Soldier’s Proposal (Seven Nights to Mr. Right #2)

Chapter 1

DUKE

Ineed a favor.”

Jake’s laugh crackles through the phone. “Well, hello to you too, Duke. I’m great, thanks for asking. Izzy just ordered room service. Are you stateside?”

My apartment at Benning is impersonal, with just military-issue furniture, a duffel half-unpacked in the corner, nothing on the walls except a framed photo on the bookshelf that doesn’t hold more than a handful of books.

Riley and I at her college graduation, her smile so wide it makes my throat tighten every time I look at it.

“Izzy’s performing in Vegas this weekend.” I push past the small talk. I’m already itching to get on the road. “Can you get me tickets?”

Jake pauses and then laughs loudly. “Are you okay? You are literally the last person I expected to ask for tickets. Did you finally meet a woman who makes you want to settle down? I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but a lot of us are getting married these days.”

My jaw tightens. “Can you help me out or not? It’s a surprise for Riley—she really loves Izzy’s music, and she has no idea that your wife is Bella.”

“Sure,” he repeats, ignoring my question entirely. “Is this the same Riley you’ve been ‘just friends’ with since high school? The one you talk about every single time we grab a beer?”

“We are just friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake draws out the syllables like he’s savoring them. “So you’re spending your hard-earned leave time taking your ‘friend’ to Vegas to see my wife perform. On Valentine’s Day. That’s totally normal best-friend behavior.”

I scrub a hand over my face. I hadn’t even thought about it being Valentine’s Day this weekend. “She just went through a bad breakup. I want to do something nice for her. That’s it. Nothing to do with romancing her.”

“If you say so. Yeah, I’ll get you the tickets.”

My stomach drops. “I owe you, brother. I appreciate this.”

Jake’s voice is muffled for a moment, then he’s back. “I just told Izzy. She’s excited to meet Riley.” In the background, I can hear Izzy say to bring Riley backstage for a meet-and-greet. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I toss the phone onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

Riley has been my best friend since junior year, since she laughed at my terrible jokes in Mr. Patterson’s history class.

She snort-laughed at my impression of Napoleon, making a completely undignified sound that made the whole class turn and stare.

Her laughter was the best thing I’d ever heard, and it still is today.

But hearing she’s heartbroken again—some asshole who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her making her feel like she wasn’t enough—it makes my hands curl into fists. I’d need bail money if I ran into a man who broke Riley’s heart.

I can’t solve her problems, but I can give her a weekend and make her smile and laugh.

After a long drive, I’m standing on Riley’s porch, stretching my aching muscles as I wait for her to answer the door. The lights are off, but I can see a flicker of blue that looks like the TV.

“Open up, Riley! It’s Duke!” I keep knocking until she answers the door, and when she does, rage surges through me at how sad she looks.

Riley’s in oversized sweats, hair pulled up into something she once told me is called a slop-knot, eyes red from crying. Behind her, I see a pint of ice cream on the coffee table, a movie paused on the TV, and tissues scattered across the couch.

“Duke?” Her voice is hoarse, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Pack a bag.” I step inside before she can protest. “I’m taking you away for the weekend.”

She blinks at me like I’m speaking in tongues. “What?”

“You heard me. Bag. Weekend. Let’s go.”

“Duke, I—” She gestures at herself, at the chaos of the apartment, at everything. “I’m a disaster right now. I can’t just—”

“That’s exactly why you need this.” I cross my arms and lean against her doorframe. “I’ve got a surprise planned, and you’re gonna be real sad if you say no.”

Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Where?”

I grin. “Vegas.”

Her jaw drops. “Vegas? Duke, I can’t—my job—my plants—I don’t have anything to wear!”

“You can make some calls on the way to the airport. Pack that blue dress you bought for your cousin’s wedding. You said it made you feel like a knockout.”

Riley stares at me. The silence stretches between us. Her chin wobbles, but then she laughs.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah.” I jerk my head toward her bedroom. “Now pack. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

She disappears down the hallway, and I exhale slowly. Her apartment smells like the coconut shampoo she’s used since high school.

I spot a photo on her fridge and move closer. Senior prom. Her in that purple dress, me in a rented tux that was too short in the sleeves. That night was the first time I wondered what it would be like to kiss her. I never found out.

Story of my life.

The sound of her moving around her bedroom and packing is unexpectedly soothing.

The tension cramping my muscles eases. My last tour was six months of sand, silence, and too many close calls.

Being here, surrounded by her chaos of plants and romance novels, feels like coming up for air.

My last tour was harder than I told her.

There were nights when the only thing that got me through was reading our old messages, her ridiculous jokes, and random middle-of-the-night texts about whatever book she was reading.

She emerges in jeans and a soft cream sweater, overnight bag over her shoulder, and looks at me like she’s not sure about this.

I take the bag before she can object and lead her down to my truck. When I open the passenger door for her, she pauses with one hand on the frame.

“Such a gentleman.” Her teasing smile makes want twist low in my gut. “You’d think you were taking me out on a date. Will you be my Valentine?” she teases, but I just huff a breath and shut the door carefully after I’ve loaded her bag next to mine.

By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, she’s already changed my country station to some pop playlist.

“Absolutely not.” I reach for the dial.

She smacks my hand away. “Driver picks the music? That rule is ancient history.”

“It’s my truck.”

“And I’m your guest.” She props her bare feet on my dashboard—she knows I hate that—and shoots me a grin. “Guest privileges.”

We argue the whole way to the airport. Her pop station versus my country, with brief truces for songs we both know. She sings along to everything, off-key and enthusiastic, and I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth.

“Oh my god! I love this song! It’s Bella’s “Safe In Your Arms!” She turns the volume up and belts it out, using an invisible microphone. Her voice cracks on the high notes, but she’s happy right now, and that’s all that matters.

But this—Riley beside me, singing off-key to her favorite song—is a balm for my soul.

She turns to face me, tucking one leg under herself. “You never told me you were coming to visit.”

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“The surprise was me looking like a swamp creature when I answered the door.”

I glance at her, and protectiveness surges through me. “You’re gorgeous, Riley. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

The words come out rougher than I intended. Riley’s breath catches, her hands freezing on her seatbelt. Her cheeks flush pink, and she looks away, fiddling with the hem of her sweater.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters.

But she’s smiling, and it reaches her eyes. That smile makes all the driving to get here worth it.

“Thanks for this, Duke. Really,” her voice is soft as she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out of my own head.”

“You know you can always count on me.”