Page 35 of Roughing It

I want to ask what I said, but before I can, he shoves the fuzzy little thing at me and snatches the can off the counter. I take a couple of steps back and prepare myself for sharp claws and teeth, but all I get is a plaintivemewand a head-butt against my chin.

“That’s why I named her Nudge,” Maddox says, his smile definitely more genuine now.

I snort an inelegant laugh and scratch under her chin. “I like it. She’s so cute.”

“Mm.” I can’t tell if his little hum is to agree or disagree, but it’s obvious he loves her as he carefully spoons her wet food onto a small pile of kibble, then mixes it up and sets her up in a little corner next to her water dish.

When she’s sorted out, Maddox looks at me, biting his lower lip. I’m not often around men who aren’t… I don’t want to say unconfident because he’s not that. It’s more like he’s shy and unsure what to make of this whole thing. I don’t really blame him. If I’d dragged him back to my apartment, I’d be losing my damn mind.

Maybe it’s messed up, but I find it attractive. It’s like he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable, and most of the men I know would rather cut off a limb than let me know they have real feelings.

The thought almost makes me laugh, but before I can lose it, Maddox walks past me and jerks his head for me to follow. He leads the way back into the living room, then pulls the curtains wider to give as much light as possible before flopping onto the couch.

It’s more like a love seat, which is probably the only thing he could get to fit in his tiny place, so I lower myself into the second cushion and try to keep as much space between us as possible. I’m woman enough to admit that’s not what I want, but I’m also not about to rub on this man like a cat on catnip.

Even if that’s vaguely tempting.

“Thanks for your help with the cat food,” Maddox says after a second of awkward silence. It’s a weird compliment, considering it’s just a can of cat food, but I’ll take it.

“No problem,” I tell him, glancing up with a smile. “I think we’ve all gotten dependent on the electric stuff. The other day, I couldn’t remember how to roll down a manual window in a car.”

He looks shy again, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that. I, um. I was in the military. I don’t know if I told you that.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean… maybe. I was totally flustered from my dinner with Captain Douchebag, so I might have forgotten.” I stop and bite my lip. “Sorry, I know that’s not very nice or ladylike.”

His shyness evaporates on the edge of a snort, and he grins at me. “Trust me, there’s nothin’ wrong with a woman who gets a bit impolite when someone deserves it. There was a guy with us in basic who would not shut up about how fast he was going to make captain. From the day we arrived, he would run his mouth about his ASVAB score and how he was a certified genius and other shit. Our CO—who was a badass woman in her late forties—started calling him Captain Boot Polish because the man’s misogyny wouldn’t stop getting him in trouble.”

I laugh. “Okay, I love her.”

Maddox smiles back. “She was amazing. The other guys and I used to call him Captain…” He stops abruptly, and a faint blush dusts his cheeks. “Well, it wasn’t very polite, I’ll just say that.”

I raise a brow at him. “Have you heard me speak?”

He shakes his head with a soft laugh. “It’s not that. We said a lot of terrible and offensive shit because we thought it was funny, and I had to unlearn a lot of that after I was discharged. I’d rather not repeat it now.”

God, can he get hotter? A vulnerable man with feelings who actually learned from his shitty phase? I’m in so much trouble.

I shift on my seat and clear my throat, trying not to think about how a hot fling trapped in a fucking mountain apartment with the owner of a lodge would be the stuff of porn. Or at the very least, those super-cheesy soft-core romances they show on TV late at night.

I rest my arm on the back of the cushion and lay my head on the bend in my elbow. “How long did you serve for?”

He bites his lip and glances away. “Not that long. I was injured.” His fingers move to his temple, almost like it’s involuntary, and he sighs. “It’s why my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. And sometimes, my brain just misfires for a few minutes, and I can’t remember certain words or how to do the simplest tasks…” He trails off with a sigh.

Ah. The can opener. My heart aches for him. Not in a pity way, but it’s clear he’s struggled—and maybe it goes a little deeper than that too. “Sounds rough.”

He looks up at me with some surprise, and he smiles. “It is.”

It’s a weird thing to get happy about, and that must show on my face because he throws his head back and full-on laughs.

“Sorry,” he says after a second. His laugh is just as gorgeous as the rest of him and so contagious, I have a hard time not falling into a fit of giggles. “I look nuts, right?”

I shake my head and wink. “Not at all. In fact, I’m thinking about quitting my day job and doing stand-up.”

He laughs again, his eyes kind of sparkling in the hazy light of the cloudy sky. After a second, he leans in a little closer. I can feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of his bodywash, and I want to sink into his arms.

I’m so screwed.

“Most people say they’re sorry when I tell them,” he tells me after a second of silence. “And I fucking hate pity.”

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