Chapter 4
Chapter Four
MADDOX
Ten Months Ago
Greenhouse, Lloyd Commons Residence
"Ijust can't." Her voice was soft and lilting, but the look in her eyes…
A loud "whoop" sounded from the main house. My shoulders hardened, and I whipped around. Chants of "speech speech speech" rose in the distance. Drakes must have shown his face, instead of just his dick. It's his celebration. The team's all here…for him.
I took a deep breath and held it, waited for my heartbeat to slow. Relax. My shoulders released as I worked my way back down from "high alert."
She lifted the corners of her mouth into a small smile even as she brushed at her cheek. "I'd like to stay for a bit longer."
My heart rate picked up again. "Then sit." I pointed at the plastic stool behind her.
She huffed, but sat, her bare feet no longer touching the floor. I moved to the low set of shelves along the wall. Grabbed a mid-sized flowerpot from a small stack, then pulled on my gloves. Keep busy, don't stare.
The small, overcrowded pot of blue cornflowers held yellowing leaves and tangled roots. The buds were notoriously difficult to keep alive after repotting, but the challenge was part of the appeal.
"Do you talk to them?" Goosebumps rippled across my forearms. Her legs crossing one over the other caught my attention.
I forced my eyes back to my repotting project. "Who? The idiots out there?"
"The flowers?"
"No."
"I hear they like talking. Or singing." She wiggled and leaned forward in the chair. "Maybe you sing to them?"
I focused on wiping dirt from the worktable.
"Your voice has a deep, soothing sound," she said.
"Mine?" I scoffed and shot her a look. "Keep drinking the water."
"I haven't even been here that long. Just…" she toyed with the cap. "Well, long enough. I guess." She ducked her head and a curtain of hair hid her features.
A quiet moment passed between us. Your name.
I want to know your name. She finally glanced up at me, again.
Heat worked its way from my neck to my jaw as I realized I'd been standing there, staring at her.
"You said you're not here for the party.
" I returned my attention to the flower pots on my worktable.
“No." She sucked in a loud breath and exhaled. "It's just…it’s like I had this incredible moment of clarity."
Please don't tell me about your boyfriend.
"Like I saw the future and everything in crisp, bright colors. And realized—"
"You're dumping him." I uncapped my last water bottle and watered the mess of thirsty cornflowers.
"What?"
"Sounds like a breakup speech." I risked a glance at her. Her reddish blond hair curled at the ends just beneath her shoulders. Her crossed legs…My mouth went dry. She didn't have those thin, stick-like legs. They held definition and tone and—I was staring.
I forced myself to focus on my…dirt. Yes, I needed dirt. I knelt to the floor, intent on pouring soil from the open bag into a new pot.
But as my gaze strayed again, I found myself level with those legs. Heat flashed through me as my brain wandered, imagining—my fingertips ghosting along her calf, hands uncrossing her legs, my teeth nipping at her thigh as I ran my tongue—
"Mine's softer?"
Yeah, soft and— I shut my eyes. Stop being an asshole.
"Isn’t it?" Her voice brought me back to the present.
I grunted, grabbing the bag of potting soil and hefting it to the tabletop.
She tilted her head. "Maybe the clarity thing is a bit much."
"I'm sure it makes you feel better. But whoever the poor guy is, you should probably just punch him in the balls and get it over with."
She snorted. "There's nothing poor about him."
For some reason, Drakes's words echoed in my ears.
". . .my girl’s fine, though, dude. She’s pricey…"
I scooped soil into the new pot, watching the dark, uneven pieces spill into a pile.
"It's just not," she said with a sigh, "simple."
"Seems simple enough to me."
"That sounded judgy," she said. "You don't even know me."
"I know you're here alone. You tossed your fuck-me pumps and found a place to cry—in the dark. I could guess," I said with a shrug, "but you're right, I don't know you."
"I didn't toss them. And they weren't that high. I just… was done pretending." She bent down, pulling a small duffel into her lap. Red heels materialized, clacked on the floor and wobbled beside her feet.
I gently pulled the cornflowers from the small pot, coaxing dirt from the mishmash of roots before settling the plant into new soil.
"You're not exactly mister popularity either."
I held back a chuckle as I met her gaze. "I was here for the party." Yeah, right.
She pressed her lips together and out. One eyebrow arched. "No party in here, though. Looks like a guy potting plants on a Saturday night."
I swallowed my grin. "Root emergency."
She stared. "You just made that up."
"Fine, it could've waited. But the sooner…"
She leaned forward and buckled a delicate strap around her ankle. The world might've stopped then, and I really wouldn't have cared less.
Nothing could have waited, ever. I needed to be right there—with her, at that moment. The tops of her breasts barely visible inside her neckline, the strong line of her calf. That unbelievably tiny strap that was its own statement of confidence and…dear God, how long had it been? "The…I was here?"
