Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
We walked into the water, and I gasped as the first cold wave hit my sun-warmed stomach.
Nate laughed, then submerged completely with the confidence of someone who did this way more often than I did. When he stood, the water reached the elastic of his board shorts, and I stared, transfixed, as the water sluiced off him.
Then I blinked and stepped closer, my hand rising but not touching the silver lines that had almost faded into the upper ridges of his abs. “What happened?”
His jaw flexed, but then he quickly smiled. “I ruptured my spleen in Afghanistan last tour. Now we have matching scars.”
My gaze widened by the second as waves pushed by us. “Plane crash?” I tried to joke.
“IED.”
Suddenly my body was as cold as the water around us. “You were blown up?”
“The vehicle I was in was blown up.” He reached out, tucking my hair behind my ears with cool fingertips. “Don’t look at me like that, Izzy.”
“Like what?” It was barely a whisper as the next wave hit me a little higher. “Like I’m worried?”
“My mom worries enough for every other person on the planet. You don’t have to. I’m fine. See?” He put his arms out and turned slowly, but I didn’t savor the sight of his bare back and torso like I had just a few minutes ago. Now I saw every place he could be hurt. Every vulnerable inch.
“Do you like it?” I asked when he faced me again. “What you do?”
“I’m good at it.” He shrugged.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Says the woman who doesn’t seem too excited to be starting Georgetown at twenty-one years old.” He lifted a dark brow.
“No one’s trying to kill me,” I blurted.
“Which is why I don’t mind what I do.” He moved closer, his hand palming my waist to steady me when a bigger wave threatened to take me back to shore. “If no one’s trying to kill you here, then that means I’m doing my job over there. That’s how I choose to look at it, how I have to look at it.”
“And is that your dream?”
“I don’t follow.” His fingers flexed, and I fought to keep from leaning into his touch.
“Is this what you’re going to do for the rest of your life? Is this your career?” Say no. Say that you’re out after three years like you said on the plane.
“I’m really good at it, Iz,” he said softly. “I’m already a ranger. I’ll probably look at Special Forces selection once we get back. My friend Torres is a legacy—his dad was Delta, and I told him I’d think about going through the process with him.”
If he comes back.
“You going to tell me why you’re not wandering around with a megawatt smile over getting into Georgetown Law?” He changed subjects, and I got the point.
“It wasn’t my dream, that’s all.” Stepping back, I sank beneath the water, letting the power of the insistent waves remind me just how small we both were in relation to the world around us. Then I stood and pushed my hair out of my eyes.
“Whose dream was it?” His brow knit as we waded deeper, the water resting just beneath my breasts between waves.
I looked away from that penetrating blue gaze of his.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’ll never push you for something you don’t want to give.” He ripped his hands over his hair. “It’s not like I have the right to know, anyway. We’ve known each other for a total of what? Eighteen hours if you combine all our time together?”
That had me turning back toward him. “Two and a half years,” I said, correcting him. “We’ve known each other two and a half years. And I didn’t want to graduate early, but my boyfriend was a year older, and he said he wanted me to come with him.” A sour taste filled my mouth. “And my parents were so thrilled with the idea that I might marry a Covington—”
“You were engaged?” His gaze dropped to my hand like he’d missed something. “And what the hell is a Covington?”
“No.” I shook my head. “And who is a Covington.” A bitter laugh escaped at my own foolishness. “God, I love that you don’t know. Love that you can’t tell me every senator that’s come from his branch of the family, or what their net worth is, because believe me, my father could spit those details out like a computer. The idea of me marrying into a family like that made him practically salivate. It’s everything they want for themselves, though they’d say it’s for me, and it’s why he offered to pay for Georgetown if I graduated Syracuse early and went with—”
“Dickface,” Nate supplied. “I don’t want to know his name. If he was stupid enough to lose you, as the term ex implies, then he’s a dickface.”