Page 53 of Chasin' Cole

"You talk too much," I inform him. I don't mind, though. Being stuck with Clint for a year isn't so bad. He likes to tell me stories about his time in Iraq. He enlisted in 2001 and served two tours. Even with three daughters at home, he gave up his filmmaking career in Hollywood for a uniform in the middle of the scorching desert. Felt that was where he should be. I don't think I've ever respected a man more.

"You don't talk enough," he elbows me.

We ride the elevator down to the lobby and cross the street to a hole-in-the-wall bar. Clint orders us a round as I rest my elbows on the high-top table, dodging curious gazes from leggy women with long, manicured nails. Those things scare me. I miss Rose's short nails.

"Drink up," he winks at me before downing a shot.

I sip slowly. Clint drinks to take the pain away in his hip. The pain I feel is somewhere else. Somewhere even the strongest drink can't seem to penetrate. I miss Rose. The longing to be with her again is a constant throb in my chest.

"You ever going to tell me her name?" Clint continues to pester me. "I won't stop until you do."

"You'll stop asking questions?" I roll my eyes. "If I tell you?"

"I will," Clint grins.

"Her name is Rose," I reveal.

"Rose? As in Brock's younger sister,Rose?"

Shit. I forgot he knows who Rose is. We've worked together for five years. She didn't come up often in conversation, but I must have mentioned her a time or two in the past. Enough for him to recognize her name.

"No more questions," I huff.

"It is Brock's younger sister," Clint slaps his knee. "That's why you were looking at those plane tickets."

My mouth drops open in surprise. "How did you know?"

"I saw you looking at them on your phone, dummy," he scoffs. "You didn't try to hide it. You'd make a terrible detective."

"I'm not going home," I tell him. "I'm staying here."

"You sure you don't—"

"I said I'm staying," I stare him down. "No more questions about Rose."

"So, you're planning on going home to propose to Rose," Clint belly laughs. "Oh my, that rhymed." He places a hand on his stomach and continues his raucous laughter.

"I'm glad you can entertain yourself," I say as I take another sip of whiskey.

"You should try it," Clint sputters. "You always got a stick up your ass."

"I prefer to think of it as years of unhealed trauma."

"Unhealed?" Clint guffaws. "Boy, you think you'll be any good to a woman when you're not completely healed?"

I freeze. "I...I don't know."

"Take it from his old man, work on yourself while you have the time. You have the remainder of our contract to take care of that trauma."

I can't tell if this is drunk Clint talking or if it's sage Clint talking. "I will take it into consideration."

Clint burps. "She must be something special."

"Why do you say that?" I cock my head to the side.

"Cause I've never seen you this wound up before."

I swallow the whiskey in my glass in one shot. Clint's eyes widen as he stares at my empty glass. "You doing alright?"

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