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Mmmmm. “And good girls get rewards.”
This kiss, unlike the last one, wasn’t frantic. Instead, as my lips moved over hers, my hand still holding hers steady above her head, it was slow. Sensual. A kiss meant to convey the kind of longing time apart brings. Losing myself to the kiss, I stopped questioning if this should happen and instead just let whatever would be. . . be.
When we finished, I released her wrists.
Charlee didn’t move. But then again, neither did I.
“Now then. How about you tell me why you came to the shop in the first place?” And before she could answer, I added, “And then I’ll finish the training so we can go grab a bite to eat. Unless you want to skip straight to dessert?” I leaned into her to whisper in her ear. “We may have never had sex, Charlee, but I do remember very distinctly how sweet you taste.” I stood back up. “So? What’ll it be?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
charlee
“Can you tell me more about being a sniper?”
I’d ordered the chicken parm. Lucas, linguine with clam sauce. We were on, I supposed, our first official date. Or did you call it a date if you weren’t really dating but staging the whole thing just to see how your father reacted? Not that he was here, mind you.
Part of me was resentful that this had been some sort of “arrangement” with rules. I just wanted a regular relationship. Or at least, an attempt at exploring one.
But this is not the same Lucas.
I’d had to remind myself of that over and over. The alley incident was one big, fat piece of evidence to support that fact.
“What do you want to know?”
Every time he asked that, I was reminded of truly how reticent Lucas was. The exact opposite of braggy, which he easily could be. I mean, an Army freaking sniper. How cool was that?
“What was your rank?” I asked.
The food. Wine. Candlelight. It almost did feel like a regular date at one of the only restaurants in Kitchi Falls open on a Monday night.
“E-6. Staff Sergeant.”
Only Lucas could make eating linguine look almost erotic. The man was so goddamn sexy.
“Sergeant. A leadership position, then?”
“Senior non-commissioned officer,” he said.
That, at least, I knew. “I was watching a military show, forgot the name of it, and I remember thinking, how do they know when and who to salute to all the time? Seems very confusing.”
Lucas laughed. “It’s called customs and courtesies. There are very specific rules for saluting, which is considered a symbol of respect and honor. But most of the guys hate it. Some even do it intentionally just to needle the officers. Fun fact. . . there’s no saluting in theater,” he added.
“What’s theater?”
“Combat zone.”
“Oh. Why’s that?”
“If anyone is watching, you don’t want to give away who the officers are. So, watching military shows now?”
“Here and there,” I said, taking a sip of the wine. A little too sweet for me, but I loved to support the local wineries.
“I see.”
“So tell me about the people you met. How you learned to tattoo while in the Army.”
We talked, for the first time since Lucas came back, without goading each other. Without any pretense, just two people filling in the years. I almost forgot it was only half real and the other half a test.
