“Sure.” Her hands tightened against the steering wheel, and she fidgeted in her seat. “So. Besides getting drunk, beaten up, and left for dead…how’s life?”
He laughed, harsh and humorless. “When you put it that way, pretty shitty. But otherwise, not bad. Enjoying being back in the States.”
She flashed him a small smile. The dimple in her right cheek made him want to kiss it. She only had the one, but he loved it. “Maybe things will get better after last night.”
“They can’t possibly get any worse.” He idly toyed with his dog tags. “Sorry you had to find me like that.”
“It’s okay.” She patted his knee. His thigh tensed. “I’m glad I did. Who knows how much longer you’d have lasted? You looked like death. You’re lucky it’s only April. In July, you’d be dead.”
“Instead of just a little dry and crispy?”
“Thanks. Now I want fried chicken.”
It was on his lips to offer to take her to dinner. Maybe sate a few more cravings than food. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Uh. How’s Tommy?”
“He’s good.” She paused, then swallowed. “Divorced.”
“About damned time,” Jeremy snarled, then took another breath. And another. And another, until the heated wash of anger began to cool. That lying whore had destroyed the only friendship that had ever mattered to Jeremy—and had been destroying Tommy for far longer than that. Erica’s brother deserved better, but he hadn’t wanted to listen when Jeremy said so. And then when Nicole had…
He forced the thought away. No point in reliving the past. Especially not when he could feel Erica watching him, after his little outburst.
“He tried to find you,” she said. “Once he came to his senses. When he realized Nicole was lying, he wanted to apologize. You really didn’t sleep with her, did you?”
“Of course I didn’t. She wasn’t my type.” You are. “And I wouldn’t do that. Not to Tommy. Not to anyone.”
“Ah,” she said softly. “So it was just a game, to her.”
“Something like that.” Jeremy turned his glare out the window, rather than on her. Looking at her did nothing for his peace of mind. “I told both of you I didn’t do it. I don’t lie. I hated Nicole. And you of all people—”
—should know who I loved.
He shut his mouth. That night loomed between them, large and stifling. He’d poured his heart out into her hands, and she’d thrown it away.
“Jeremy, I’m sorry.” This time the steering wheel squeaked under her tightening grip. She pried one hand away and ran it back through her hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—”
“Can we not talk about this?” He folded his arms uncomfortably over his chest. “It’s been seven years. We’ve both moved on.”
“Of course,” she bit off with a jerky nod. “So are you…married? Kids?”
Married? Him? Yeah, right. As if he’d ever find someone who could even compare to her memory.
Not that he’d ever tell her that again.
“I’m not the marrying type,” he said with a chuckle that left his mouth tasting bitter. Especially when a horrible thought struck him. “Are you?”
“No.” Her voice went flat. “I was engaged once. I’m not anymore.”
Everything in her tone warned him not to ask. Not to push. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Maybe the right guy will come along soon.”
Again that flicker of brown, just past the sunglasses. He thought he saw…he didn’t know what he saw. It was there, then gone again. Something like yearning. Wistful. Sad. He knew the feeling. And he was probably projecting his feelings onto her, just like every other idiot man who didn’t know when to let go.
“Maybe,” she said. Her voice broke, then steadied again. “Maybe not. I’m not really focused on that right now. Hard to get married when you don’t even have a boyfriend.”
So she was single. Hope flared, then died. It didn’t matter. She wanted someone. He could tell that. She was so miserable her every word made him ache. But lonely didn’t mean desperate enough to want Jeremy.
“I have a hard time believing you can’t find a date,” he said.
She darted another glance at him and worried at her lower lip again. She always did that when she was nervous. “You’d be surprised.”
“Maybe you were looking in all the wrong places.”
She said nothing, and he cursed himself for a fool.
He clenched his jaw and studied his hands. They were covered in dirt and blood. His knuckles were split. They hadn’t been during the first fight. Apparently he’d fought back when he’d been left in the desert to die. Good. He was a Marine, and Marines always fought back. Fought for what they believed in. Fought for what was theirs.
He glanced at Erica from the corner of his eye. Like I’d fight for you.
The car slowed and turned. Jeremy dragged his gaze from her and onto the curving drive leading up to a massive house. It was elegant, perfect, a terraced adobe affair with open construction and arched doorways. Stylish. Tasteful. Entirely out of his league. Big surprise.
“Nice place,” he murmured. “I guess being a lawyer is paying off.”
She tugged off her sunglasses and dropped them into the second cup holder. “Did old classmates tell you I’m a lawyer, too?”
“Uh.” Shit. So much for detachment. “I. Uh. I saw it somewhere. I forgot where.”
“Right.” She raised a brow. Her lips twitched at the corners. “Well, come on inside.”
She slid from the car with grace and poise. Jeremy, not so much—but he managed to get out under his own power, which was more than he’d been able to manage before the water. He was walking like a ninety-year-old man, but he was walking.
She closed the car door and looked at him. He straightened his shoulders.
“I’m okay. I feel better already.” He grinned—and immediately regretted it when his split lower lip stung. He felt something wet and warm trickle down his chin. Genius.
She winced. “I’ll believe that when you aren’t bleeding.”
She led him up the walk and inside. The carved, heavy oak door opened on hardwood floors. A crystal chandelier hung from the arched ceiling of the broad foyer. Expensive paintings lined the walls. Jeremy kept far away from them. He didn’t want to risk touching anything, and dirtying or damaging it irreparably. It was bad enough he was tracking sand into the polish on her floors.