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Talking to Lucas came so naturally. Always had.
He told me more about his time in the military. About his deployments, life in an active combat zone nothing like I could have imagined. Not that he gave away much—the things he held back seemed more plentiful than what he told me. He talked about his workouts and training, which seemed pretty intense. But I was afraid to ask the hard questions. Had he killed someone? Clearly, the answer was yes. What was that like, and how did one adjust from that and the things they saw when coming back to civilian life? And the ten-year thing? Why did he leave, and why get so prickly about it when I mentioned it yesterday?
“How’s your sister, by the way? I always liked Tori.”
“She liked you too,” I admitted, swallowing a particularly delicious piece of chicken parm. “Tori’s actually in law school now.”
Lucas whistled. “Fancy. How does she like it?”
“Eh. She doesn’t mind the work, even though it’s a lot. Some of the people are apparently sort of. . . how do you say it. Competitive?”
“If we’re being nice, sure,” he said, clearly holding back comment.
“And your dad?” I asked. “I’ve seen him from time to time, but it’s been a while.”
“Oh, he’s great.” Lucas took a swig of beer. “Between jobs, and getting so drunk at bars that he refuses to leave. Still has his house, miraculously, so there’s that.”
Lucas had always been particularly sensitive about his dad and where he came from, which was why I hadn’t asked before. But, oddly, his words lacked the bitterness that had always been there when he talked about his family. His absent mother, alcoholic father, lack of siblings, which I knew bothered him.
“I’m sorry about that. It must worry you now that you’re back. Wondering what he’s going to do next?”
Lucas shook his head. “Nah. Doesn’t worry me at all. Can’t be afraid of what you can’t control. Nothing can ruin your life more than your own irrational fears. Accept that as a fact, keep perspective, and fear becomes a non-issue.”
Jesus, that was deep. More profound than I’d been expecting. Not because Lucas wasn’t the kind of guy who could be profound. But because I didn’t even think it was a lesson I’d learned yet, and he was over here just dropping truth bombs like it was nothing.
“I can see that,” I said. “Good advice, actually.”
“Harder to put into practice.”
I had a feeling we weren’t talking about him anymore. If Lucas knew how badly I’d wanted a career in design. . . if he knew about my father’s proposal and my hesitation to take the VP job. . . he’d have an absolute field day. I should tell him, but something held me back.
“Yeah, I can see that too,” I said.
Out of nowhere, Lucas’s demeanor suddenly changed.
“What?” I asked. But I already knew what. He was staring at my lips.
“They’re fucking incredible, Charlee. Do you know that?”
I wanted him to say it even though I knew exactly what he meant. “What is?”
“Your lips, baby. They’re so damn full that I can’t get them out of my head. Kissing them, wanting to bite that lower lip just enough for you to feel it—”
“Lucas.” I stopped him. Already I was squirming in the seat.
“What, Charlee? You feeling something between your legs, sweetheart?”
Oh, God. I knew it wasn’t like “sweetheart” as an endearment exactly, but “sweetheart” in a sexual sort of way. . . but my brain didn’t know the difference.
“Maybe,” I said.
Lucas leaned in and crooked a finger at me to do the same, which, inexplicably, I did. “We’re gonna leave this restaurant soon, and you’re coming back to my place.”
Did I get a choice? Did I want a choice?
“Okay.”
“First, I’m going to do exactly what I just said. And then, I’m going to tear your fucking clothes from that luscious body of yours and bury my head between your legs.”
