Apparently, jealousy ran a two-way street, and yet the thought didn't make him feel one damned bit better. "Yes."
This time her arms didn't go around him, no talk of who was hurting, just the two of them standing near-naked with barer souls.
"How is it that by getting closer, I feel like we're further apart?"
Couldn't they even enjoy one damned night of afterglow? "I guess that means you're not going to invite me to sleep over for another round of Mistress Monica."
"There's the Jack I know, using laughs to avoid any tough talk." She unearthed an overlong jersey from her bag and jerked it over her head, towel falling to her feet.
Of course she picked it up and made tracks to hang the damned thing on the rack. God forbid she should just let it lie there growing musty while she talked to him.
"Well, Mon, the way I see it, things don't always have to be so goddamned complicated."
She didn't answer him. But she didn't snap back, either, a positive sign he needed to capitalize on before things exploded.
"Time out," he said. "Let's stop before either one of us says too much. Okay, before I say too much and you haul ass the other way. How about I throw some of those blankets on the floor and we sleep the day away until it's time for my night shift in the command center."
Still she stood at the towel rack with her back to him, and he was feeling every bit as predictable as her. Instead of calming her, he had them both off center and heading for a crash if he didn't maneuver a recovery soon.
"Damn it, Monica, you have a way of getting to me. I sure as hell didn't mean to lose control just now."
She glanced over her shoulder, a strand of wet hair swinging, clinging to her cheek. "I make you lose control?"
"Hell, yeah."
She stepped into the doorway. "Sleep?"
"Seems smart." Better than talking.
"Together."
He shrugged. "Not so smart."
Her stance softened. Striding past him, she reached over to her cot and snagged the quilted sleeping bag. "I guess I'm not feeling all that smart today, either."
Again she'd surprised him. One side benefit to the complicated relationship deal.
Together, they silently spread the sleeping bag on the floor and stretched out together, Jack using Monica's pillow and Monica using Jack's chest for hers. Her damp hair soaked his T-shirt, not that he cared.
"I sang."
He pulled a wet strand off her cheek. "Sang?"
"For the talent competition. I sang a really, really bad rendition of that Lee Greenwood song, 'God Bless the U.S.A.'"
"Ah, those soldier bones of yours begging to be set free."
"That, and probably a subconscious slap at my mother for leaving."
He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his side. Saying nothing seemed wiser than shoving his size thirteen boot in his mouth.
Her arm slid around to hug him back. "I haven't had much experience with making a relationship work."
Saying nothing definitely seemed wiser since the truth hammered in his head loud and clear that he didn't have any more experience than her with the long term. Tina had died so young. And his bachelor days were no testament to commitment, either.
The smart woman in his arms nailed it dead-on. Somehow by getting closer they kept ending up further apart.
Jack settled onto the hard floor to sleep with his wife for the first time since the night they'd said "I do" to an Elvis impersonator nearly four months ago.