21. charlee
TWENTY-ONE
charlee
“Can you tell me more about being a sniper?”
I’d ordered the chicken parm. Lucas, linguine with clam sauce. We were on, I supposed, our first official date. Or did you call it a date if you weren’t really dating but staging the whole thing just to see how your father reacted? Not that he was here, mind you.
Part of me was resentful that this had been some sort of “arrangement” with rules. I just wanted a regular relationship. Or at least, an attempt at exploring one.
But this is not the same Lucas.
I’d had to remind myself of that over and over. The alley incident was one big, fat piece of evidence to support that fact.
“What do you want to know?”
Every time he asked that, I was reminded of truly how reticent Lucas was. The exact opposite of braggy, which he easily could be. I mean, an Army freaking sniper. How cool was that?
“What was your rank?” I asked.
The food. Wine. Candlelight. It almost did feel like a regular date at one of the only restaurants in Kitchi Falls open on a Monday night.
“E-6. Staff Sergeant.”
Only Lucas could make eating linguine look almost erotic. The man was so goddamn sexy.
“Sergeant. A leadership position, then?”
“Senior non-commissioned officer,” he said.
That, at least, I knew. “I was watching a military show, forgot the name of it, and I remember thinking, how do they know when and who to salute to all the time? Seems very confusing.”
Lucas laughed. “It’s called customs and courtesies. There are very specific rules for saluting, which is considered a symbol of respect and honor. But most of the guys hate it. Some even do it intentionally just to needle the officers. Fun fact. . . there’s no saluting in theater,” he added.
“What’s theater?”
“Combat zone.”
“Oh. Why’s that?”
“If anyone is watching, you don’t want to give away who the officers are. So, watching military shows now?”
“Here and there,” I said, taking a sip of the wine. A little too sweet for me, but I loved to support the local wineries.
“I see.”
“So tell me about the people you met. How you learned to tattoo while in the Army.”
We talked, for the first time since Lucas came back, without goading each other. Without any pretense, just two people filling in the years. I almost forgot it was only half real and the other half a test.
Talking to Lucas came so naturally. Always had.
He told me more about his time in the military. About his deployments, life in an active combat zone nothing like I could have imagined. Not that he gave away much—the things he held back seemed more plentiful than what he told me. He talked about his workouts and training, which seemed pretty intense. But I was afraid to ask the hard questions. Had he killed someone? Clearly, the answer was yes. What was that like, and how did one adjust from that and the things they saw when coming back to civilian life? And the ten-year thing? Why did he leave, and why get so prickly about it when I mentioned it yesterday?
“How’s your sister, by the way? I always liked Tori.”
“She liked you too,” I admitted, swallowing a particularly delicious piece of chicken parm. “Tori’s actually in law school now.”
Lucas whistled. “Fancy. How does she like it?”
“Eh. She doesn’t mind the work, even though it’s a lot. Some of the people are apparently sort of. . . how do you say it. Competitive?”
“If we’re being nice, sure,” he said, clearly holding back comment.
“And your dad?” I asked. “I’ve seen him from time to time, but it’s been a while.”
“Oh, he’s great.” Lucas took a swig of beer. “Between jobs, and getting so drunk at bars that he refuses to leave. Still has his house, miraculously, so there’s that.”
Lucas had always been particularly sensitive about his dad and where he came from, which was why I hadn’t asked before. But, oddly, his words lacked the bitterness that had always been there when he talked about his family. His absent mother, alcoholic father, lack of siblings, which I knew bothered him.
“I’m sorry about that. It must worry you now that you’re back. Wondering what he’s going to do next?”
Lucas shook his head. “Nah. Doesn’t worry me at all. Can’t be afraid of what you can’t control. Nothing can ruin your life more than your own irrational fears. Accept that as a fact, keep perspective, and fear becomes a non-issue.”
Jesus, that was deep. More profound than I’d been expecting. Not because Lucas wasn’t the kind of guy who could be profound. But because I didn’t even think it was a lesson I’d learned yet, and he was over here just dropping truth bombs like it was nothing.
“I can see that,” I said. “Good advice, actually.”
“Harder to put into practice.”
I had a feeling we weren’t talking about him anymore. If Lucas knew how badly I’d wanted a career in design. . . if he knew about my father’s proposal and my hesitation to take the VP job. . . he’d have an absolute field day. I should tell him, but something held me back.
“Yeah, I can see that too,” I said.
Out of nowhere, Lucas’s demeanor suddenly changed.
“What?” I asked. But I already knew what. He was staring at my lips.
“They’re fucking incredible, Charlee. Do you know that?”
I wanted him to say it even though I knew exactly what he meant. “What is?”
“Your lips, baby. They’re so damn full that I can’t get them out of my head. Kissing them, wanting to bite that lower lip just enough for you to feel it—”
“Lucas.” I stopped him. Already I was squirming in the seat.
“What, Charlee? You feeling something between your legs, sweetheart?”
Oh, God. I knew it wasn’t like “sweetheart” as an endearment exactly, but “sweetheart” in a sexual sort of way. . . but my brain didn’t know the difference.
“Maybe,” I said.
Lucas leaned in and crooked a finger at me to do the same, which, inexplicably, I did. “We’re gonna leave this restaurant soon, and you’re coming back to my place.”
Did I get a choice? Did I want a choice?
“Okay.”
“First, I’m going to do exactly what I just said. And then, I’m going to tear your fucking clothes from that luscious body of yours and bury my head between your legs.”
I cleared my throat. “You said no sex,” I managed to say.
“Splitting hairs, maybe, but oral sex is allowed.”
Allowed? I must have had quite a look on my face, because Lucas smiled. “Remember, in matters of the bedroom, I am in charge.”
Oh my god. Oh my god. Lucas. In charge.
“What, precisely, does that mean?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
But instead of giving it to me, he raised his hand for the waiter, who had just been walking by. “Check please?” he asked.
When the waiter walked away, Lucas gave me a look.
That look.
“Why don’t I just show you?”