Wren looked away, and he felt her shields come up. Two steps forward, three back. Because she’d mentally retreated, he lifted his hand off her thigh and squeezed her knee.
“Where did you go, Wren?”
She looked at him, then away. “I love the way you make me feel, fizzy and lightheaded…”
He sighed. “But?”
“But that’s all I’m good at, Dane, the fizzy and lightheaded.”
What was she trying to say? Scooting back a little to give her some mental and physical space, he lifted his beer bottle to his lips and took a long sip while he thought of a way to respond. “Do you want to explain that?”
“Not really,” she said, sounding glum.
“But you felt it was necessary to mention it,” he said, pushing.
Wren looked at the whiskey shots, picked one up, and waited for him to do the same. They clinked glasses, and she threw hers back like a pro. He followed, enjoying the warmth of the whiskey and, despite their current conversation, being here with her. Nothing about his vacation to H-Town was turning out the way he expected, and he’d surprised himself by going with the flow. He wasn’t a go-with-the-flow type of guy and probably wouldn’t be after the summer was over. But for the next few weeks, during this time where he owed nothing to nobody, he’d let things evolve…
Wren’s eyes skittered off his, and she rolled her beer bottle between her hands. “I admit that the chemistry between us is hectic,” she said, and he knew there was a bigbutcoming. “But fairly recently, I thought I was getting into one thing with a guy and ended up instead in a situation that exploded in my face. And it happened because I didn’t set any boundaries.”
“And you’re worried you might do the same thing to me?” he asked. He turned, put his leg on the other side of the bench to look at her profile square on. Wren echoed his actions, and they locked eyes.
“Yes.”
He appreciated her simple answer, her lack of hedging. Dane thought for a minute, wondering how to respond. He’d avoided relationships for years now, and he had no intention of changing that habit now. He knew himself well; in high-pressure situations, he could compartmentalize, perform, and stay hyper-focused, but love and a relationship meant dropping his shields, and he didn’t think he could do that. Intellectually, he understood the rules. His interactions with women needed to be shallow, short-term, and functional. Because, at his core, he knew he couldn’t be left if he never stayed. It had always made complete sense. But somewhere, perhaps between ordering a Witch’s Cold Shoulder and embarrassing himself trying to pop and lock, the rules had started to blur. She pulled him in and made him want to stay. For the first time in a very long time, logic wasn’t doing its job.
Feelings, he reminded himself, made him weak, and love was a distraction from duty. And he did see his job, even if his father didn’t, as a way to serve, as a duty. If not to his country directly, then to greater humanity.
But… But, as Wren stated earlier, she didn’t want more, or deeper. She was simply worried that he did. That he’d expect more, that he’d get hurt.
But if they were on the same page, both considering a fling, both uninterested in anything deeper, they could sleep together. And when either of their times in H-Town was up, they could wish each other well and wave each other goodbye. If they kept it light, kept it from getting messy, they could have a lot of fun.
And God, judging by her sad face and knowing how burned out he was, they could both do with some fun.
“Wren, what if we—” he started to speak, but his attention was caught by a compact, swarthy man at the entrance to the tent, his eyes impatiently scanning the tables. The guy’s eyes bounced off them, jumped to another couple, and then returned to them … no, they returned to Wren. Then he started to weave his way through the tables,anotherWren-seeking missile.
“Are you expecting someone?” Dane asked, annoyed to be interrupted by this good-looking guy in a sleeveless tank and three-quarter denims. He moved like a dancer, and Dane somehow knew that someone from Wren’s professional life had caught up with her. She frowned and turned. The instant she clocked the guy, all the color in her face drained away.
“Alex…”
Alex? Was that the guy whose heart she’d broken, the one she’d spoken about earlier? Or was this someone else? Whoever it was, he wasn’t someone Wren expected to see. Her hand went to her throat, and Dane rocketed up and instinctively put himself between her and the man approaching them.
To get to her, this guy would have to go through him. And that wasn’t going to happen.
* * *
Wren stared at Alex, her breath catching in her throat.
What thefuck?
Beyond shocked—what the hell was he doing here?—she couldn’t pull her eyes off his face. He looked exactly as he did a year ago, down to his designer dusting of stubble, his shoulder-length hair, the tank he always wore to show off hiscut shoulders and arms.
“Wren, you’re here! I knew you would be,” Alex said, enthusiastically.
He lunged for her, about to scoop her up, as he always did, but Dane’s palm hit his chest, and he was stopped mid-flight. She’d never seen that expression on Dane’s face before, and she hadn’t thought he could look so scary. Alex lifted his hands and stepped back, his expression now wary. “Hey, I’m an old friend of Wren’s,” he explained. “I just wanted to hug her, say hello.”
Dane widened his stance, and his expression didn’t lighten. “You happy to be hugged, Wren?” he asked, his voice silky but slightly menacing.
Wren released a long breath, conscious that they were attracting attention from the crowd in the tent. If she didn’t want a scene or to get the town talking, she’d have to accept his exuberant greeting.
