Page 129 of Nyx

"Why not longer?" I ask, knowing he's more than capable of the physical requirements just by looking at him.

"I was due to reenlist last year, but I got the call from Cerberus to join their team. The benefit package was more appealing."

There's an edge to his voice that makes me believe he's talking about more than health insurance and retirement.

He doesn't offer anything else, and I'm not surprised. I don't know him well, but he has never seemed like a small-talk kind of man.

The silence, only interrupted by the clink of forks, has the ability to drive me mad.

"I'm sorry that I kissed you," I blurt, my eyes growing wild.

I usually think my words through. My filter was one thing that helped me when faced with Graham's hair-trigger.

He's silent, leading me to think he must agree it was a mistake.

I take a deep breath, trying to let it out without it sounding like a sigh of frustration.

"You know what?" I say, dropping my fork to my plate. "I don't regret it."

He watches me, fork suspended in the air, noodles dangling from the tines.

"I don't think it was a good idea," I add. "But I don't regret it."

"I understand," he says.

My jaw has to be a mere inch from the ground.

I understand?

What does that even mean?

Is it respect for my thoughts and admission?

If so, who has that level of respect for someone else?

I hate even comparing this man to Graham, but Graham was all I ever knew. We burned hot and fast. Being a few years older, he had more experience, and in hindsight, I know he coerced me through every first, never relenting until I gave him what he wanted.

This conversation doesn't seem like that, though. His comment and silence don't have an expectant edge to them. I don't feel like he's waiting for me to say more or thinking of a response that bends things in his favor.

Maybe I'm reading too much into all of it, but I also can't seem to stop.

Is he agreeing with me?

Is the ball in my court?

Did he even enjoy it himself?

Why does it even bother me at all?

"Okay," I say, because I can't think of anything else that would sound right.

We finish eating without speaking again. He doesn't stand from the table until I do.

He resumes pacing as I wash dishes and clean the kitchen.

"It's getting late," I tell him once I'm done.

"I'll be outside while you shower," he says, heading toward the front door. "Lock this behind me."