Chapter 8 #3
“Fuck yeah,” Truck said with a grin. “May the best team win.”
“Which’ll be mine,” Trigger said. “No way are we letting a bunch of old men beat us.”
“We’ll see,” Truck said. “We’ll see.”
“Come on, He-Man,” Mary teased. “I’m hungry, and if you two stand here beating your chests anymore, I’ll never get fed.”
Gillian giggled, and Trigger loved the sound. He gave Truck a chin lift and got one in return. Then he waited until Gillian was seated before taking his own once again.
“You guys seem close,” she observed when they were eating.
“We are,” Trigger agreed.
“I like Mary’s hair.”
“Don’t you dare think of putting any streaks of color in yours,” Trigger growled.
Gillian raised surprised eyes to his. “Why?”
“Because it’s perfect the way it is. I love the color it is now. It reminds me of fields of wheat that grow in the Midwest.”
For a second, Trigger thought he’d overstepped. He couldn’t read the look on Gillian’s face. But finally she smiled.
“Thanks. I wasn’t really thinking about coloring my own hair. I just admire others who can get away with it.”
They finished their meal without any further interruptions and Trigger was glad when they left the noisy interior of the restaurant behind and got back into his car. When they were both settled, he turned to her. “Want to see some of the base?”
“Sure,” she said eagerly.
So for the next two hours, Trigger drove her around Fort Hood.
He showed her where his office was and even walked her around one of the motor pools.
When she said she’d never seen the inside of a tank, he arranged for a mechanic working on one to let her peek inside.
He took pictures of her sitting inside, and Trigger knew he’d never forget how happy she looked.
“That was fun,” she told him when they were leaving the base.
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, easily reading his mood.
Trigger glanced over at her. He could only see flashes of her face when they passed under streetlights as it had gotten dark outside. He’d done all he could to prolong their time on the base but eventually he’d run out of things to show her.
“I’m not ready to bring you home yet,” he blurted, then cringed. He was supposed to be moving slow, and keeping her out all night wasn’t exactly doing that.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” she said, surprising him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m sure there’s a late movie we could see,” Trigger told her. “Or we could find a bar and hang out. Or…” He let his words trail off.
“Or what?”
Glancing over at her again, Trigger felt the familiar twinge in his belly.
She was so pretty. The hair in her braids had started to escape their confines and she looked somewhat mussed after crawling around the tank in the motor pool.
But she looked completely relaxed, leaning against his car door with one knee bent and her foot tucked up under her thigh.
“I was going to suggest that maybe we could go back to my apartment and watch a movie there or something. It would be quieter, and we could talk easier…but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“That sounds really nice, actually,” Gillian told him. “Honestly, I have a slight headache from being out in the sun all day today.”
Trigger fought an internal war with himself.
He wanted to take Gillian to his home. Wanted to see her on his couch, relaxed and happy.
But he knew if they went back there, it would be extremely difficult to keep his hands—and lips—off of her.
He’d never had a problem controlling himself around women before, but something about Gillian pushed all his buttons. “You’re safe with me,” he told her.
She looked surprised, but said, “I know. I wouldn’t have agreed to let you drive me up here to Killeen if I didn’t think I was safe.”
“We’re taking things slow,” he added, a little harsher than he’d meant to.
“I know that too,” she agreed.
“Me taking you to my apartment isn’t a ploy to get you into my bed.” Trigger didn’t know why he wasn’t letting this go. Probably because a part of him hoped she might push back and tell him it was all right. That she didn’t want to go slow anymore.
She shifted in her seat and reached over to put her hand on his arm. “If you need to take me home, it’s okay,” she said quietly.
“No!” he blurted.
After a beat, they both chuckled softly.
“I’m fucking this up—again,” Trigger told her, kinda glad he was driving and didn’t have to look her in the eyes.
“I’ve enjoyed being with you tonight. There’s just something about you that makes me happy.
You take such joy in the littlest things, and you don’t get all freaked out by a little barbeque sauce on your chin or at having to meet my friends and acquaintances.
The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you. ”
“I feel the same way. I feel comfortable around you, Walker. I don’t feel as if I need to pretend to be someone I’m not. And you have no idea how amazing that is. I don’t want to go home yet, but if it’s going to stress you out to have me come over, then you can take me home.”
“How about this,” Trigger said. “We go to my place and watch one movie. It’ll be after midnight by then, and I’ll take you home and we’ll figure out when to see each other again.”
“Deal,” Gillian said immediately. “But I get to pick the movie.”
Trigger grinned. “Okay, but you should know I don’t have any romantic comedies.”
“I’m sure you’ve got something I’ll like.”
Trigger wanted to retort that he definitely had something she’d like, but he kept the comment to himself.
Relieved that he didn’t have to say goodbye to her just yet, Trigger drove the rest of the way to his apartment with a huge grin on his face.
Two and a half hours later, Trigger lay on his couch with a comatose Gillian in his arms. She’d discarded her boots and had taken her hair out of its braids. It was extremely wavy and fell around her shoulders in disarray. Trigger had wanted to run his hands through it, but refrained.
Gillian had picked Die Hard for them to watch, a movie he’d seen countless times. They’d argued about whether it was a Christmas movie or not and within twenty minutes of the first shot being fired on screen, Gillian was sound asleep.
She’d been sitting next to him on the couch and her neck had been leaning sideways at an awkward angle, and Trigger knew it couldn’t be comfortable. So he’d pulled her into him and shifted so his head was resting on the armrest, and she was snuggled between him and the back of the couch.
She’d wiggled a bit, then settled. Her cheek was resting on his chest over his heart, an arm and leg slung over his body. She was holding him as tightly as he was holding her.
Trigger was tired—it had been a long day filled with the anticipation of seeing her again—but he couldn’t sleep. He’d turned off the DVD and the only sounds in the apartment were Gillian’s deep breaths and the occasional shout or car engine revving from outside.
He knew he should wake her up and get her home, but Trigger couldn’t bring himself to move. Holding Gillian felt right. It soothed him in a way he’d never experienced before. He wasn’t aroused, didn’t feel the need to fuck. He was content to simply hold her while she slept.
Shifting so he could put a hand on the back of Gillian’s head, Trigger inhaled deeply. The scent of honeysuckle surrounded him as if he were standing in a field of flowers. He’d never be able to smell it again and not think of this moment.
Deciding he’d just close his eyes for a second, then he’d get them both up so he could take her home, Trigger relaxed into the cushions even farther.
He fell into a sleep so deep, so content and comfortable with the woman in his arms, he wouldn’t wake up until the sun was breaking over the horizon.