7. Riley
Chapter 7
Riley
Griff
I knew she’d come out to the back deck eventually. I could predict her the way I could predict enemy action. I had tucked myself into a corner she wouldn’t see right away when coming out the back exit, and just waited for her to come out for a smoke.
I don’t even think she was a nicotine addict. She just liked fire in all its forms, even on the tip of a cigarette. It soothed her inner arsonist.
It took everything in me to stay perfectly still when she came out.
She placed her hands on the deck rails, looking out at the field of wheat. I was surprised she didn’t notice me. She didn’t scan her surroundings. She must have had a lot on her mind.
With my ruck kicked under the table, I took the time to just watch her; relishing the fact that we were sharing the same space.
The world was different when she was in it.
She was a walking action figure. Her chestnut hair was in a messy braid, the baby hairs around her forehead curling against her skin. It was probably from the sweat of wearing her full-face helmet. She pulled a packet of Marlboros from her jacket, tugged one out with her teeth, and took out the silver zippo with the Lucky 13 logo – predictably a four-leaf clover and number 13 on it – laser-etched into the side.
I let her have the first puff in peace as she peered out at the open deck, her face towards the golden setting sun.
Her skin was radiant as she stared off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts. What complicated things were going on in that big brain of hers?
Her black biker boots had a wide opening at her slim calves, giving her an overall casual, slouched appearance. It matched her riding jacket which had thick shoulder and elbow pads in case of a fall.
Good girl, wearing your Personal Protective Equipment.
Her rounded hips, and muscular thighs were perfectly outlined in those slim fit jeans.
Each time I laid eyes on her after a long absence felt like Christmas morning. Like life had endless possibilities.
I touched the platinum bracelet in my pocket, feeling the small tracking device I had planted into it. The band with the intricate firefly, its wings with lines and dots that spelled out in morse code, my own name. I had that detail added as bit of barely concealed vanity.
You’re not respecting her privacy, are you, tough guy?
Sierra had talked me into it, and she’d made it with her little jewelry kit. The platinum band, with its custom chain would look good on Guerro. I couldn’t wait to see it, to finally tell the world who she belonged to. News flash, it wasn’t Riley , the boy with a girl’s name.
“I thought you quit smoking,” I called.
She jumped, dropping the cigarette into a puddle on the ground.
In a shot, her hand went to her back, and I found myself staring down the barrel of a pocket pistol.
I lifted my hands up my sides in a surrendering gesture, knowing that if she was feeling a little jumpy she could put two in my heart, and one in my head faster than I could blink. One couldn’t just shrug off years of training when they hang up their boots.
“You shouldn’t point your weapon at something you’re not prepared to kill.” I slowly came to my feet. “You gonna kill me, Psycho?”
If I was a smarter man, I’d have stayed put. I’d let her put the gun away, and we’d have a good laugh.
But like a million times before, I couldn’t ignore that pull. It was something bone deep, and cock sure. Something that drew me to her. I had felt it since day one and denied it. But that was before…
The burn of the scar on my chest reminded me of my mortality, and I mentally cursed all the time I had wasted not having what I wanted. Who I wanted.
She stood her ground, pistol still up as she searched my face, and I searched hers right back.
Something seemed off with her. Like she was distracted.
Almost like she didn’t recognize me.
“Asshole?” She gasped the question.
Anyone else would be insulted. But from her? That word was practically a compliment.
“Yeah, Psycho?”
She squinted her eyes, leaning in just a little as if I was something she needed to read on a butcher block that was too far away.
“The fuck?” she said in a gasp. “What are you doing here?”
“The fuck, indeed.” I answered back, closing the distance between us. “I told you I’d see you soon.”
She stared at me like I was a mirage. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take this. I wanted her, needed to feel her in my arms, and each second she hesitated, my heart threatened to crack with rejection.
I had expected a warmer welcome but maybe I should have called first.
I’d watched her at the parking lot across the way, talking to the fireman who I had to assume was Riley. He looked like a walking jock strap.
Were they going on a date? The familiar, violent curls of jealousy came over my skin.
There was a Sergeant Major back when I was going through the Q-course, the Special Forces Qualification Course, who used to warn us to never come home unannounced. Always call first.
“Drop a dime, stop a crime,” he would say, referencing the days of using payphones to call home. The gist of it was that if you warned your spouse, they could kick their lover out of bed so that you didn’t murder them.
I had laughed that shit off, thinking that it would never happen to me.
Kind of ironic though, since my ex-wife wasn’t caught by an unannounced homecoming but by tangling with my teammate. A dime wouldn’t have saved us then.
But that was a different life, and I had been a different guy. And Kristin was nothing like Guerro.
But maybe I should have called. I couldn’t help the green-eyed monster from clawing its way up my throat, telling me that it was out of fucking line for her to be seeing some other guy… even if I knew that she wasn’t mine… a technicality, at best, but still technically true.
“Is it really you?” she asked, straightening up, her lips looking like they wanted to smile, but she wouldn’t let it happen.
My heart sank. Was I not wanted here? She wanted nothing to do with me now that she had a man to keep her company. I clenched a fist in a knee-jerk response. I was supposed to be the one who warmed her cold feet.
