Page 10 of Fighting For You
“Someone mark the time—Beast actually acknowledged my words when I said them,” I said under my breath.
A man rose and brushed past me, knocking into me enough to make me wobble. Beast was out of his seat and grasping my upper arm to steady me in an instant, the grumble he made causing the man to look back.
Pure murder painted Beast’s face, and the man who’d quite accidentally knocked me off balance literally ducked and ran. If the poor guy had had a tail, he would’ve tucked it under in submission for sure.
After another moment of glaring, Beast released my arm and extended an elbow for me to take.
My mind, expertly trained in compartmentalization, stoutly ignored the zip of sensation traveling up my arm at his firm grasp, and the cool relief now that he’d released me. Definitely relief and not some anxious sense that I was feeling a clashing mix of disappointment and something else I couldn’t pin down when Beast let go. I tucked away thesomethingthat’d fluttered around at the dark, protective glare he’d sent the poor man. None of it mattered. It was all part of the cover. None of it had anything to do with anything.
I gripped his arm—or part of it, because his bicep was egregiously large—and nearly jogged to keep up with him as he walked toward the restaurant.
That’s more like it—barreling toward the next thing without thought for anyone else.
Whatever had gotten knocked off-kilter a moment ago had been firmly righted.Whew.
“Can you slow down? Your legs are twelve feet long and I’m wearing heels.” I spoke through my teeth with a plastered smile, as if anyone was paying attention. Likely, they weren’t, but it defeated the purpose of all of this if we lost sight of our happy couple cover.
“I know for a fact you can run in heels.”
I glared up at him right as he looked down at me with those somber eyes. The fact he knew anything about me still swiped at me with a weird clash of nostalgia and, if I didn’t know better, longing. But that wasn’t it because I didn’t miss the mess of those days we’d worked together and been friends—or, if I did, I certainly didn’t miss what it all eventually came down to.
We’d been on missions when I’d been in heels, but farmore of them when I’d worn the same combat-style boots he had.
Then there were the times we’d gone out in a big group, or the annual unit ball when the men wore tuxes and the women wore gowns, no uniforms in sight because it’d be too conspicuous. Sure, I’d maybe ended up jogging at one of those, depending on what ridiculousness Kurt had?—
I cleared that thought before it finished. “Still short, though.”
One of his brows rose ever so slightly, but his gait slowed, and soon we reached the maître D. We were seated quickly at an intimate table tucked away in the beautiful restaurant. Every corner was gleaming with crystal details and onyx surfaces and cream linens.
“Wow. Mr. Hanson knows how to treat his lady,” I said, opening the menu and wondering if I should choose the most expensive thing just to annoy Bruce and Wilder. They wouldn’t care, nor did I actually want to annoy them any more than I already had. So I tried to just… think like a normal human out at a fancy restaurant. Even though I didn’t go to fancy restaurants, and my life was essentially work and my friends, and right now, work was feeling strained because I’d disappointed my bosses…
This thought sobered me right up, the glitz of the place wearing off and the reality of the moment—of sitting across from Jude—settling in my gut like fast-drying cement.
We perused in silence. Maybe we looked peaceful—comfortable after these years of marriage. Would we remain silent the entire time?
If so, I’d rehash the romance novel I was currently reading in my mind, and then I could finish it later when we went to bed.
Thank God for the two-bedroomsuite.
“May I take your order?” A waiter bent with palms pressed together at our tableside. Beast nodded to me.
I placed my order. Beast spoke as many words as I’d ever heard at one time to order his. Then we were alone again.
I fiddled with the end of my fork before taking a stab at conversation. “So…”
His gaze fell heavily on me, but I couldn’t actually think of how to proceed. What did I want to know about a person I actively avoided? A man who’d ruined my life, showed up in the one place I’d wanted to use as an escape once I retired from the Army, then mademebe the one to leave when we couldn’t work together?
Goodness, I felt like I was flipping back and forth between being able to tolerate him for the sake of this mission and being overwhelmed by how much he’d ruined… how much he’d hurt me.
The soft music from the live pianist filtered around us, as did the light clink of utensils on plates and the low hum of conversation. I drew nothing but blanks for what we could talk about, and blessedly, the waiter arrived with our appetizers.
Fortunately, my beet and goat cheese tart was truly marvelous, so I let myself become fully absorbed in the experience of the dish. It was a Michelin-starred restaurant, after all, so why not enjoy the food, even if the company was poison?
Problem was, I couldn’t forget about the man. He was literally impossible to ignore because he was just so huge. With the dark suit and open collar of his button-down, he’d be almost handsome if he had somewhere to tuck away his perma-scowl.
I could vaguely recall a version of life where Ihadthought he was handsome—incredibly so. Before… everything.
Before he’d turned into his nickname.
