One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

It all felt so…dirty.

She knocked over a plant that was sitting on her table, only to be completely underwhelmed when she remembered it was fake. Everything stayed very neatly in its planter, lying on its side on the table.

“Good enough,” she huffed.

Then the door swung open, and Holden tossed her a lazy grin on his way to the sofa.

She watched him go, suddenly aware of how dry her throat was.

He glanced around the apartment, his brows knit together. “What happened here? Did you get reverse robbed?”

“Very funny.” She fisted her hands on her hips, only to discover with revulsion that she was still holding a feather duster.

What had she become?

She tossed the duster away and let it drop onto the linoleum kitchen floor.

How was it, in all this time, that she hadn’t formulated a plan for what she might do when he was finally near her again?

She reminded herself to relax, but still her brain scurried for some excuse to put distance between them. Some way for her to collect herself. But in an apartment this small, there were really only a few options.

She could shower until she looked like a California raisin. Or…

She plopped herself down onto the couch and turned the TV back on to another episode of Dance Divas. Angry Southern mothers and complete familial dysfunction? It hit so close to home for both of them, he’d detest it with every fiber of his being.

It was ideal.

“Let’s watch some TV for a bit, if you don’t mind.” She stretched out and set her feet on her uncomfortably clean coffee table. She’d have to take care of that and soon.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, joining her.

Too close for comfort.

He was within spooning distance, and she could practically feel the snuggle settling in. Bells were ringing in her head. Whistles sounded. Lights flashed. Danger! Danger!

The weird, intimate feeling was oozing back in, and she had to do something, anything, to free herself from destroying the very fabric of their no-strings-attached agreement. The only problem was, she had no idea how to distance herself.

And then it hit her.

She started squinting at the television. First just a little, then she leaned forward, sat up straighter, did everything she could to bring attention to herself.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking the bait.

Gotcha.

“Oh, it’s stupid. I took out my contacts while you were gone, and I never put my glasses back on. That’s all. It’s dumb.”

“I’ve never seen you wear glasses,” he said.

“Oh, uh.” He had her there. But for once she was quick on her feet. “I got them while you were away.”

“All right. No big deal. I’ll get them for you.” He was up before she could stop him.

Still, she let out a feeble, “No, wait, you don’t have to.”

He didn’t notice her lack of effort. She knew how he could be when he was on a quest.

“I think they’re on my makeup table. You know, on the far side of the room. Away from the door, like.” She got up and followed him to her bedroom entrance and pointed. After crossing the room to the small surface, he started opening drawers, but to no avail.