He met her eyes. His own were so warm, that little crease at the corners making her sigh. “I thought I was out of the active combat zone,” he said.
“I don’t think so, Addison. This is war.”
“What did I do to deserve that? Is it because of my studly charm?”
“Oh, God.” She dropped her face into her palm. “What studly charm?”
“You know you want me, baby.”
“…you pick that line up in Vegas?”
“No, I just thought I’d call you ‘baby’ one more time to see if you’d actually try to kick my ass.” He pointed his fork at her. “Eat. I didn’t get up at the asscrack of dawn to cook for you so you could ignore it.”
She laughed, but dutifully picked up her fork. “You make yourself sound like my wife or something.”
He choked on a mouthful of eggs, swallowed, and reached for his dog tags. “Uh. Yeah. I guess. So, uh…did you sleep well?”
“Honestly? Not really.” She scrunched her nose and picked up a piece of bacon to nibble at it. “Rough night.”
Yeah. Rough. If you could call tossing and turning rough, while she wondered if he was awake, too, and wishing things could be different between them. Wishing things could be like they were seven years ago, before everything changed.
He sighed. “Me too. I couldn’t sleep at all. I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”
She stiffened. So much for the casual act. “You might as well stop. It was a mistake to kiss each other.”
“Why?”
“We’re…friends. We should stay that way.” She tugged at her shirt and looked away. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
“Let me guess. It’s because of who I am and where I come from. Right?” He set his fork down, stood, and braced his hands against the table, his eyes blazing. “You’re ashamed you let someone like me kiss you. Admit it.”
She rose, circled the table, and thwacked his arm as hard as she could. Which wasn’t very hard. Ow. She might have bruised her knuckles on his bicep. “Someone like you? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t act coy. You’re embarrassed because I don’t have a career, or a master’s degree. I came from the streets, I’ll die in the streets, and I’ll never be good enough for you.”
Her vision flashed red. She balled up her fists until her fingers hurt. He thought he wasn’t good enough for her? That he didn’t deserve her? What an idiot. She punched his shoulder. Still not so much as a flinch. That was even more infuriating, and she shook her aching hand, scowling.
“How dare you say that about yourself? You’re a better man than anyone I’ve ever known, and don’t you even think about saying otherwise. You’re a f**king Marine, you dumbass. A big damned hero.”
His nostrils flared. He gripped her arms and dragged her closer. “If it’s not that, then what is it? I know you want me as much as I want you. I’m not blind.”
“It’s…I’m…it just wouldn’t work!” Why wouldn’t he just drop it? “A relationship between us is out of the question.”
“I didn’t realize you’d turned into Miss Cleo overnight.” He looked deep into her eyes. Comprehension spread slowly across his face. He took a slow breath. “You won’t even give us a shot. Why? What are you hiding from? What are you scared of?”
She glared at him. “How long are you in Vegas? A day? A week?”
He flinched. “A few more days.”
“It’s not enough to start anything, and you know it.”
“It’s not much,” he admitted. His brow wrinkled. “But I’m not going to deploy again for a few months.” He let go of her arms, and reached up to finger a lock of her hair. His knuckles grazed her neck, igniting hot tremors. His eyes gentled. “Erica…”
“No.” She steeled herself. “Where are you stationed?”
“Camp Pendleton. In California.”
“So…five hours away? Give or take.”
“About.” He let go of her hair and brushed a finger across her cheek. “Some might call that driving distance.”
“Not people who work a seventy-hour week.”
“Then we could fly. Meet up halfway.”
“That might work,” she managed. “But most people can’t make a long-distance relationship like that work. What makes you think we could?”
He dropped his hand. “What makes you think we couldn’t?”
She tensed. This was the part where she was supposed to open up to him. Trust him with her secrets, and believe he wouldn’t run away from her in disgust. She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a despairing sound.
She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She shook her head. “Maybe I should take you back to the hotel. We can say goodbye as friends. It’s better that way.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you really want?”
What did she want? Not this. Not this struggle to keep him at arm’s length. But taking a chance on him, allowing him into her life, had seemed foolish last night—and downright moronic by the light of day. She needed to stick with the original plan. Move on and forget him. She didn’t need a man in her life to be happy. Didn’t need anyone. Didn’t need him.
She was fine on her own.
She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. We’d never work. You’re my brother’s friend. I mean, look at us. It would be…weird.”
He drew back as if she’d slapped him, and swallowed heavily. “Okay. Let me grab my clothes, and I’ll call a cab.”
Let him go, she told herself, but her self wasn’t listening very well. The way his shoulders deflated, the way he refused to look at her…it broke her heart in two. He still thought he wasn’t good enough for her. It was in every line of his body, his face, his eyes. How could she explain? How could she make him understand that it wasn’t because she didn’t want him, but because he wouldn’t want her? He wouldn’t want what she’d become.
And he wouldn’t want the hell that came with pretending to still love her.
He tried to twist past her. She grabbed his arm. His gaze dropped to her hand, then jerked to her face. His eyes were blazing, smoky and hot.
“Jeremy. It’s not you. It’s—”
He tugged free of her grip. “Spare me the most famous break-up line in history. We were never together. I don’t need it.”