Page 28 of No One Wants That (Blitzen Bay)

“Okay. We can take our time.” He looks down at me and smiles again. I’m just noticing that he has really gentle eyes. “Unless you think that woman who was screaming on the phone is timing us. Was her name Elle? She said she’d come after you if we weren’t back in twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, that’s my cousin Elle and she’s definitely timing us,” I say, laughing. “She takes my security seriously.”

“That’s good. Everyone needs backup.”

His hand goes into the small of my back as we start walking. Just that gentle pressure on my body is maybe the sexiest thing I’ve ever felt.

“What’s that tattoo?” I say, pointing at his chest. It takes every bit of restraint I have not to run my hand over it. “The one with the bird holding the pitchfork.”

“It’s not a pitchfork. It’s an eagle holding a trident. It’s the Navy SEAL symbol.”

I close my eyes to try to process this new information. “You’re a SEAL?” I say, my voice squeaking.

“Was. I’m retired now.” He grabs my arm. “Keep your eyes open while you’re walking. I don’t feel like I should have to tell you that.”

The tingling shoots through my body again when he touches me. “Retired? How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“That’s kind of young to retire,” I say, looking up at him.

“Not when you did what I did for a living.” His eyes get a little sad. “And I’m not fully retired. I still do freelance work.”

“What kind of freelance work does a retired SEAL do?”

The gentle eyes turn hard. “The kind I can’t talk about.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding quickly. “By the way, I am from Georgia. I grew up in Atlanta. I lived there almost twenty-two years.”

He laughs. “Like I said, you’re not from Georgia.”

“Atlanta’s in Georgia,” I say, tilting my head up to look at him. My tone is really flirty—like Chloe-level flirty. I try to get it back to normal. “Would you like me to show it to you on a map?”

“How are you going to do that when your phone’s dead?”

I put my hand out. “I’ll show it to you on your phone. Give it to me.”

“Nope. My phone only works for me and if I were to take it out, it would show me that Atlanta is only technically a part of Georgia. Kind of like Vatican City is only technically a part of Italy.”

I roll my eyes. “I actually grew up in Marietta. Does that make it better?”

“I think that probably makes it worse,” he says, scrunching up his face like he’s about to spit out a sour grape. “Sounds really rich to me.”

“You’re a snob.” I drain the rest of his water bottle. “I met a bunch of Georgia purists like you in college.”

“Did you go to UGA?”

He takes the empty bottle from me and grabs my hand to help me over a small log in the trail. The tingling starts again. “Tech.”

“Damn,” he says. “You’re really, really not from Georgia. Tech? UGA is the only real college in Georgia.”

“I’m guessing you went to UGA then.”

“I went into the Navy when I was seventeen,” he says with a little growl to his voice. “But I didn’t have to go to college to know that the Georgia Bulldogs were, and always will be, superior to some little Tech bumblebees.”

I stick my tongue out at him. He covers my mouth with his hand. I somehow keep myself from nibbling on it.

“Girl,” he says, grinning, “don’t show me body parts if I don’t have access to them. It makes me cranky.”

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