Page 57 of Duty and Desire
“Do you need to go pack a bag or something?” I asked.
“It’s in my truck,” he answered.
“Okay,” I muttered.
His deep voice went low. “This will be done soon and I’ll be gone.”
Now who was a freak?
I was.
Because I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I knew it was bad, and I still didn’t want it to end because I knew exactly one solid thing about this guy, the fact he was called Mo, and I didn’t want “this” to be done soon so he’d be gone.
“What’s your full name?” I asked abruptly.
“Kim Seamus Morrison.”
I stared at him. “Your name is Kim?”
“My mother’s Norwegian.”
Since I wasn’t an expert in Norwegian names, that didn’t explain it, except apparently Kim was a Norwegian dude’s name.
“Your dad?” I pressed.
“Half Scottish. Half dick.”
Oh man.
He rattled that off by rote.
I opened my mouth.
He shook his head.
“This doesn’t get personal,” he stated.
To hell with that.
To hell with nerves too.
There might come a time he’d shower with me in the bathroom with him.
Or better, with me in the shower too.
So yeah.
To hell with that.
I motioned to the couch, “We’re bunking together. We’re breathing the same air. You wanna train together, I’ll show you the pole and you can spot me on the weight bench. You’d fall on a grenade for me. I’d say this was already personal.”
He said nothing.
“Mo,” I snapped. “Seriously. Who knows how long this is gonna take? You can’t just hulk around silently with your gun on your belt, waiting for something to happen to me.”
He again said not a word.
Which told me he could hulk around silently with his gun on his belt, waiting for something to happen to me.
