Chapter Nineteen
Noah
It wasn’t exactlya lie saying I was an ex-marine. I was a marine, albeit for a short while. But I was, until a recruiter decided my talents were better suited for FBI special ops. Saying you’re an ex-marine was simpler. It didn’t stir as much curiosity and questions.
Sienna’s throat bobbed as she swallowed some wine. “So that’s what the tattoo means. The eagle on your back?”
I nodded, then shifted in my seat.
She cocked a brow. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Why?”
“Asking me why I don’t like talking about myself is practically asking me to talk about myself.”
She took another bite of her pizza slice, eyeing me curiously as she chewed. I could unpack all my baggage right here, right now. I could have spilled everything, told her my whole fucking story and called my demons by name. I could have told her that life was fucked-up, and that there was no such thing as a fairy tale ending or happily ever after. That no matter how hard you tried, all the sacrifices you made, the universe could turn against you at any moment in time and tear apart your entire world. I could have gone all out and tainted her whole outlook on life by telling her that happiness could be turned into a weapon within the blink of an eye, destroying you the second it's lost. People who said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. I would have given anything to erase every second of my life spent loving someone. Wipe away every moment when my heart felt full, and my life complete. I’d rather not have the memories than walk around with a withered heart.
Sienna cleared her throat after taking a sip of her wine. “Let’s play a game.”
Intrigued, I raised a brow. “What game?”
“I say two things, and you have to choose one of them.”
“What if I don’t want to choose either one?”
“You have to.”
“But what if I don’t want to?”
She frowned. “Now look who’s acting twelve?”
I tapped my finger on the table, studying her. “Fine.”
“Great. Now,” she tucked her hair behind her ears, “night or day?”
“Night.”
“Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee.”
“Money or love.”
My heart hiccupped. “Money.”
“And I’m supposed to be the superficial one.”
“Are you done?”
“No.” She righted herself in her seat. “Sweet or savory?”
“Savory.”
Her eyes darkened, and she pressed her lips together. “Brunettes or redheads?”
I leaned my head to the side. “Really?”