“We had one night together, Beck. No big deal. I don’t know why you’re even explaining this to me.” She shoved the pencil behind her ear and fidgeted. “You don’t see me going into detail about all my past boyfriends.”
He saw it coming. Saw she’d located the weapon in her arsenal and was prepared to use it. “Don’t—”
“You’re not the first soldier I’ve brought back here from base, Beck. Far from it.” She wouldn’t look at him. Good thing, because in two sentences she’d managed to invoke jealousy and resignation he was nowhere near ready to feel. Not because her having partners before him made him want her any less. No, he’d just hoped she wouldn’t try to distance him with that knowledge. And like any man who felt for a woman, thinking of her with other men didn’t sit well. At. All.
“So, what you’re telling me is I’m a notch in your bedpost.” His jaw was bunched so tight it hurt to speak. “I just want to be clear.”
Her hesitation was brief. Too brief. But at least it told him he’d live to fight another day. “That about sums it up, Beck.”
Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded once. It took every ounce of his will not to look back as he walked out the door. Back to his empty apartment on base.
He’d give her until tonight. No longer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kenna stared out at the milling patrons of Bombs Away, her drink gone warm in her hand. The bar was packed tonight thanks to the live country western band currently playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” For the third time. The crowd consisted almost entirely of Black Rock soldiers, most of them men, which made Kenna and Darla veritable celebrities. Neither of them were feeling very chatty, however, and their expressions must have mirrored that, because after two rounds of drinks had been sent their way and rejected, they’d been left alone. Alone. Just the way she liked it.
She took a hefty swallow of room-temperature bourbon, hoping it would douse the guilt and anxiousness burning in her stomach. It only kindled the fire. God, she felt like pond scum.
“Why do we come here?” Darla grumbled beside her. “They don’t even have Wi-Fi.”
“They have cheap liquor.”
“Oh, right.”
Kenna twisted a red cocktail straw around her middle finger, the movement restless. She didn’t want to be at Bombs Away tonight any more than Darla, but avoidance had always been her knee-jerk reaction to anything uncomfortable, so why switch it up? If she stayed at her apartment, Beck might come over. And although she’d done her damnedest to sever their connection, if he showed up, she would drag him inside and ride him like a mountain bike. The best sex of her life just had to be with a stand-up guy, right? He just had to hold her so tightly while she slept that she woke with her heart lodged in her throat. At the very least, he could have been dismissive or ambivalent toward her work, right? No. No, he couldn’t. Major Beck motherfucking Collier.
Darla batted the straw out of her hand. “Stop fidgeting. That’s my thing.”
“Ouch.” She scowled at her friend. “What’s my thing then?”
“Brooding. You’re nailing it, by the way.” Darla heaved a sigh and returned her attention to the crowd. “You know, this is a big enough sausage festival even I could get laid. Your impression of a gargoyle is foiling any chance I have of male interaction.”
Kenna massaged her forehead. “I’m sorry. I dragged you out on a school night and I’m being a twat.”
“Yes, you are, but I know how you can atone.”
She quirked an eyebrow. Go on.
Darla dipped a finger into her cranberry juice and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me what happened with the virgin.”
“What?” Her spine snapped straight. “Don’t call him that. What?”
Darla snorted. “Your reaction is not telling whatsoever.” She shifted in the cracked leather booth to face Kenna. “Come on. Unburden yourself. It’ll be like, I don’t know, losing your virginity or something.”
“You’re the twat.”
“I’ll own that.” Darla stacked her hands beneath her chin and stared. “Wait-ing.”
Kenna set her bourbon down with a thunk. “He…spent the night.”
Her friend did a double take. “Uh, the whole night?”
She nodded.
“Like, sleeping until dawn, pass the milk, borrow your toothbrush—”
“Yeah, there was neither milk passing nor toothbrush borrowing, but it was dawn when he left.”
Darla was silent a moment. “You sent him packing.”
“Understatement.” Her stomach rebelled at the memory of Beck’s face after what she’d said. The lies she’d told to make him leave. Because what was the other option? Have him stay and do what? Eat pancakes? No. That wasn’t her. Okay, she might have developed some murky feelings for the major, but they couldn’t be more opposite. He was a relationship guy. She’d rather hear “Sweet Home Alabama” a fourth time. Sending Beck packing had done him a favor. Come Thursday morning, he could board the plane to Georgia with a clear conscience and some handy sexual experience. If she gave him any more encouragement, he might do something stupid. Like stay at Black Rock. For her. Which would make things much harder when he finally left. Because it would only be a matter of time.