“Yeah, it’s me. Is that a fucking problem?” I was angrier than I wanted to be, ready to walk across the road and punch out that son of a bitch for daring to date my girl.
He wasn’t good enough. Hell, better men than him hadn’t been anywhere good enough for Guerro, so some podunk town fireman sure as fuck wouldn’t pass muster.
Was shit with Riley so serious that I couldn’t drop in and crash on her couch unannounced anymore? Was some other guy about to change our dynamic? Shit…
She squealed, holstered the gun, and jumped into my arms. I oomph ed as the full weight of her landed on my chest when she threw her arms around my neck.
Finally. My body sagged with relief, and I tried to force away the negative thoughts. I was home. With my Psycho in my arms.
“I could have killed you, you son of a bitch! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?” The joy in her voice was nothing short of heaven.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, spinning her in the air, her feet flying behind her.
“And spoil the surprise?”
I grunted when my bad leg twisted the wrong way, sending a jolt of pain up my hip. A reminder that I was no spring chicken.
“Oh, are you okay?” she asked, dropping her feet down and stepping away from me.
“I’m good,” I said, feeling a little wheezy. “The leg.”
I hated to admit it. I didn’t want to be weak in front of her, even if it was because of a bullet wound I got for her.
“Jesus, I'm sorry.”
“It’s fine, Psycho, but it is worth noting that you’re the reason I caught a bullet.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re making it sound like I shot you.”
“You practically did.”
She snorted. “Bullshit!”
“Come on, you made yourself a damn target, and had no situational awareness!”
Latent anger crawled up from somewhere deep in my gut. A different kind of anger. The one I had felt when I saw her busying herself to set charges for an ambush. She was so focused on her task, she didn’t see a guy taking aim, and ready to put one in her big head.
“I mean, Jesus, what’s rule number one, Guerro?” I couldn’t get myself to shut up. This was not what I wanted to discuss with her right now but I couldn’t keep the words back. “Always have situational awareness. Where the hell was your situational awareness then, huh?” Then another point came to mind. Something benign that suddenly made me livid. “You didn’t even notice that I was sitting there until I said something. I mean, come on, Taz. You get so distracted! It’s going to get you killed.”
I had jumped in front of her and shot the guy down. He hit my leg. I hit his head.
So, I guess that was a win for me.
The memory of the rifle pointed right at her and the fear that she was one trigger pull away from being gone…
Just thinking about a world without Taz Guerro sent anger simmering through my veins again. It wasn’t her fault, but I was angry at her all the same. Angry that I felt this way. Angry she had made me feel this way.
Absolutely livid that she put herself in danger and most of all, I was angry that we didn’t talk about our night five fucking years ago!
Worst of all, I was pissed that she had a target on her back because of me. My work with Cerberus threatened her existence.
“I was busy,” she said, slowly, her eyes hostile, as her jaw ticked with everything she was holding back.
“Yeah, well, don’t do it again, woman.” I needed to backtrack, undo the damage before she pulled away and went to Riley for everything.
I needed to get back on solid ground. To cool off.
And the only thing that could calm me down was the thing that set me off in the first place – her.
I violated her space once more and grabbed the collar of her jacket, opening it up to the inner pocket where she’d put away her pack of cigarettes. I pulled it out, along with the zippo, and lit one up, taking a drag.
The back of my hand grazed against her shirt as I put it all back, the heat off her skin tempting me with that ridiculous magnetism. It was cruel that she could be like that. So perfect, and beautiful. Everything I wanted. Everything I was obsessed with. Down to her scent, her skin, her hair… and everything else that was more than bone deep.
I turned the cigarette in my fingers, offering her the filter side. She pinched it between her index finger and thumb, careful not to let our hands touch, as she put it to her lips.
Her mouth touched where mine had been – it was the closest thing to a kiss that we’d shared since the sinful night.
“Are you here to crash on my couch?” she asked, tilting the filter to me to give the cigarette back.
“You fit a couch in that trailer? Really?” I hoped the answer was no, and I’d have to sleep on her floor. Then I could complain about my leg hurting and weasel my way into her bed.
“You’d be surprised how roomy it is,” she smirked. “Though it’s no Grand Acadaemia, of course.”
The Grand was where my condo was, off the Washington Channel in DC. I had taken her there once, when we’d been called for a Medal of Honor Ceremony. Her, as a representative of the miniscule number of women in the Special Forces, and me, as the son of the Director of the CIA. Her, for her accomplishments. Me, for nepotism.
“The couch is lumpy, and stiff as a board,” she winced. “You should take the bed. I’ll grab the couch.”
“I’m not taking your bed.” Not unless you’re in it.
She shrugged. “I don’t sleep much anyway. Can’t seem to ever shut down.”
“That’s not what I remember.”
She froze.
There it was. Another reminder that I had been in her bed. Her pupils dilated, and her lips parted. She took in a deep breath and I swear, she leaned towards me just a little bit. Just a hair, as if wanting me to touch her.
But then it was gone. Wiped away in a second, giving me nothing but a small memory.
“Are you going to let me join you for dinner?” I asked, daring her to tell me no. “Or is the pretty boy fireman gonna get pissed?”
“His name is Riley,” she gave me a light punch on the shoulder. “And nothing pisses him off.”
Well, la-dee-fucking-da !