He breathed. In. Out. Always remembering their axiom.
Quitting is not an option.
His head fell back and he stared up at the tangle of cables and wires tracking the ceiling. If only he could recapture the numbness. Instead, memories stalked him, slipping past his defenses...
He didn't want much from the afternoon at Virginia Beach. Some beer. Sun. Maybe luck into a woman's smile directed his way.
After five months of no sex, no alcohol and a belly full of MREs mixed with SSE cave crawling in Afghanistan, he was due a little R and R during his two weeks of leave. And Virginia Beach's annual Neptune Festival seemed the perfect place to start.
Weaving through the crush of tourists at the outdoor booths, Blake walked silently alongside two of his team buddies while Carlos talked and scoped babes in bikinis. Silence suited him fine. Alwayshad. Sometimes he and his uncle could go days without saying a word during the summer. Work on the farm. Eat. Read. Go to sleep.
No need for conversation.
Sex, on the other hand. He sure as hell wouldn't mind some of that in the near future.
Twins with matching belly button rings glided by on Rollerblades. Hoo-ya.
And apparently, from his buddies' conversation, they wouldn't 't mind, either—both recently divorced. Military deployments wreaked hell on relationships. A guy was better off not expecting the sex to turn into anything more, only to find out he'd been dumped while deployed and didn't even know it until port call.
He wasn't in a hurry to settle down, and when he did it would be for keeps. White picket fence, wife, kids, a forever haven.
Blake fished in his front pocket for more tickets to buy another beer, and came up short. "Be back in a minute,'' he called as he tugged his wallet out of the back pocket of his jean shorts.
Pulling out a twenty, he tucked sideways past a family, sidestepping back to avoid being hit by their wagon with a toddler inside.
His butt bumped a booth. Turning to apologize, he found a woman at a fund-raising table with her head bowed while she cracked open a roll of quarters on her cash tray.
She looked up. "Can I help you?"
And that was it. He fell hard and fast in spite of three seconds earlier being certain happily-ever-after was at least five or more years away once he quit active field ops. He could almost feel the hammer in his hand as he nailed pickets into the ground.
He'd seen prettier. He'd had hotter. But never had he met someone so damned sexy and perfect.
Her short brown hair lifted around her face with the wind blowing in off the ocean. Even sitting, she didn't seem too tall or too short in comparison to the older woman working next to her. Average height, slim body with hints of understated curves in khaki shorts and an Earth-Day
T-shirt. Brown eyes and brown hair.
She was maybe a couple years older than him, with even features in a slim face. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, here he stood like an infatuated dork checking out her bare ring finger while sweaty tourists jostled past him.
"Can I help you?" she repeated with a smile.
Her lips weren't particularly sultry, but somehow that just made him want to kiss them until they plumped.
He made his move. "Go to lunch with me—'' he paused to glance down at her name tag "—Sydney."
She blinked fast, startled but not outwardly offended. Hoo-ya. He had enough challenges on the job. For once, he wanted something in his life that was simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.
She emptied quarters into the tray. "I don't know your name.''
"Blake Gardner. I'll even leave ID and a blood sample with your friend."
She laughed, a light gliding sound that blew away cobwebs. "I have to work the booth. I only just got here.''
"When does your shift end?''
"At four."
Three hours from now.