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I had to admit, Louisa could turn it on. Playing the part of “demure military spouse,” she dropped her accent, greeted people politely, remembered names, and didn’t even say “fuck” once. I knew she was performing for my sake, and as much as I appreciated it, I wanted to shake her out of it.

“Quit it,” I said, shaking her by the shoulders behind the five-tier cake with Happy 237th Birthday, Marines! piped across it in red. I wanted to mess up her hair. “Say ‘adore’ or ‘lovely’ again and I’ll get the ropes.”

“Why, William! I simply adore the idea of you tying my hands behind my back and stuffing your lovel—‘’ I wrapped my arm around her neck and clamped my hand over her mouth. My laughter rumbled against her back, and she squealed, licking my palm like a savage. I yanked it away and wiped it off on the ass of her dress. Too far. My dick instantly betrayed me, and I knew she could feel it. I closed my eyes, resigned. Please don’t make it more, Louisa.

As if she could read my mind, she pushed away, still laughing, and straightened her dress.

“Now I have to fix my lipstick and powder my nose in the ladies’,” she said snootily, mock-annoyed and unable to stop her lips from turning up in the corners.

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. When I caught her eyes, they softened, and I hope she felt the gratitude in mine. Playful Lou—this version of her—was a gift I didn’t want to ruin. Flirting was fun. I just didn’t want to take it any further.

“In Helmand Province, Afghanistan, Marines have faced a determined enemy in some of the harshest conditions of the war, carrying on the legacy of those who came before them…”

We’d made it to the last of the historical toasts, a Birthday Ball tradition I usually liked. I’d quietly warned Louisa in the beginning. Anyone who took big sips starting at Tun Tavern would be hammered by Iwo Jima and still have more than 50 years of Marine Corps battles to go.

Tonight, Ortiz was delivering the final toast. Because of our shared history and the fact that I was headed back in two months, I knew he was speaking directly to me. The back of my neck itched from the attention. I could feel Louisa staring at the side of my face, and I fingered the lighter in my pocket under the table.

“Through courage, sacrifice, and an unbreakable bond,” his eyes met mine, and I winked, Lighten up, brother! “…they have proven what it means to stand the watch.”

I rubbed a finger along the condensation on my water glass and cleared my throat.

“Please rise and join me in a toast to the Marines who have served—and continue to serve—in Helmand Province.”

We stood, and I raised my glass to Christian before gulping it down. I finally looked at Louisa. Putting a hand to the side of her mouth she whispered, “What just happened here?”

She was still going on about it ten minutes later, looking around for our server to bring dinner. “I mean, I’m lowkey obsessed with the nerdiness of the whole thing, but by the time we got to the Frozen Chosin, I was about to gnaw off my own fingers…”

I’d bet money Louisa was curious about Christian’s toast, and she was rambling to keep herself from asking something that might be sensitive. If you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times.

“Christian and I were in Afghanistan together in 2010. I’m headed back in January, but to Sangin this time. He obviously has feelings about it.”

Her shoulders settled slightly, relieved. “I figured as much.” Her eyes brightened when she spied the server headed our way over my shoulder.

“Don’t be weird about it. If you have a question, just ask me. And no, before you ask—I’ve never killed anyone, as far as I know."

She narrowed her eyes at me in annoyance. “Wow, I’m really feeling the openness of that door right now, Will. Glad you think I’m a child.”

Okay, yeah, I was an asshole. “I’m sorry, baby,” I pouted, pouring the accent on thick so I sounded like a sleazebag, licking my bottom lip, and looking her up and down suggestively. “I promise I don’t think of you as a child,” I joked—an apology and an olive branch.

“I see what you’re doing, Sergeant Hawkins,” she said, shaking her fork at me, “trying to get this pervert all hot and bothered so I let you off the hook.” I was glad we spoke the same language.

We all ate quickly—standard for Marines—and most of us had three or four pieces of cake, including Louisa and Marisol. The two of them got into a Who Looks More Pregnant Dance Off and had all of us rolling.

Mari was being goofy and looking beautiful, but it was Louisa, cheeks flushed and cheering her on, with a hand resting protectively on her own pushed-out belly—looking legitimately pregnant, but hilariously not actually pregnant—that had my throat going dry. Mine.

Jackson’s date was going at it on the dance floor with a sweaty gunnery sergeant, so he took Lou for a spin. As much as I normally love it, I was too nervous to dance with her myself, and I was glad she didn’t have to miss out.

If yer head’s already gone, lad, just wait until she’s in yer arms, smellin’ like they do. Best avoid it if ye can’t control it.

I thought I’d at least kept from drooling over her so far, but Ortiz saw right through me.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck is goin’ on, bro?” he said quietly. His eyes stayed on the crowd like mine, but the tone was serious.

I took a sip of my drink. “I wish I knew, man. I’m so fucked.”

Aye, ye are, son. Fucked, that is.

“Ay, you are absolutely fucked—in the head!” He slapped the back of mine and took my drink.