Page 34 of Better Late Than Never

Alex glanced at me. “You took a cab?”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what the parking situation would be.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. I, uh…” He hesitated, chewing his lip. Then he quietly ventured, “We’re, um, kind of heading in the same direction. I could drive you so you don’t have to spend the cab fare.”

Bad idea. Bad idea!

We needed to go our separate ways sooner than later, because every minute I spent in his company made me care a whole lot less about what the UCMJ had to say.

But I still asked, “Are you sure?”

“Why not?” He flashed me a smile that erased any lingering ability I had to turn down his offer. “Like I said, I’m going that way, too.”

I swallowed. Could my sanity really handle twenty minutes in the car with him?

Probably not.

Was that going to stop me?

Not a chance.

“Uh. Sure,” I said. “If, um… If it’s not too far out of your way.”

I was imagining the way his face lit up when he smiled. I had to be.

“All right.” He jerked his head toward the parking lot. “Let’s roll.”

Blood pounded in my ears as I followed him through the small station and out into the packed parking lot. He led me to a dusty red sedan, and as he popped the trunk, he said, “It’s not exactly a Rolls Royce, but it’ll get us there.”

I laughed and put my backpack in the trunk beside his. “Have you seen mine? I’m amazed the quarter panel hasn’t fallen off.”

Alex laughed, and I ignored the way that made my heart flutter. “We probably bought them from the same lemon lot.”

“Probably, yeah.” Almost everyone on base drove some kind of beater they’d picked up for next to nothing from a lemon lot; they were ugly, they sputtered, and the parts had probably been discontinued since 1982, but they could usually limp through a three- or four-year assignment. All part of the overseas duty station experience.

We got in, and Alex started the car, blasting the air conditioner. The car was hot as hell from sitting out in the sun for two days, but his A/C actually worked, and it quickly cooled things down.

He pulled on a pair of sunglasses, put the car in gear, and headed out of the parking lot. The conversation continued much like it had on the train—all things military—which was good, because I wouldn’t have been able to contribute to any deeper or more complex subject. Sitting this close to him, knowing this brief time together was dwindling down to mere minutes, had me restless, mentally flailing for some way to draw it out a little longer.

Futile and stupid, sure, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t get last night out of my mind, and everything about this weekend was making me reckless. I wanted him. The consequences of indulging felt about as real and tangible as the distant hills that were barely visible in the haze. No one would know, so who the fuck cared?

That was just the frustration from last night talking, and I knew it. I’d been on the dancefloor with a lot ofveryattractive men gettingveryphysical with me, and now I just needed an outlet.

Do you believe that, Dr. Marks? Do you? Do you really?

No, but I kept feeding myself that line of bullshit as the highway took us closer to Sanlúcar. There was frustratingly little traffic on this infuriatingly straight stretch between El Puerto and Sanlúcar; Alex wasn’t even speeding, but we flew past the fields and tiny clusters of buildings. The only hinderance we encountered was a wagon being pulled by two plodding mules, but even they were off to the side so Alex could—and did—easily get around them.

As we passed the sign indicating the Sanlúcar city limits, I fidgeted in the passenger seat and cleared my throat. “So what made you pick Chipiona?”

Alex shrugged. “Cheaper than Rota or El Puerto. And I’m right on the beach.” He glanced at me, his grin making my pulse race. “Can’t really argue with that, am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I haven’t been out there yet. I drive by the exit for it all the time, but I’ve never stopped.”

“It’s a nice little town. Turns into a ghost town during siesta, but if you’re there when everything’s open…”

“Don’t they all turn into ghost towns during siesta?”

He wobbled his hand in the air. “Some more than others. I mean, they all button up pretty tight during that time, but sometimes you can at least find a fast food place or something if you’re desperate. Chipiona?” He shook his head. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen any tumbleweeds roll through.”

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