"'But Why?’ Is the question." She settled back into the chair. "Supposedly here for a party, but no hint that you've been drinking—and so much revelry and debauchery nearby."
"Idiots keep hiding pot out here. Have to check a couple of times a night, every time there's a party," I grumbled. "And there’s always a party."
"Greenhouse guard duty?" Her lips curled and her eyebrows lifted. "So that's it. You dressed up like a wallflower to blend in."
Ha ha. "Cute. But I found someone who needed a friend." I held up the pot of cornflowers. "You were here too."
The smile that bloomed on her face was worth the awkward attempt at a joke. I caught my breath.
"Thought you said you don't talk to them."
"You could, though. No judgment."
"Sounds like a thin attempt to spy on me."
"Advanced recon. Not exactly spying."
She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like my brother. Air Force tough guy, or so he wants everyone to believe."
"Flyboys are marshmallows."
She took another sip of water. "I'll tell him you said that." She twisted the cap back onto the bottle. Light glimmered on the remnants of her tears. "So which branch were you?"
"Marine Corps."
"Ah." She shifted in her seat, those long legs moved against each other again. An electric heat surged through my abdomen and stirred interest in…every part of my body.
I mashed dirt around the root ball, drizzling water into the pot.
She stood and moved closer. Hot and cold flashed across every inch of my skin. I wanted her touch… Instead, she placed her hand on the potted plant.
"He cheated, little flowers."
My stomach dropped lower; I sucked in a breath and held it.
"He's been cheating for a while, I was just too…caught up, I guess." She cupped one of the blooms. "I wanted to believe the lie."
I swallowed against something dry and lumpy in my throat. "I hear they like stories with happy endings."
"Do they?" Her fingers curled hair behind her ear. Glossy pink lips caught the light. "Well, luckily, mine has one. Because I have the self-respect to walk away."
The room buzzed in the silence of the moment, electric, waiting. My arms ached to hold her, but I didn't have permission…and the defiant tilt of her chin said she wasn't asking for sympathy. It occurred to me, then, that she was like my cornflowers—bold, vibrant, but trapped inside the wrong pot.
"I finally told him I just don’t want to be with someone like him." She shrugged one shoulder, but the glassy glint in her eyes gave her away. "Not anymore."
She gave me a small smile as she turned toward the flowers. Her fingers smoothed over the bag of soil, then tipped the smaller pot. She thumbed tiny blue petals as her eyes met mine. "What are they called?"
"Cornflowers."
"They're pretty." She threw me a side-eyed glance that made my heart trip, stumble and fall. "But it does seem like an odd hobby for a Marine."
"That sounded judgy." I crossed my arms over my chest. "You don't even know me."
She laughed, her fingers pressing to her lips as her eyes danced. Her gaze drifted down to my mouth then flicked back up. "Maybe I'm trying to?"
An electric thrill shot through my veins. Heat radiated from my neck and shoulders.
"I mean, it's ‘advanced recon.’" Her eyebrows dipped into a frown as her voice lowered. "So serious."
A cold sensation washed over me, like she'd lifted away my shirt to stare at the flesh underneath. Saw my scars…
Her cheating ex was officially a moron of epic proportions. I wanted to punch him and thank him and take her back to my room all at the same time. I hoped to God I'd never meet the prick—and that I wouldn't screw this up. That there could be a this to not screw up.
"My grandparents had a vegetable garden. Seemed giant-sized as a kid, a little less as an adult, but… It was something familiar. Found myself contributing to the community garden on base."
"And you went into the military—"
"Seventeen. Right out of high school. Had a lot of reasons. Everything seemed complicated then." I dumped new soil into the old pot and set about mixing the two.
"Not now?"
"Dumbfucks with guns. That's a moment of clarity."
"Oh, you saw combat?"
"Got my scars. Got out."
I moved from the worktable to settle the potted flowers onto the shelf next to the east-facing wall. When I turned, she was there. So close…the air warmed; it moved like it was electric and alive.
God, I wanted to touch her. Just feel the skin of her arms, her hands, against mine. It didn't have to be sexual. Who do you think you're kidding?
Her eyes lifted. She blinked, turned her head with a flip of her hair. I caught the scent of strawberries and coconut as she shuffled back to her chair.
"Feeling better?"
“I’m…conflicted."
"About what? Him? The cheating—" I bit back the rest as I knelt to return the bag of soil to the ground.
"Oh, not—"
I stood and she shifted back a step. Her head tilted and she met my gaze.
"Ah, I guess, I just haven't been with anyone else in so long." She shook her head. "It seems…strange to start over."
I scowled—like I had any skin in this game, when I didn't. Shouldn't. I pulled off my gloves, chucking them at the worktable. What's wrong with me?
"Could I ask you for a favor?" She said.
No, no and no. "Sure." I'm not helping you deal with your crummy, cheating asshat of a—
"I want to know what it's like to kiss you."