One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

FROM THE DIARY OF AVERY FORRESTER

This is stupid.

I mean, if I was going to have thoughts about my life, why would I have to write them down? What is this even supposed to accomplish?

Okay. So. All I have to do is write to get Myla off my back. Easy. Where to start?

I rented a car for today. Not so much because I needed one—my truck works fine. But I want to greet Holden memorably, if you know what I mean. Which, of course, you do not because you are a piece of paper.

But anyway. Yeah, I rigged the car so that it looks like my old one, and once we have a proper hello (AKA boink session) inside, I’m going to tell him it’s a stranger’s car. How hilarious is that?

Or maybe it’s stupid. Is it stupid? It is a lot of work to put in for a joke, but then…well, he sort of expects me to be this wild, crazy person I was when we were younger. I remember one time after a pep rally in high school, I set off fireworks all around the perimeter of the school, and he didn’t stop talking about it for weeks afterward. He’d grin at me and tell his friends how kick-ass I was.

I don’t think he knew, back then, what that meant to me. To almost everyone, I was the girl whose clothes never matched and who couldn’t manage to keep herself out of trouble. The girl who was friends with the quiet nerd. The weirdo.

Not that I ever cared. It was just nice, you know, to find someone who didn’t automatically think of me that way. Who thought I was different, and not in a way that made him never want to speak to me again.

Oh, or there was this other time when his pare

nts grounded him for going to my house and lying about it. So, when he was locked in his room, I shimmied up the tree to his bedroom and brought us a picnic, complete with peach schnapps.

Damn, did he get in trouble for that. When his mother walked in and found us on the floor, wasted off liqueur…well, I’m pretty sure that was the day her blond curls turned white for good.

Okay. Well, now I’m laughing. By myself. In a rented car. While an old lady stares at me from the passenger side of the next car over.

See? I knew this journal thing was stupid.

Chapter Three

Avery stood in the middle of the terminal, wearing an oversize trench coat. Underneath, there was nothing but an American-flag-style string bikini wrapped around her frame. It was beyond freezing in the air-conditioned hall, and she pulled the coat tighter together. In her hands, she held a sign that read:

captain morris, report for booty

She could hardly wait to see Holden’s face. And she wasn’t disappointed.

Holden’s sandy hair was short, still shorn in its typical military cut, but the rest of him was different, too. This tour had made him even leaner than she remembered, and beneath his Bruce Springsteen T-shirt, she could just make out the cut of his abs, the fine chiseled detail of his chest. It was enough to make her want to lick her lips and sigh.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual, because he’d stopped dead in his tracks, swallowed hard, and stalked toward her, his dark eyes gleaming with something between hunger and longing. He pulled her to him for a deep kiss.

“Where did you park?” His voice was deeper than she’d remembered. Huskier, too.

“The car garage,” she said.

And they were off. He grabbed her hand without another word, dragging her along behind. They moved so quickly that she counted her lucky stars for all her practice running in stilettos. Silently, she thanked her sorority sisters for teaching her the important things in life.

“I can hardly wait to see what you’ve got on underneath that coat. You look great. Did I mention that?” He was practically pulling her arm out of its socket as he led her through the dark, dingy parking garage, his backpack still slung over one arm.

“Not yet.”

“Well, you do.” Finally, he halted as she stopped in front of a red Honda Civic. “Jesus, this car is tiny.”

He dropped his backpack in the front seat, and then opened the door for her. She scuttled into the back with him clambering after her, as if he was afraid she would escape. Slamming the door behind him, he began undressing, tossing his cap and coat on the front seats of the car.

“It’s a shame for you to do something like that.”

“What’s that?” His brows knit together, somehow making his jawline look even stronger. She made a mental note to confuse him more often.

“Well.” She bent toward him and unzipped his fly. “I love a man in uniform.”