“Don’t I think what?”
“Nothing,” she dismisses the thought and moves over to the small bed in the room. “Is it true about military guys always making their bed in the morning?” she asks, her fingers digging into the sheets.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t sleep in that thing.”
She looks at it from headboard to foot and then looks me up and down from head to toe, taking her time before she busts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s way too small for you now. Where do you sleep?”
I motion with my head toward the floor.
“The floor?”
“It’s inside and a lot better than places I’ve been sleeping the last twenty years.”
Her eyes narrow as she considers my comment.
“You’ve been a SEAL longer than I’ve been alive.”
I nod, hearing her say it like that seems strange, but then again it doesn’t. It’s not like she’s trying to put a wedge in-between us, just more of an observation. But her follow-up question tells me where she’s going with it.
“That’s a long time. There must have been some women over that time period.”
“None.”
“I don’t believe it. A big, strong guy like you? And in a uniform no less?”
“We often don’t wear the uniform when we’re in hostile areas. Don’t want to be a target. Not only that but we spend weeks at a time not even seeing a woman, let alone being with one.”
“But when you do get the opportunity to let your hair down you surely must have gone all the way a time or two.”
Moving closer to her I cup her chin with my calloused index finger and thumb. “That’s the thing about life. You can’t ever let your guard down, especially when you can’t always identify who is friend or foe.”
“You didn’t want to though?”
“No. The thought never crossed my mind. I was there to do a job.”
“Okay. When you were stateside? I know the SEALs work out of Coronado. That’s Southern California where all the Hollywood actresses, musicians, and celebrities are.”
“Not interested in any of that, any of them.”
“Then what are you interested in?”
A moment passes as I stroke her gentle skin, the contrast between us couldn’t be more obvious, but the similarities are just as potent.
She’s a good girl, family-oriented, and doesn’t believe in cheap sex or short-term pleasure. She has goals, a mission in life, and a purpose. Just like me. She’d rather read a book than go to a club, just as I’d rather read a book, albeit military strategy, than go out in foreign cities and try and find some trouble.
We’re much more alike than we’re different, and our differences can be strengths as we provide each other with different points of view. But my view right now is razor-focused on one thing and one thing only. Her.
“You. You’re what interests me.”
Leaning down I bring my lips a hairsbreadth from hers. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything to stop it, instead she closes her eyes and leans in as well, and our two lips meet for the first time.
I’ve experienced the blood rush of a firefight, of explosions, of rescuing hostages or taking out terrorist leaders…but nothing compares to this…her lips on mine, the coming together of me and my perfect woman, the one I wasn’t even searching for but when I saw her for the first time as an adult, as a woman, it became glaringly obvious, completely clear, that she was meant to be mine and mine alone.
Twisting my body I sit down on the bed next to her, the mattress creaking from my sizable weight, my body putting a big indent in the mattress to the point it’s touching the box springs.
Gently tilting her head in my direction, my kiss deepens, my hand explores as I slide it along her jawline and then down her neck, knowing that this is escalating quickly but there’s no way I could stop it if I wanted to, not that I do.
Her parents are just down the hall. This is a terrible idea, the worst. I’m disrespecting the very family that took me in, made me a part of their own, and gave me a place to stay, to live, to survive.