“Steaks it is,” I chirp a little too loudly. I watch Washington fight a smirk and I’m thankful his icy mood is melting.
His eyes move to my chest and he groans. “Fucking hell. This is worse than being waterboarded,” he says as he rubs his eyes.
I look down and see my hard nipples are pushing against the thin material of the shirt. I shrug because I don’t know what else to do. So instead I go to the pantry and take out some potatoes.
“Have you been waterboarded?” I ask, trying to get him to talk.
“Yeah.” He says it as casually as when he’d told me he was shot. I’m not sure what to say, but I want to cry.
“I don’t like the idea of you being hurt,” I admit.
Blinking fast, I try and fight the tears. He could have died. And if that happened then he would have never been mine. The thought tears me up inside and I try not to dwell on it.
“I’m fine, sweet pea. I’m right here with you and I’m not going anywhere,” he reminds me. My body relaxes at his words. He’s right. He is here with me.
“Your life is so different than mine,” I tell him as I get to work on making our dinner.
“We both serve our country,” he says simply. “Just in different ways. I watched you today, working with that family. You knew exactly what to say and how to handle it. You’re as well trained as I am, but in a different way. You gave up your childhood and almost a decade of your life. That’s time you won’t get back. At least I chose what I wanted to do with my life. You didn’t get to.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” His eyes soften. I never thought about it like that. It makes me feel that maybe I am doing my part to help.
I put the potatoes in the oven and start on the steaks. “Why don’t you want to go to college?” he asks.
“Maybe one day, just not now.” I shrug. Maybe not ever, if I’m being completely honest. But I don’t want to get into it with Washington like I do with my dad. I don’t want a lecture from him.
“Do you have a reason for not wanting to right now?” he pushes.
My reason is mainly him, but I’m too shy to tell him that. “It’s not what I want. That life.”
“What life do you want?”
“This.” I flip the steak over and then lean my hip on the counter. “A husband, kids, white picket fence, the American dream.” I try to read his face, but I can’t. I hate that he can wear that emotionless mask. “What do you want now that you’re getting out?”
“You.” He says it simply.
I remain silent, but he doesn’t say anything else. I grab some dishes and serve our dinner without saying another word. When I turn to reach for something, I run right into Washington. His finger goes under my chin, making me look up at him.
“You should be careful what you wish for.” I stare at him for a moment, then he moves away.
He takes our plates over to a small table in the kitchen my dad and I use a lot. We don’t like to sit at the large dining room table. It seems silly when it’s just the two of us. Before I can sit down, Washington pulls the chair out for me. It’s a simple act, but it’s really sweet. He sits with me, and his enormous body barely fits into the chair.
“Why should I be careful what I wish for?” I ask. I’m unable to stop myself.
“Eat your food, sweet pea. You’re going to need your energy later.”
I pause with the fork halfway to my mouth. The tingling between my legs is back. “How long have you wanted me?” I ask, bringing the bite of food the rest of the way to my mouth.
“You don’t want to know,” He answers, and he attacks the steak like he’s starving. I don’t know why, but I love that he’s enjoying what I made for him.
“I do.”
“The start.”
Butterflies dance in my stomach at his admission. “Me too.”
“I shouldn’t have even been on your radar, Honor. You should be thinking about boys. Not a man who wants to devour you.”
“Maybe I want that, too.”
Washington stares at me for a moment before he goes back to his food.
“Do you want me to start thinking about boys?” His head snaps up, and I smile. “You said it, not me.”
“Don’t, Honor. Not right now.” I swear there is almost a plea to his words, and he’s not the type of man to beg for anything.
I look down at my plate and smile, then eat until I can’t hold any more.
“I ate too much.” I put my hand on my stomach and lean back in my chair. Washington’s plate is clean, and I nod to it. “Do you want me to make you more?”