Page 80 of Love Me Knot

Jackson and his teammates are easy to spot among the buzzing crowd. The same ones from earlier, plus a couple more, take up half of a long table in the center of the room.

The men are happy and laughing, but Jackson stops when he notices us approaching. His eyes track my every move. Surprisingly, I don’t feel the least bit self-conscious. I feel…beautiful. Beautiful and wanted.

The men shuffle the lineup, shifting the seating arrangement to open up three spots in the middle. It’s no accident that my seat is next to Jackson. With a nod to the SEALs, I sit and join the conversation.

We keep things light, steering clear of Harding or the battle in Congress over the PMCs. Wrench amuses us with stories about some of his teammates. I have similar tales from my time in the Marines, but tonight, I’m content to listen instead of feeling the need to entertain the group.

I learn about the men in Fish’s squad and the wild things they’ve lived through. I can’t help but wonder that if I hadn’t held myself back, maybe I could have developed a similar bond with my teammates.

The men with children begin packing it in at nine. I don’t blame them. I’m grateful they volunteered their time on a Sunday night to keep up appearances, but in another first, I’m sad to see the night end.

Apparently, so is Jackson. Fish taps on his shoulder and gestures toward the door. The longing on Jackson’s face would be my undoing if we weren’t trying so hard to keep up appearances. Though I itch to cup his cheek, I keep my hands on the table.

Fish drops a hand onto his platoon leader’s shoulder. “Come on, Pin. You’ll hold until tomorrow.”

Jackson’s longing turns to determination. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chelsea. Remember what I told you.”

I am in love with you.

“I remember.”

As the remaining SEALs clear the door, Bash tugs at my elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”

I don’t argue. Grabbing my small purse, I push out of the chair and walk beside Birdie to the door. “You’re headed back to the compound, right?” she asks.

“I was going to, but I think I’ll just head home.”

Bash, who’s in front of us, stops and turns around with narrowed eyes. “Jackson won’t be there, will he?”

“No, Jackson won’t be there.” But I’ll be able to smell him on my sheets.

“Well, go straight home. Don’t stop anywhere.”

I come to attention and give him a one-finger salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Ugh. For a minute there, I thought you’d finally grown up,” Bash groans, but he can’t hide his grin.

“You’re not that lucky.”

I turn onto my street a short time later and crack up laughing. Every one of the small trees along the row of townhouses is draped with toilet paper. It reminds me of senior week in high school, only the kids in our school didn’t stop with rolling. We’d plant a garden of plastic forks, stabbing hundreds into the ground. Sometimes through foam plates. Of course, I was only included if I brought all the prank materials.

The streetlight near my townhouse is out again, so I check all my mirrors before unlocking the car. My neighborhood is pretty safe, but it’s close to a main highway. Safety isn’t something I’ll ever take for granted. For that reason, I pull up my home security app, turn on the lights inside, and disarm the system. My keys are also in hand when I step out of the car.

A shiver crawls down my spine, and I stop to scan my immediate area. Seeing nothing out of place besides a ton of butt napkins, I chuckle, wondering how the neighborhood Karen will take this insult.

I pause at the top step of my stoop to listen, hearing no noise. The pranksters must be long gone. Too bad. I had a few suggestions to improve their technique. After unlocking the deadbolt, I reach out to open the door. My fist closes around the knob…and the glob of jelly coating it. “What the hell?”

I pull my hand away, thinking those teenagers deserve a round of applause. My group of delinquents never thought of putting petroleum jelly on doors. I’m impressed and pissed off at the same time. Here I am, still outside with jizz all over my hand. I don’t want to get my other hand greased up, and I don’t want to use my new outfit as a cleaning rag. My purse doesn’t contain anything useful, either. Shit.

Thinking I have some napkins tucked away in my car, I jog back down the steps. I use my clean hand to unlock the car and open the passenger door. Thankfully, I still have those napkins in the glove box.

I tuck them beneath my right arm and return to the door to clean up the mess. Unfortunately, I’m getting just as much goop on my left hand in trying to clear the doorknob. I eventually give up on neatness and use all the napkins and both hands to get enough grip to turn the knob. Next house, I get a thumb latch.

The door finally opens. My purse is on the welcome mat, so I kick the bag into the house. I hadn’t wanted to get any goop on it. It would have ruined the outside. Next, I bend down to pick up the spent napkins. On the way back up, I sway with a sudden rush of dizziness. Whoa.

I lean against the door frame for a second or two and start for the kitchen. The dizziness worsens with each slowing step, and I’m having trouble remembering what I was about to do. Suddenly hot, I reach up to wipe my forehead, spreading a little of the gel there. Oh yeah. Wash hands.

I stumble toward the kitchen, stopping halfway there. I’m in trouble. I spin around to get the phone from my bag, nearly falling as I do. My vision doubles, so I don’t know which bag to go for.

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