Page 8 of Stirring Attraction (Second Shot 2)
oe and tried not to think about the future.
“Three minutes now.” Ryan glanced down at his watch. “If it takes longer to find your pants and your wallet, I’m heading for an unauthorized absence.”
“You’re a long way from base. I don’t see how three minutes would make a difference—”
“I need you to put down the coffee and put on your pants. They won’t let you on the plane in your underwear. And if we miss this flight to Oregon, I won’t make it back before my leave is up.”
Oregon. Ah hell.
“I’m not getting on a fucking plane. I don’t give a damn who sent you to try and bring me home. I’m not going. You’re risking your career for a lost cause.”
Ryan turned and marched the shiny-ass shoes that matched his sparkly uniform across the apartment. Then he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Dominic staring into the now empty living area. The space looked as if he’d hired one of the guys who’d served alongside him to play decorator. The worn brown leather couch pointed to a big-ass TV mounted on the wall. A cardboard box sat in front of it.
When Dominic had first moved into the place, a ranger who lived down the road had stopped by for a beer. His buddy had turned over the box and declared it a coffee table. And now, months after leaving the only place where he had ever felt like he belonged—the freaking army—Dominic ate every meal with his feet on that box.
But the sorry state of his rental didn’t leave him pining for his dad’s farmhouse in Forever, Oregon.
His left hand tightened on his mug to keep his right from dropping the coffee cup to the linoleum. Sure, his brain had fired off the message—hold on to the fucking coffee—but the nerves in his right hand rarely listened anymore.
And neither did Ryan. He could hear his childhood friend opening drawers in his bedroom.
“Hey, careful with my dresser,” Dominic called. “I picked that up secondhand. The first owner didn’t exactly treat it right.”
His friend from what felt like another lifetime—those years before he’d joined the military—ignored him and continued abusing his furniture. Ryan returned a minute later with a pair of faded jeans and plain red T-shirt. “Put down the coffee,” he ordered.
Ryan tossed the clothes across the room. But Dominic didn’t move to catch them. He’d spent the past few months learning his limitations. Thanks to a trigger-happy terrorist, Dominic’s right hand struggled to pick things up. And yeah, there was a laundry list of other things he couldn’t do as a result of one bullet through the palm of his hand. Sure, the shots that had nicked his pulmonary artery had nearly cost him his life, but the bullet in his hand had changed his future. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. Hell, he wasn’t much use to anyone and he damn well knew it.
“If Noah sent you. Or my dad—”
“No one sent me.” Ryan’s mouth formed a thin line. Either the air force had knocked the playboy humor out of his childhood friend or . . .
Someone had died.
“I wanted to tell you on the plane,” Ryan said. “I came to drag your sorry ass back to Oregon because Lily—”
Crash!
His good hand had taken a cue from his right and released the mug. Dominic struggled to stay upright.
“Not Lily,” he growled. “Not Lily.”
Hell, she was the reason he stayed the hell away from Forever. She’d come to visit him in the hospital once he’d been transferred from Germany to a stateside facility. One look into those beautiful blue eyes and dammit, he knew why she’d come. Then she’d spelled it out for him.
Come home. Let me take care of you. This is our fresh start. The one we always talked about. We can get married and—
“I have your attention now?” Ryan said. “Is that the magic word that will get you into your pants? Say her name?”
“What makes you think I still give a damn?” Dominic snapped. “We broke up months ago. For good this time.”
Ryan laughed, but the sound was brittle and harsh, devoid of genuine humor. Then he cocked his head and, staring at Dominic, said: “How many women have you slept with since Lily?”
“Fuck you,” he fired back. “I haven’t spent the past year pining for a woman I can’t have. That’s your story. Not mine.”
“How many?” Ryan challenged again.
None.
He’d come close, messing around with a woman whose name he couldn’t recall the next day. But he hadn’t slept with her.
