Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Grumpy Old Men
Lance set his phone on the dash of his shiny new acquisition and leaned back, trying to clear his head.
Jon hadn’t exaggerated that dealership. It’d only taken him twenty minutes to spot the ride he wanted, perfect color and all, and the salesman had been thrilled to start his day on a win.
Turned out, they even offered a veteran discount.
Lynn was definitely going to frown at him when she realized he’d driven himself. But she’d forgive him, and soon enough, she’d understand.
He blew out a breath.
Dietz had finally gotten back to him with the intel on Gavin Bishop, and suffice it to say, it’d been a damn good thing Lance wasn’t still attached to a bunch of electrical machines when he read through the report.
Bishop was a walking dirtbag son of a bitch, and Lance looked forward to breaking him. Violently.
He had all the information he needed to make it happen, aside from the scum doctor’s exact working hours, but Bishop’s demise had to wait. Not because the bastard deserved a reprieve.
Rather, because if there was one thing that mattered more, it was the woman who’d just stepped into view up ahead.
She held a simple umbrella to shield herself from the light rain, but it did nothing to obscure his line of sight.
The woman was gorgeous in nursing scrubs, so it was no surprise she was jaw-dropping in civilian clothes.
He let his eyes drink their fill as she approached.
Fitted jeans, low-heeled boots, a semi-fitted, scoop-necked sweater in shades of red that started darker at the top and lightened on the way down.
He couldn’t remember the name or color style.
Nor did it matter. Her auburn hair was loose around her shoulders for the first time since he’d met her, swaying softly with her every step, and a purse was tucked up high on her shoulder.
His mouth had gone dry and his dick had grown hard by the time he ran his eyes over her again.
Fuck me. Which he knew better than to hope for on their first partially acknowledged date, but that did not stop his mind from running off with new fantasies.
Fantasies that involved tossing her pretty sweater onto the hood of his polished, four-year-old Charger to see which shade of red best matched the paint job.
Lance groaned, shoved the lustier thoughts as far back as he could manage, and popped his door open.
He didn’t bother with a coat or any hooded fabric.
The rain might help cool him off. He barely remembered to snatch his phone up before locking the car and stepping into her path, and he caught her sweeping gaze with a wide, honest grin.
Of course, her eyes flicked to the dark red vehicle he’d just exited and her tempting mouth curved into a frown. “Lance,” she greeted when she was near enough, “I thought you promised to get a ride.”
He shrugged. “I needed something, anyway.” He jerked his thumb toward the car. “Saw this at the dealership this morning and couldn’t pass it up.”
She huffed, her eyes twinkling as she fought to hide her amusement. “You would pick something red.” Her gaze slid back to him. “Still, you shouldn’t be driving yet.” She looked him over. “And I didn’t expect you to be thrilled with the crutches, but you should at least have a cane.”
Lance chuckled. She was absolutely right about the crutches the hospital had sent him out with—he’d tossed those damn things the first chance he had.
But she was wrong about why. Instead of saying any of that, he reached out and pilfered the umbrella from her startled grip, simultaneously saying, “Lynn, you’re not my nurse anymore.
” He stepped under the wide-brimmed shield, bringing himself inside her personal space, and scooped her newly freed hand into his.
Without breaking eye-contact, he lifted her hand up until he could press his lips to the knuckles she’d had bandaged the last time he’d seen her.
They were unbandaged now, thankfully, but at close range he could still see a couple of small blemishes where the worst splits hadn’t finished healing.
He understood that was to be expected. He’d done his share of fist fighting.
But he didn’t ever want to see that on his woman again.
So, he pressed his lips to each mark in turn.
“That’s— You don’t need to—”
He smiled against her skin before reluctantly allowing her hand to slide from his grip.
The flush staining her cheeks and burning down her neck was equal parts adorable and sexy as fuck.
“I hate that you were in danger and I couldn’t be there to protect you,” he admitted.
“I hate seeing bruises and cuts on your skin.” He reached up and brushed his fingers lightly over her cheek, just to touch her, just to see how she might react.
Her eyes dilated and her lips parted faintly.
