Chapter 16 #2
“Unless the odd chapter or idea here and there counts, no. I don’t have much time anymore.”
The thought of her no longer writing makes me sad. “You’re really talented, by the way. I never got a chance to tell you that.”
“You read my book?” She peeks down at me, brows raised in pure surprise.
“I’m not done yet. But I had to read it for the internal investigation.
Though seeing as we’re dating now, another guy on the team will take over the investigation.
” It feels good to admit that. The last thing I wanted was for her to find out I was reading the book behind her back.
“I provided all my notes, all of which come up with nothing compromising, security-wise. So hopefully all this speculation will be over soon.”
She’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I never got the chance to thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“You were the first person to believe in me. In my writing.”
“I’m sure that’s not true—”
“It is. You encouraged me to publish without even reading a word. Up until then, I was too terrified of what people would think to even consider it. It meant everything to me. If it weren’t for you, I never would have taken the leap.”
“You would have,” I assure her, though the thought of me being the only person to encourage her makes me really sad.
“Even now, you’re still the only person who knows. I never told my family, especially not my mom.”
“Why not?”
Her face hardens, and she flops onto her back. “My mom clutches her pearls when people kiss on TV. If she found out her daughter wrote face-sitting smut, she’d have a heart attack.”
“If my kid was a bestselling author, I’d be proud,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Nolan.”
I want to ask if she has any other book ideas, but she beats me to it with her own question.
“So how did you end up in JTF2? Was it a dream of yours?”
I wish I could say I enlisted at eighteen to serve my country.
That’s the answer I give to people I don’t know, because that’s what people want to hear.
But something about Andi brings out my honesty.
“Honestly, I originally enlisted in the military because school wasn’t for me.
I didn’t have the grades to go to university, I didn’t care for trades.
I needed financial freedom, fast. And I was desperate to get the hell out of Ottawa and see the world, so I joined the infantry. ”
“And did you see the world? Once you joined?”
“Oh yeah. Did my first stint in Kabul a year and a half in. Then found myself in JTF2 after a stupid bet with a buddy of mine to see who could hit the requirements to go on selection, which sounds pretty fucking reckless now that I look back on it, given what the job is. I’ve been to every continent, I think. ”
“Sounds like you like the lifestyle.”
“Yup. Can’t stay put for long. Can’t picture doing anything else, really.
I mean, where else would I get to learn how to jump out of a plane?
Or rappel down a mountain? Or run sources?
But I do miss the adventure. Being on the go.
It also has some strange stipulations, pretending to date the PM’s wife’s assistant, you know. ”
She lets out a quiet chuckle. “It must be really cool. To be able to walk around anywhere, knowing you could take anyone down at any time, if you really wanted to.”
“You could, too, with the right training,” I argue.
Her raised brow says, Fat chance. “I think you underestimate how weak I am. Sometimes, I have trouble opening the caps on water bottles.”
“It’s not about strength or size. It’s actually about timing and physics. Stand up,” I order, pushing my makeshift bed a couple feet toward the TV stand. There’s not a lot of room.
She slinks out of bed reluctantly and flicks the lamp on, arms folded across her chest to hide her PJs. I now see her thread-worn T-shirt reads Carleton University. “This is gonna end badly.”
“It won’t. Watch closely,” I instruct, trying not to notice how good she looks with her dark hair loose, cascading down her back. I step forward, motioning to her arm. “Can I?”
She nods, and I gently guide her arm upward and to the side in a swift arc, demonstrating how to shift my weight onto my back foot, using the momentum to unbalance the other person. She tentatively copies.
“Step back with your left foot,” I say, “and as you do, pull your wrist toward your opposite shoulder. It’s all about the angles and timing, not about overpowering physically.”
We practice the sequence a couple times: the wrist escape, the pivot, the takedown. With each repetition, she gains more and more confidence.
“Now, I’m going to pretend to come at you and you’re going to wait until I’ve exerted all my force, and then you’ll step back with your left foot. If you pull your wrist toward your opposite shoulder, you should theoretically be able to get me on the ground.”
“ ‘Theoretically’ being the key word.” She follows my orders and is able to twist out of my grasp to gain the momentum she needs. To be fair, I’m going pretty easy on her, but she seems so unsure of herself, I want her to have the win.
As I “lose my balance,” she places her palm on my chest and pushes me down.
Only, she comes down with me, her knee pinned into my chest, wholly satisfied with herself.
“See? Told you,” I manage, struggling to get air from where she’s got her knee shoved into my collarbone. “Um, could you—”
“Oh shit. I’m sorry.” She shifts her knee over to the other side of my torso, so both of her bare legs are on either side of my chest. I don’t think she fully meant to move into that position, because her breath hitches and quickens when she realizes it.
I expect her to get up immediately, but she doesn’t.
Heat rises in my chest, flowing everywhere, as if I’ve just dunked myself chest-deep in a hot tub.
In the glow of the lamp, her eyes look almost golden as they snap to mine.
Hungry. And maybe even a little curious as she circles her thumbs over my chest, studying me, feeling every little pulse and pull, leaving sparks scattering in their wake. She likes this as much as I do.
Fuck me.
The warmth of her body on top of me, the way her nipples are hard underneath the thin fabric of her shirt, the way those soft lips are parted ever so slightly, the velvety softness of her thighs clenching over me.
My whole body stiffens and I struggle to swallow what little saliva I have left in my mouth. I never want to move. Ever.
She sucks in a long breath, her chest rising and falling, as though she’s just come to that same realization. And that’s when she breaks eye contact, her incendiary gaze flicking to my lips. The silence pulses between us and it’s almost unbearable.
This is where I’d normally take control, pull her in, grab her ass, and roll her hips over me, over and over again, until we both come apart, until she’s screaming my name.
But then my stupid conscience steps in. I think about our conversation earlier tonight.
Our agreement. She seemed dead set on this idea that we had no chemistry, which was exactly why our “situation” was going to work so well. As friends.
And then there’s the fact that I’m not in any position to entertain a relationship, including something casual.
So even though she’s currently looking at me like she wants to fuck me right here on this floor, I don’t want either of us to have any regrets. I don’t want to complicate an already complicated decision.
I do exactly the opposite of what I want. I give her a light tap on the thigh and whisper, “We should probably get some sleep now.”
That snaps her out of it. “Yes, yes, we should.” She rolls off me instantly and practically dives back into her bed and turns off the light.
We lie there in silence for what feels like hours. I try just about everything to purify my thoughts (including picturing every family member, including my grandma, in a muumuu). Nothing works.
I contemplate addressing what just happened. But what the hell would I say? Technically, nothing happened, which is for the best. Making something of it would just heighten the awkwardness.
So I pathetically settle on, “Good job, by the way. You’re a natural. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Her easy laugh is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.