Chapter 21 #2
I come hard, vision whiting out.
We lie like that together—sweaty, breathless, tangled.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then I pull out gently and head to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.
When I return, she’s under the covers, and I climb in, pulling her against my chest.
She fits perfectly.
“You okay?” I ask.
“More than okay.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Not too much?”
“No.” She tilts her head up. “It was perfect.”
We lie there in the dark, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest.
“You know, you never acted like you were interested.”
Hmm. “You mean flirt?”
I’ve always noticed her—in truth, half the time I check in with Scott, my purpose is to check in on her. I’ve been doing that ever since she got assigned to human trafficking. Well, before that really, but her specialty layered in concern with interest.
“Yeah, I guess.”
I lift her hand and place her index finger between my teeth, then press my lips to it. “I don’t flirt.”
She snorts. “Right.”
I don’t, actually, but with a brother like Scott, I’d never convince her of that. But is Scott’s behavior what she expects from guys? “Did your old boyfriends flirt?” The word twists on my tongue; it’s not something I have any desire to apply to other guys in relation to Evie.
“Well, I mean, does asking me out on a date count?”
I shift on the pillow, rising so I can get a better look at her. “When we get back, will you go out to dinner with me?”
She slaps against my chest, a smile lighting her face. “I think we’re past that, Gabe.”
I sink back into the pillow and close my eyes, loving the feel of her fingers roaming my chest. “We’re not past it. I’ll get my act together.”
“In my opinion, Mr. Martin, you’ve got your act together.”
I open my eyes to find her grin, and I cup the back of her head and pull her to me, smacking my lips against hers.
I’m not sure when I should’ve made a move on her, but it should’ve been earlier than this. I’ve watched enough long-distance relationships fail to know what we would’ve been up against. Long distance with mountains of time-consuming priorities between us.
She shifts and places her chin over her folded hands. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you into flirts?”
My hand roams her side, over the smooth skin, the ups and downs of the slight divots of her ribs.
“Or do you prefer Scott’s type?”
My hand stills. “I’m not going to even ask what his type is. I haven’t paid attention and don’t plan to.” I tug on a dark, silky strand. “If you’re asking about my type, it’s you.”
“See, you are a flirt.”
I flick the tip of her nose playfully. “Nope. I tell it like it is.”
“I really know very little about you.”
“How do you figure?” That’s ludicrous.
“I mean, Scott never mentioned you dating anyone, and I couldn’t ask without raising suspicions.”
“Ah. Yeah.” I managed to ask about her, but I’ll let that slide. “Are you asking about my dating history?”
“Yeah.”
“No one serious,” I tell her, honestly. “There was one person, years ago, that might’ve become serious. But a friend told me she hooked up with a mutual friend when I was deployed. Seems I was the only one who thought we had potential.”
“That’s awful.”
Her emotional response brings out a grin. “No,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “Not really. I wasn’t that cut up over it. Better to learn that early.”
“I suppose.” She lifts up on one elbow and with her free hand traces my jaw line.
“And you?” I don’t really want to hear about Evie with another guy, but she’s the one who brought this up and I suppose the historical conversation is a part of the dating cycle.
“A couple that might’ve been.”
She sounds almost wistful. “What happened?”
“They ended things.”
“With you?” I don’t believe it. “Fools.”
“Not really. I’m not that easy to date.” Now she looks sad.
“Their loss, my gain. I’m not a fool.”
I can imagine what happened. Those guys probably fell for her hard, and she kept them at a distance.
They might’ve ended things, but she likely pushed them away first. Not that I blame her.
Evie’s never told me about what her father did to her mother, but her mom and my mom were close.
I heard a lot back in the day—probably more than a kid my age should have.
Somehow he won sole custody—mom blamed it on high powered lawyers.
But she got to see Evie and Scott every other weekend.
If that’s what she expects from relationships, no wonder she keeps men at a distance.
I almost let it go. But some things are worth risking a strange segue for.
“How’s your dad these days? Other than worrying about you?”
She goes still against my chest. “That’s a random pivot.”
“Not as random as you’d think.” I press a kiss to her temple, giving her a beat before I continue. “I was thinking about your mom. About what you must’ve grown up watching. It’s not exactly subtle, where the distance comes from.”
“You’re not wrong.” She’s quiet for a moment. “He’s good. He has someone he calls a lady friend, but I don’t know much about her,” Evie says against my chest. “I don’t think he’ll ever marry again.”
“Probably for the best,” I say, and instantly tense, wondering if I’ve gone too far. But Evie doesn’t seem to notice.
“How’s your mom?”
“She’s good. Still teaching.”
“She must be so proud that you’re following in your father’s footsteps.”
My hand stills. “But I’m not. Dad was CIA.”
“But, NSA, it’s kind of the same.”
“Hmm.” That’s all I give her. Truth is, it’s not the same, because I’ve determined the best way for me to learn what really happened to my dad is to go in through alternate back channels. We got one story, of course. As much as they’ll share with family without clearance. But I want more.
“My mom loved your mom. Considered her one of her best friends.” Her mother died about ten years ago—an aneurysm.
Mom said she was too young, but I’ve always thought Evie was too young to lose her mother, especially to something so sudden and final, the kind of loss that doesn’t give you time to prepare or say goodbye.
“Mom still misses her,” I say, knowing it’s true, even though Mom and I haven’t talked about it in years. There are photos of our moms up all through mom’s house, most of them with cocktail or wine glasses in the frame.
“Me too,” she says, her arm around me tightening ever so slightly. “She’s been gone a long time. I’ve made my peace with it.”
We lie there like that, my thoughts going to Scott. I might need to make that trip up to New York. Something tells me he’ll be more accepting of us in person. I won’t go to that club of his but he’s always loved hanging out—I’m overdue for spending time with him.
“Gabe?”
“Yeah?”
“When we get back—” She pauses. “If something happens to me—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I say firmly. “Because I won’t let it.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.”
She exhales, a soft, shaky sound. “I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“I’m not scared of dying.” She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. “But I don’t want to lose this. Lose you.”
My chest tightens.
“You’re not losing me. Ever. That’s not negotiable.”
“You say that, but I’m a lot. I’m not easy to date—”
“Bull.” I cup her face. “We’ll figure it out. Trust me.”
“I should make you stay clear of this.” Her eyes go glassy and suddenly I get it. She’s thinking of my dad—the bullet he took. Maybe of others she’s known.
“Listen to me. Whatever happens when we land, whatever they throw at you, at us—we handle it together. You don’t face this alone. Understood? I won’t have it any other way.”
“Understood.”
I kiss her. Slow this time. Gentle.
When we break apart, she settles back against my chest.
“Get some sleep,” I say.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Try.”
She does. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and she goes soft and heavy in my arms.
I don’t sleep.
I lie there, holding her, memorizing the weight of her, the rhythm of her breath, the way she curls into me like she belongs there.
Because she does.
And tomorrow—when we step off that plane and walk back into the crosshairs—I need her to remember that.
Keeping me at arm’s length, whether it’s to protect me—or her heart—isn’t an option.
She’s mine.
And I will absolutely keep her safe.