“If I can’t do anything else,” he said, “let me replace your pain with pleasure.”
Her chest heaved and she laid one hand against his abdomen, almost tentatively. “I don’t know … if this is even acceptable. You and I. Romantically, I mean.”
Lance quirked a brow and moved his hand to curl a finger beneath her chin. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He knew what she would say, but he needed to make her articulate the words before he could counter them.
Her brow pinched. “I’m a nurse,” she said, as if it were all the explanation in the world. As if nurses weren’t allowed interpersonal relationships. “And you’re still recovering from a wound that landed you under my care.”
He grinned at her. “Sweetheart, I intend to always be under your care from now on.” He let his thumb graze over her skin. “More importantly, I’m not a patient of any hospital anywhere right now. I’m just a guy getting over an injury. And you, Lynn, are more than your career.”
Her eyes widened again.
Lance dropped his hand to her hip to hold her close.
“You are a nurse, the same way I’m a Marine.
It’s ingrained in us. Part of our identity.
Neither thing means we can’t also have relationships.
” His voice roughened as he spoke, but he didn’t fight it.
He let her hear the truth in his tone, let her see it on his face.
“And I want you, Lynn. For all that you are. All the parts of you I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet and all the parts I have.
So, I’m not gonna let you hide behind your title. ”
She stared up at him for several seconds before releasing a slow breath and curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Her expression, including the smile that tipped her lips, was suddenly and surprisingly sheepish. “The truth is, I haven’t dated in … a long time. I kind of threw myself into work and decided romance was overrated.”
He tried not to grin too smugly over that. “So, you’re a little rusty, huh?”
“I don’t really like the way you said that.”
He laughed and tugged her up against him. “Since both our games are kinda outdated, wanna make out in my car like a couple of teenagers?”
There was a single moment of pause where Lynn blinked up at him as if not believing he’d said such a thing. Or perhaps considering it. Then she hung her head—causing it to bump into his chest—and huffed, “Oh my God, you’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he teased as he slid his arm fully around her waist.
She met his gaze again, a spark glinting in her eyes.
“I do believe that.” She pressed her fingertips into his chest and pushed back.
His arm fell away out of necessity, but she caught him by the hand and pointed outward, beyond the parking area, with her other.
“If you haven’t eaten yet, we can have a normal first date over there.
Think your leg can handle the walk, Tough Guy? ”
Lance followed where she indicated and spotted a worn but legible sign across the road and the next block over.
The sign read LeeLee’s Diner, and he didn’t need to ask to guess that in a little town like Misty Glades, a long-established diner was clearly the place to be.
It felt too cliché to be anything less. He grinned and returned his focus on the beauty in front of him. “I think I can make it.”
She rolled her eyes, but let him move her hand to the crook of his arm so he could hold her umbrella between them for better coverage. Of course, he made sure to tip it her way ever-so-slightly. He’d waded through worse than a soft sprinkle.
They walked at a leisurely pace, most of which he filled with chatter about meeting up with some old buddies that Jon had called in recently.
She asked about his car, so he told her how he’d just signed the papers for it before calling her that morning.
Then they were shuffling into the diner, Lynn pulling open the doors and Lance shaking off the umbrella in order to snap it shut.
He didn’t know anything about the town beyond what he’d experienced at Jenna’s bakery a week ago, so he had no idea how well known or popular Lynn might be.
He was fairly used to being an unfamiliar face wherever he went, though.
If anything, he felt as if he were incognito, waltzing inside with no heavier equipment than an umbrella.
Not that he couldn’t kill a man with an umbrella. Lynn’s was the type that extended, too.
He shook the thoughts away before he could lose himself too far down the rabbit hole of all the ways he could theoretically end a life with a damn run-of-the-mill umbrella and stepped up at Lynn’s shoulder, in front of a quickly reddening young female whom he assumed to be a hostess.
The female flicked her eyes between them several times and snatched a second menu. “Two today?”
“Yep,” Lance answered, reaching out to snag Lynn’s hand again.
“We’d like a booth against the back if it’s possible,” Lynn said.
The hostess paused again, the words seeming to re-catch her focus.