Mikayla’s brows shoot up, and she gives me a short whistle. Her fingers are warm, and I don’t want to let go, this sudden, unexpected wave of intense connection barreling through me so hard and fast, I worry it’s going to knock me off my stool. “And I thought doctor was an impressive title.”
“Well, I never got further than a couple of master’s degrees, so…” It feels good to smile. Like I’m reclaiming a piece of myself I lost long ago. “Doctor sounds pretty damn impressive to me.”
“So what areyoudoing in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Major General Austin Pritchard?” Mikayla settles a little more solidly onto her stool, and the wiggle of her ass draws my gaze for a split second.
Eyes up, Pritchard.I focus on my plate as I answer. “Just Austin. I retired a little over a month ago. Needed a break. Losing myself on the Maya Trail for a while sounded like a good idea.”
After a generous bite of a taco, she studies me, those wide brown eyes taking in every detail. “Sounded?”
I chuckle. “Picked up on that, huh?”
“Maybe.”
Her smile makes me want to tell her everything. Just start talking and not stop, but that’s probably because I haven’t spoken more than a few words to anyone in since I left the United States.
“Well, turns out, spending six weeks alone with only your thoughts for company isn’t the best idea when those thoughts are pretty damn insistent that you relive all the mistakes you’ve ever made in your life.”
I wash the bitter admission down with a swig of beer, shocked at how easy it is to share my failings with someone I don’t know. Dani tried to get me to go to therapy when I was sent home from Pakistan. Said it helped her—and Trevor. Maybe I should have listened.
“Oof. Well, I don’t drink very often,” Mik says as she lifts her bottle and tips it towards mine, “but I’ve found when I do, my inner voice tends to take a hike.”
“Shit. That’s what got me into this mess.” When Mik’s brow furrows, I snort. “Taking a hike?”
“Oh, crap.” She lowers her eyes to her beer, then bursts out laughing. It’s the sweetest sound, full of abandon, and I finally pick up my bottle and touch the neck to hers.
“To hiking?” I ask.
“No. No, no, no.” She shakes her head, and her bronzed cheeks take on the hue of a summer sunset. “To a meal with a stranger who’ll hopefully forgive me for making a complete fool of myself.”
“Nothing to forgive, Mikayla. Mik. This is the best meal I’ve had since I arrived in Mexico.”
Her blush deepens, and fuck. I wish this didn’t have to end with dinner. But it does, because no one deserves to see my damage in the light of day. For the next hour though, I plan on enjoying every minute of my time with the gorgeous Dr. Mikayla Salim. Because why the hell not?
Chapter Six
Mikayla
The four-hour nap I took after Corey brought me back to the hotel was amazing—and desperately needed—but it doesn’t bode well for being able to sleep tonight. Which is why I’m still sitting in the hotel bar long after midnight chatting with this handsome, retired Air Force officer.
Austin’s short, dark hair narrows to a widow’s peak, and every once in a while, the light catches a strand of gray. He wears two or three days’ worth of stubble along his jaw, and I think his hazel eyes have seen too much. Tattoos cover his right arm from his wrist to his elbow, with words I haven’t yet been able to read. They’re not in English, that much I know. But languages were never my strong suit. Beyond Latin.
“Mikayla?” Austin leans a little closer. “Did you hear me?”
I fiddle with my napkin, fighting the embarrassment racing up my neck to my cheeks. “Sorry. I was trying to figure out what those words mean,” I say, gesturing to the ink.
A mix of pride and sadness plays across his features. “Loosely translated, they say, ‘We won’t give up, weren’t born for that. We’ll throw ourselves into the battle for honor.’”
“That’s beautiful.”
Silence stretches between us, and I stifle a yawn.
“I’m keeping you up,” Austin says as he finishes off his tequila. “You probably have an early wake-up call.”
Offering him a sheepish smile, I nod and polish off the last sip of my beer. I don’t normally drink, but after an attack, the meds often leave me so wired, a beer is about the only thing that lets me fall asleep. “We have another five days to finish up our research, and I put us behind. After my asthma attack, one of my grad students had to take two hours out of his day to drive me back here, plus, they had to do my share of the work today.”
“You couldn’t exactly help it,” Austin says, and when I meet his gaze, I find understanding, sympathy, and a hint of encouragement.
“No, but I’ll have to make up for it tomorrow.” Reaching into my cross-body purse for my cash, I pull out four hundred pesos and drop them on the table. Hours ago, when the restaurant started to empty, we found a corner booth where most of the noise faded away and it was just the two of us, talking about…nothing really. Casual conversation. Movies. Books. Music. “My treat,” I say when Austin frowns and reaches for his wallet.
