She takes a big gulp of her daiquiri and sighs, "I needed that."
“Water is better when you’re thirsty.” I glance at the bartender, who instantly fills a glass and sets it in front of her.
She stares, first at the bartender, then at me. "How did you do that?"
I frown.
"Get the bartender to do your bidding without talking to him."
I shrug. Then slide the water closer to her. "Drink."
She scowls. "You’re bossy."
"Or not." I shrug.
She stares at the water longingly, then lifts the glass to her lips and swallows half of it. She puts it down with a sigh. "Thanks."
I tilt my head.
She wraps her fingers around the stem of her glass. "You’re a Marine?"
I stiffen, then nod slowly. It’s not something I want to talk about right now. Not when I’m trying to move on from my last mission.
Something in my stance must give away my thoughts, for her voice softens. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry."
"You’re not." My voice comes out gritty. I clear my throat. "I don’t like talking about what I do when I’m on leave. It’s my chance to recharge and put some distance between my job and myself."
"I understand. I don’t like talking about how I’m spending all my time washing dishes, after completing a Professional Chef Diploma." As if simply talking about it is traumatic enough, she takes another big gulp of her daiquiri.
"A friend joined the Marines. It seemed like such a heroic thing to do. It spurred me to do the same."
She nods. "I had a childhood friend who insisted she wanted to become a chef. She made me apply to become a chef with her.I got through; she didn’t. Suffice to say, our friendship didn’t last, but I became a chef."
"How long have you known Phe?"
"We met at university. Of course, our disciplines were different. But we became fast friends." She eyes me speculatively, then opens her mouth and shuts it. The struggle to not ask me the question on her mind is real on her face.
I half smile, finding her attempt at granting me my privacy almost endearing. When she flattens her lips and looks like she’s about to burst with the effort I sigh. "Go on, ask your question."
A look of relief filters into her features. "Do you enjoy being a Marine?"
"Enjoy?" I twist my lips. "That’s not quite the word I’d use."
"Of course. How crass of me. I mean, do you think it’s your calling?"
6
Harper
"No, it’s not." He tosses down a few bills. "You done?"
I take in his closed features. The, once again, inscrutable expression on his face and sigh. I shouldn’t have asked him the question. But I couldn’t help it. Not to mention, he told me to go ahead and ask.
There’s something tearing him apart from the inside. And I can’t stop until I find out everything about it.
I gulp down the rest of my daiquiri and slip off the barstool. My head spins. "Oops." I giggle and grab at the bar counter.
Instead, my fingers connect with warm skin and hard muscle. I hold on to his arm, and shockwaves sizzle out from the point of contact. The hair on the nape of my neck rises. He looks down from his height, and I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Those blue eyes of his turns heavier, almost ink-dark with emotion. And I thought this man was emotionless. On the contrary, he’s hiding his feelings deep inside.
