Maybe a part of me wanted to believe he was some jerk—if only because it’d make saying goodbye and letting him go and knowing that I’m never going to see him again … that much easier.
Fuck.
I bury my head in my hands when I realize the worst part about this entire situation.
I’m falling for him.
And I know this because I wouldn’t have gotten so worked up today if I wasn’t.
“You still want to hang out?” he asks. His words blanket my hard feelings.
I can’t say no.
So I don’t.
Chapter Twelve
Isaiah
Saturday #7
I’m so tired I can hardly function, but I didn’t want to miss our last Saturday together. I’m nothing if not a man of my word, a man who respects obligations.
“Hey.” She answers her door in sweats and a cut-off t-shirt, her dark hair piled on top of her head and her full lips glistening with a fresh coat of chapstick.
On the phone earlier, I told her I needed to go back to sleep for a few hours, and that I’d be fine with staying in tonight. With her. She volunteered her place and I promised I’d be there no later than seven.
“I’m so sorry about earlier,” she says, apologizing yet again.
“I told you it’s fine.” I close her door behind me, glancing at the TV screen in her living room, which is paused on the opening credits of Stranger Things.
I want to kiss her. I want to press her against the wall, peel her clothes off of that taut body, and devour every inch of her.
“Melrose is gone tonight,” she says, biting back a smile that can only mean one thing.
“And your point?” I tease, feigning ignorance. I can beat around the bush with the best of them.
She shrugs. “I’m not trying to make a point, Corporal. Just stating a fact.”
“If you want me, just say so.” My cock strains in my jeans. I wasn’t expecting to walk into this straightaway tonight. I thought maybe it’d take a little flirting, a little liquid courage.
“All I want is to have a little fun.” She winks before slipping her hand into mine and leads me to the sofa, pulling me down beside her. A second later, she’s reaching for a bottle of red wine and two stemless wine glasses.
“I don’t know if you drink wine,” she says. “But you’re drinking it tonight.”
She hands me a glass before clinking hers against mine and taking a sip.
Twenty-four hours from now, I’m going to be halfway across the world. Forty-eight hours from now I’ll be a world away from this … from her. But I try not to think about those things. Nothing good can come on fixating on shit you can’t control, and I’m actually looking forward to getting out of the States for a while.
I kind of like being a world away sometimes. I wouldn’t have reenlisted if I didn’t.
“I had fun this week,” she says, head tilted as her pretty eyes rest on mine.
“Same.” I take a sip of the wine, which is sweet and goes down with a smooth, easy finish.
“Do you ever write letters when you’re gone?” she asks. “Like letters back home? To friends or family?”
I shake my head. “Nah.”
“Why not?”
“Not much of a letter writer,” I say. “Some of the guys sign up for these pen pal services, but that’s not something that’s ever appealed to me.”
“Can I send you letters?” she asks. Her question catches me off guard and I need a minute.
“Why would you want to do that?”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t it get lonely over there? Don’t you want to know someone’s thinking about you?”
Laughing, I say, “I’ve served almost ten years now. Haven’t been lonely but maybe once.”
“You act like that’s some badge of honor or something.”
“Where I’m from, it is,” I say. “You see guys who miss funerals or the births of their children. You see guys missing birthdays and holidays and shit like The Super Bowl and things that civilians take for granted. It’s just easier if I keep those things out of mind.”
Her gaze lowers and her lower lip juts forward before she takes a drink. “Makes sense, I guess.”
“It’s nice that you want to do that though.”
“It’s going to be so weird saying goodbye to you.” Her voice is breathy and wistful and she flashes a pained smile.
“Yeah, but this is what we signed up for.”
Maritza nods, drawing her legs onto the couch. “No, I know.”
“Come on.” I reach for her face, cupping her chin and angling her face until our eyes meet again. “Let’s have fun tonight. If you get all sad and mopey it’s going to completely defeat the entire purpose of this week.”
She pulls in a hard breath, lets it go, and softens her expression. “All right. Sad and mopey Maritza is gone in three … two …”
Snapping her fingers, she plasters the most ridiculous grin I’ve ever seen in my life across that pretty face of hers.