a little.

“You want me to go get us drinks?”

He lifts an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t smile. “You sure you need one?”

Yep, grumpy Aden is back.

And suddenly I long to be back at Celia’s wrapped in a cozy blanket with a good book.

“Celia!” Zöe comes up from behind me and wraps me in a hug. “You made it.”

Her eyes land on my empty hands. “You need a drink.”

“Oh . . . actually, I think I’m good.”

The girl’s eyebrows pinch together and she studies me for a moment before she bursts into laughter. “Good one, I’ll grab you a drink.” She spots Aden and does a double take. “Hey, Aden.”

“Zöe.” He doesn’t even look at her, his eyes are still constantly scanning as if he’s looking for a threat.

“Lenny know you’re here?”

“Don’t know, but I’ll go say hi to make sure he does.” He grins wickedly and whispers in my ear, “I’ll be right back,” followed up by a quick squeeze before moving through the crowd toward the bar.

Zöe watches him walk away, then turns back to me with huge saucer eyes. “You and Aden?”

“No, er. . . . I don’t—”

“I can’t believe you’re bumping uglies with Aden Colt!”

“Gross, I’m not bumping . . .uglies.”

“Sure you’re not. The guy is hot as hell and you’re not screwing him. That’s the funniest damn thing I’ve ever heard, Celia.”

“I swear we’re not doing anything.”

She props her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”

If it weren’t for the back of my barstool I would’ve fallen right off it. She sees right through me. No crap, Sawyer! No drink, denying a meaningless relationship, sitting with my legs crossed—I’m not even trying to act like Celia.

I give into the lingering pull of liquor in my blood and allow it to turn me into a noodle. “Okay, fine, you got me. We’re dating.”

“Dating?” She scoots in closer. “You and Aden Colt are dating?” Her expression would indicate that I’m still not a convincing Celia.

“Dating,” I say, using air quotes. “You know what I mean, hooking up.”

Silence stretches between us and she searches my eyes before she finally nods. “I knew it.”

“It’s just temporary, ya know, something to pass the time until I move.” My stomach feels sick at how easily the words are falling from my lips. Casual sex isn’t something I’ve ever supported or been party to, but Celia has mastered it.

She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Whatever you say.” She shrugs. “Just be careful.”

My ears perk up. “Why would you say that?”

I follow her gaze that’s on Aden talking to who I assume to be Lenny behind the bar, neither of them looking all that excited to see the other.

“He’s got a bit of a reputation.” She scoots a stool closer to me and drops down to sit. “Brice and his friends call him Sergeant Psycho.”

“Why?”

“The dude isn’t stable.” Her eyes widen. “But who cares, he’s sexy.”

“What makes everyone think he’s psycho?” I’m reminded of his sudden mood swings, how he goes from being flirtatious to angry, he’s easily irritable, and seems to have very little impulse control. What if he is psycho? My heart thuds dully in my chest thanks to the booze pumping through my veins.

“He used to be a bouncer here. I heard they fired him because he attacked a cab driver.” Zöe’s eyes are wide. “Totally unprovoked.”

I have a hard time believing that. Aden’s a tough guy, but to attack someone for no reason makes no sense. Unless he’s crazy.

“Not too long ago he had an accident at the cliffs.” Her thinly shaped eyebrows are high on her forehead. “He said he slipped while he was running, but rumor has it he jumped.”

I turn to look at him, his maroon tee hugging his thick, tan biceps and his strong jaw locked as he listens to whatever that Lenny guy is saying. He seems so capable, I can’t imagine him taking the coward’s way out and trying to kill himself. I also saw him balance on one foot while leaning over the edge of his boat to bring in a fish and I can’t see him accidentally slipping off anything.

“I’m sure he told you he put the guys who broke into your house in the hospital.”

I blink, barely registering her words. “Hold on . . . he did what?”

“He used to live in Cal’s cottage. He caught the guys who broke into your place and beat the shit out of them. After that he moved to Cal’s boat.”

I cover my mouth, shaking my head, and words fail to form.

“There were two of them, decent-sized dudes, but Aden bloodied them both.”

“Whoa . . .” I knew he was a tough guy, ex-military, but I didn’t know he was violent. My belly rumbles and threatens to spill.

She leans back nodding. “Aden is gorgeous, but there’s something off about him.”

I look back to find him watching me. When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked smile that sends flutters throughout my body.

Sawyer would never give a guy with this kind of violent history a second of her time.

Leave it to Celia to fall for a guy who’s nothing but trouble.