She stopped beside him. Traffic whooshed past in blasts of wind.
Carson passed her a handkerchief without speaking. She took the small folded linen from his hand, three tiny initials embroidered in the upper corner. She studied the larger "H" with a "C" and "A" on either side. Who carried monogrammed handkerchiefs anymore? Apparently Carson. She'd thought he was a friend, had even shared a bed with him and didn't even know he carried a handkerchief, much less what the "A" stood for.
Nikki swiped the cloth across her mouth before clutching it in her fist. "Thanks."
"Are you all right now?"
"Who would be?"
"Right answer." His curt nod gave away less than his shielded eyes as he stood in the freezing mist without the least shiver. Maybe he seemed so perfect because he wasn't even human. "It'll take the drugs a while to wear off."
She sagged to rest beside him against the truck, drags of the prickly cold clearing her head. "So I didn't hurl because I'm an emotional wreck after all?"
"Over in Rubistan, after your dad and I were rescued, I barely made it to the barracks bathroom before I lost the MRE the soldiers gave me."
She pressed her fingers between her eyes against the ache his image brought. She'd hurt for him then and wasn't anywhere near as distant as she wanted to be now. "I appreciate your telling me that, especially since it must be difficult for you to talk about that time. My dad still doesn't discuss what happened over there very much."
Carson shrugged it off his broad shoulders as if it were no big deal when they both had to know otherwise. "We handle crap like that in different ways. The important thing is that you deal with it."
"Even if that means hurling in a ditch."
"Hey, join the trauma-hurling club." The strengthening sun glinted off his smile as brightly as it did his golden hair.
"And you're a badass." A badass who happened to look like an angel who could lead a saint to sin.
"So are you."
Ohmigod, everything had been easier when she could keep her distance from him. She could almost delude herself into thinking he wasn't as—charming?—no, that wasn't quite right. Carson had seemed nice, a flat-out nice guy she'd liked, admired, wanted so much she'd been a blind idiot.
She really needed to go home fast. "Thanks for the quick reflexes in pulling over. I'm ready to leave now."
"Are you sure you'll be okay alone?"
"You can't be offering to stay with me?" She knew full well he had to get back to the squadron. Already he would have to work late into the night to clear through all the work and crises that would have piled up while he was out of the office—
Whoa. Stop.
Why had she taken so much note of his work schedule when she'd been dating other guys? It had been bad enough before when she took note of everything about him, back when she'd thought he felt the same attraction.
Carson swiped his sunglasses off and dried them on the leg of his flight suit. "I do have to get back to work, but I could pull together supper for you before I go. I haven't eaten today either, and I'm actually a competent cook."
"I know."
He stopped midswipe on a lens. "You do?"
Oops. Might as well fess up. He probably knew anyway and pretending she hadn't once followed him around like a silly puppy would only hint she still had feelings. While she might still have feelings, they sure weren't the tender kind anymore. "I used to pay all sorts of attention to what you did back during my 'crush' days."
His smile pulled tight. With guilt? He hooked his glasses on the neck of his uniform again. "So let me cook for you then."
Invite him into her apartment? Not a chance. "Thanks, but the drugs and the whole... every thing... are still making me nauseous."
"Then I can sit and pass you crackers."
Definitely guilt.
She so didn't want him taking care of her out of obligation. "Thank you, but you have work. I have papers to grade and laundry to do. You've done enough already."
Understatement of the year.