Page 24 of Keeping It
“What do you do when you’re not training? You’ve told me bits and pieces here and there,” I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “This is a simple town filled with people who up until now, haven’t been exposed to,” I say, swallowing and waving an arm to his beastly, prominent frame, “your kind. Don’t get me wrong, I know we need you and I appreciate what you do for our country, but you can’t tell my parents the truth.”
He stalks forward, his smile slipping into something more comfortable. “What are you asking, Caroline?” He licks his lips, and my confidence falters.
Looking left and right I avoid his piercing gaze. “You’ve killed people? Like, what happens in the movies?”
He laughs, a short burst. “Yes. Are you asking if I’ll go into gory detail about the details of my job with your parents? You’re worried about dinner?”
“Sort of, I guess. So, you have killed people?” It’s like a swift punch. You expect it, so you flex your stomach, but it will still take your breath away regardless.
Closing his eyes, he folds his arms across his chest. “Bad people are killed. Yes. I have killed bad people. I’ll never lie to you. If you ask me something I’ll tell you the truth, but sometimes you won’t want to hear it.”
“Right, yes. I can see that. Bad people. Yes. That makes sense. And you’re okay with that?” I’m rambling. Even if my ears hear it, my brain isn’t doing anything to fix it. “I assumed that, do you kill a lot of people?” I throw my hands to the side and weigh them up and down like I’m an awkward human scale.
Tahoe heaves a sigh. “I’m not a paid assassin. It’s not my whole job. The fact of the matter is SEALs have a lot of skills that are useful when you are trying to kill a bad person, so by proxy, killing happens. People who purchase humans,” he says, a knowing look on his face. “Evil men who want to hurt those you love. Terrorists. ”
I nod violently, slipping my hands into the oversized pockets of my overalls. “Of course.”
Tahoe reaches a hand out and grabs my chin. “Look at me,” he orders.
I focus on his beautiful blue eyes and breathe. He’s different. That’s not a bad thing. Is it? I knew this from the start. Even the village idiot knows Navy SEALs kill people. He grins when he sees me fitting the pieces together. “I’ll never hurt you. Is that what you’re worried about?” he asks.
I think about his hand. The fingers touching my face. How many lives has he taken with the same body parts caressing me right now? He didn’t answer the question purposely. I don’t want to know. Not really, anyways. The bubble I’ve resided in my entire life has been popped. Not just a pinprick either, with a warhead missile.
The dimple on his cheek deepens and I focus on that. A smile he surely doesn’t wear when he’s taking lives. “I know you won’t hurt me,” I whisper. “You are something entirely different and that is a little scary.”
Everything about his demeanor softens with my reply. “I won’t tell your parents anything that would be construed as gory or detailed,” he says, laying a hand on his chest. “My parents don’t know any of that either, and my dad is military. Caroline, it’s not like I keep lines in my bedpost to mark each occasion.”
“Of course not. That would be weird,” I retort, swallowing hard. “Do you keep notches in your bedpost to keep track of…anything else?” I can’t help how quickly my mind flits back to sex.
My question garners a full-blown smile accompanying a laugh. “Are you asking how many women I’ve had sex with?” He’s completely amused, cheeks pink and grin calculating.
Embarrassed, I turn away. “I guess,” I reply. He’s already caught on to so much. Because of things my friends told me in the past, I always assumed men would be clueless—oblivious to the ways a woman is capable of asking for information. Tahoe destroyed almost every single pre-conceived notion I’ve ever had about expectations. He knows everything.
When he doesn’t reply straight away, I ask, “Or is that something I don’t want to know either?”
Clearing his throat, I can see indecision light his eyes. “I’m not sure of the number. That’s an honest answer.”
Accepting his answer is easy. It’s truth. Tough because how does a person lose count? “You’re not staying here tonight, right?”
He shakes his head. “Want me to ride you home?” A corner of his mouth pulls up.
“It’s the opposite direction of your apartment,” I say. “I’ll be fine riding home by myself.”
“There’s no way I’m letting my girlfriend ride home by herself in the dark. If we were back in San Diego I’d drive you home in my truck. The nice one you didn’t get a chance to see. The one I had to sell to come here.”
I back toward the door. “We’re in Bronze Bay. Or did you forget?” I ask. Tahoe moves around the room hitting light switches and grabs the ring of keys off the center table. After he locks up the front door and the gate we set off on our bicycles toward the airport.
The crickets chirp out their night song, and the stars shine brightly in the vast sky above us as the light on my bike illuminates the road in front of us.
He tells me stories about his travels as we ride. I’ll ask questions when something comes up I don’t understand. The stars look a little smaller by the time I’m parking my bike in the rack next to my airplane hangar—the sky, once the only freedom I’ve ever known, a little more suffocating. “Here’s the thing,” Tahoe says, parking his bike next to mine. My stomach flips when I think about him walking me inside. “I’ve been trying to come up with a proper explanation that isn’t…offending. Kissing you was sort of like playing just the tip,” he says, smirking.
“What’s just the tip?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him through the dark.
“Caroline,” he growls, moving closer, until the flood light shines on his face. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Familiar territory now. “Yeah. Of course. Joking,” I say, rolling my eyes, hoping he can see it.
His neck works as he swallows. “You understand why I can’t kiss you goodnight for more than a second then. Not while we’re this close to your house. With a door that can lock. Your bed.”
