There was no one like him.
It was still early as they drove through town. Plenty of soldiers prowled the streets, looking for a little action to finish off the weekend. All except the one next to her. He stared silently out the window, arms crossed over his lean chest. She tried not to let her gaze stray to him, but it was difficult. His snug gray T-shirt strained against the cut lines of his torso. He propped one elbow on the doorframe, and the tattoo on his bicep peeked out beneath the edge of his sleeve.
“You’re going to miss the turn,” he pointed out.
She hit the break and flipped the turning signal, taking a right onto Cullen’s street. He rented a house at the end of a quiet street that was only a few minutes from base.
She lived in a condo about ten minutes away at the edge of Black Rock, but it was only temporary. She wanted roots. A place of her own. Hopefully a man of her own, too. A boyfriend. Someday a husband. She winced. At twenty-six, she hoped that someday would be soon.
She knew her family wanted her to return to Georgia, but she liked her job and the life she’d made here. Back home felt like a continuation of high school. The same faces. The same people doing pretty much the same thing, telling the same stories. Only now they were all getting married to one another and giving birth to mini versions of themselves.
Her life was good here, but she could admit to herself that it could be better if she had someone to share it with.
She had fallen into a deceptively comfortable routine with Cullen. Not a Sunday afternoon went by where he didn’t track her down at the library and then walk her to Java Joe’s after she checked out her books for the week. Sometimes they watched movies and ordered a pizza. He’d ask about her day and share funny stories about his trainees. He always kept it light. He never made what he did feel serious or dangerous even though she knew it was. Even though she treated his trainees often enough when one of them blew off a hand or busted an eardrum in training.
It wasn’t a bad life, but she wanted more. Needed more.
She pulled up in front of the one-story red-brick house and parked beside Cullen’s motorcycle. He’d left a porch light on and it bathed the hood of the truck in a yellow glow. She turned off the engine and climbed down, following Cullen to the door.
He turned to face her, hand extended, palm out. A sardonic smile played on his mouth. “Can I have my keys now? So I can unlock the door?”
She tossed the keys and he caught them in one hand. With a smirk, he turned and unlocked the front door.
He’d been renting the place for four years but still hadn’t done much with it, inside or out. No special landscaping. Just a yard he kept mowed. Stepping inside, there were only the bare essentials. It was the quintessential bachelor pad. Kitchen table, couch and TV. A single bedroom and guest room he used as an office—both equally sparse.
The place smelled like him. She inhaled. There it was. Clean laundry and his brand of soap—whatever that was.
He tossed the keys down on the table and moved for the fridge, helping himself to another beer. She looked away when she caught herself staring at his ass. God, that man could rock a pair of jeans.
When she looked back he had turned around again. She watched the tendons of his tanned throat work enticingly as he drank deep.
What was it with her? True, she’d always thought he was hot, but this was ridiculous. It was almost like some invisible switch on her libido had been flipped when she signed up on that dating site.
“Guess you’re stuck here now. Too bad for you. I’m shit company right now,” he said, lowering the bottle from his mouth. He waved to the fridge. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.”
“Course not.” He took a long sip, his dark eyes surveying her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shifted where she stood. Right now dipping her feet in acid would have felt better than enduring another moment in these boots.
This time when he lifted the bottle from his mouth those well-carved lips curled in a smile that made her stomach flip. Damn, she hated that he had this effect on her. Mostly because it meant she was like every other girl and not immune to him. She didn’t want to be like every other girl. She wasn’t. She was different. For starters, she was his friend. The women traipsing in and out of his bedroom could never claim that. That should be enough. It should more than satisfy her.
“You’re a lightweight. One of those girls who can’t stand the taste of beer and drank Strawberry Hill all through high school. You probably never even got drunk back then. Just took your five sips of Hill and faked a buzz.”
Crossing her arms, she glared at him even though he was closer to the truth than she liked to admit.
He chuckled as though he read her mind. “I’m right, aren’t I, sweetheart? I can see you now in some farmer’s field. Giggling and acting drunk. Probably letting some guy cop a feel and blaming it on the booze.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. There was an edge of insult to his words. He never talked to her like this. It pissed her off until she remembered what he was going through. This wasn’t about her. There was a reason he was pounding drinks like there was no tomorrow.
She moved to the table and plopped down on a chair. “It’s okay,” she announced as she tugged off one of her boots.
He frowned. “What’s okay?”
“You can be nasty. I’ll be your whipping dog if it makes you feel better. I know you don’t mean it, and I know you’re hurting.”
His dark eyes flashed and he pushed off the counter, his knuckles whitening where they clutched the neck of his bottle. “Bullshit.”
Maybe she shouldn’t push him, but he needed a friend. Someone who didn’t hold any punches and spoke honestly to him. Someone he couldn’t intimidate.
“Cullen, you need to talk about it,” she said gently.
He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t get all shrink on me, Huntley.”
She yanked off her second boot and dropped it on the floor. “There’s no shame in how you’re feeling. You’re entitled to feel bad. You can even take a night and get hammered.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Grieve, cry … but eventually you’re going to have to talk about it—”
He cursed and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “You want me to talk? You want me to tell you how I pushed Xander into the program, and when he had misgivings, I encouraged him to stick with it.”
She winced. “That’s your job. To train and support and encourage—”
“Yeah, well, I should have been more objective. I should have seen that he didn’t have what it took.”
“You don’t know that,” she protested, her heart aching for him. “It could have happened to anyone.” She hated that he blamed himself. She knew how much he cared for his trainees. He gave everything, making sure they were prepared for the realities of what they were going to face over there.
“But it happened to him. One of my guys,” he said flatly. He turned, removed another beer out of the fridge and disappeared into the bedroom.
She stared at her discarded boots, wondering what to do. It wasn’t as though she could get in her car and drive away. She needed to call a cab or her brother or just accept she was staying the night, which really wouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time they crashed under the same roof.
And there was the not-so-minor fact that she didn’t want to leave him alone when he was like this.
After a moment, she rose and followed Cullen, stopping in the threshold of his room.
Her heart constricted at the sight of him in front of his closet. The muscles and sinew of his back rippled as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Her mouth dried as she focused on the line of his spine, the way it dipped and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.