Page 3 of For the Record

A moment of silence passed.

“What is your, uh…” A line formed between his brows.

“Job?” I supplied.

“That.”

I smiled, to him and myself both. “I work at a record store downtown. My job is everything and nothing at the same time. Some days I take in the new records, sort them by music genre, and then alphabetize. Some days I work the register and sweep the floors. I’m there alone a lot, and it’s just, I don’t know, my place, I guess.”

More than that, Sip ’n’ Spin was home in a lot of ways. It was bundled up with memories of Dad before his diagnosis. Before everything slowly fell apart around me.

The guy beside me didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell me everything was going to be all right or that there was something better out there for me. He merely nodded along and tapped his glass.

Feeling selfish for talking his ear off, I leaned in closer to the seat separating us.

“Why are you drinking tonight?”

“I just got back from being deployed to Germany. Felt right, I guess.” He shrugged, and the expression he wore as he stared at his half-empty glass looked like it felt anything but right. I couldn’t help but wonder where the mother of his kids was. If he’d slipped off a ring and hopped inside a bar in hopes that she wouldn’t notice. I hated that it was where my mind immediately went, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a married man had hit on me, and unless someone got down on a knee and popped the question my way, it wouldn’t be the last.

Maybe I should’ve asked rather than giving the guy the benefit of the doubt, but I dunno…something about those blunt answers and to-the-point directions made it seem like he didn’t possess the ability to even lie. He seemed like the type to tell you the 100 percent truth, even if it hurt. Or maybe especially when it hurt, judging by that scowl.

“Military?” I asked.

“PJ.”

My head tilted. I was somewhat versed in military positions because of my dad, but I was by no means an expert. He retired when I was fairly young, and I was spared most of the traveling and extensive knowledge regarding positions and deployments. The only pj’s I knew were pajamas. Specifically ones with Winnie the Pooh on them. Or when I felt frisky, my pink ones with tiny white bows. They made me feel like the princess of Genovia or something. Besides, if my apartment were to randomly catch fire in the night, I would prefer to have the hot firemen find me in pj’s fit for royalty.

“Pararescue,” he explained. “I fly in to save American forces when they’re injured.”

“Oh.” I nodded along, but I was imagining this giant guy hopping out of a plane and stitching someone up. A shudder worked through me. Screw the firemen.

With my head tilted to the side, I wondered if Dad had worked with pararescues. He’d never really mentioned that term before. Then again, he hadn’t been injured to the point of needing one, I didn’t think.

“My dad was a Navy SEAL!” My voice reached a few octaves higher than I was hoping for, but there were few people I could discuss these topics with, so I jumped at the opportunity.

He eyed me, and I continued. “You should hear some of the stories he tells me. Well, when he has a good day and remembers.”

His jaw ticked. “I’ve seen some things. I know.”

My lips turned up a little. I really liked this guy. No cutting corners, no small talk. Just very…real. What was the last thing I’d had that felt this real? The last person to be so blunt with me?

I sighed with that smirk and eyed his drink.

“All right, grumpy pants. Let’s get you something with an umbrella in it.”

Currently playing: Got My Mind Set On You by George Harrison

***

There was a man in my shower.

Or I assumed it was a man by the number of times products were knocked off the shelf and onto the tile, followed by a couple of low curses. That and the scent of the woodsy, axe man–filled steam seeping through the cracked door.

My hands reached for the baseball bat normally sitting beside my bed, only when my fingers reached just past the wooden frame, I realized it wasn’t wood. It was a soft canvas, with sheets pulled so tight against the mattress it was a wonder they didn’t snap in the night. So…not my shower, then. I looked around. The bed was facing a different way from what I remembered yesterday. So…also not my hotel room.

I groaned at the pulsing in my head. It was a sharp tapping, like a tiny caveman was in my brain, chiseling away. The only light visible came from the small sliver of exposed sun between the drawn curtains and a glow from the occupied bathroom door to my right. I glanced around the room, seeing a silky white dress I didn’t recognize on the floor, a suit tossed around, and a navy-blue suitcase. It wasn’t until I looked down and recognized the white T-shirt that the night before began to click into place.

My hands gripped the collar of the oversized tee, pulling it to my nose, and I breathed in. Woodsy pine soap, patchouli, and leather. Adam. Relief coursed its way through me, naturally settling my body. Of course it was Adam. Who else would I find in my shower on our trip to Vegas to help one of my best friends get married? I should have known this would happen. That’s what I got for arguing with him on and off for the last few months. The sexual tension between us had to be cut with a chainsaw. Add some liquid courage and pretty Vegas lights into the equation, and chances were X equaled me ending up in his bed.

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