Page 11 of The Arrangement

“Yeah. You?”

“Younger sister and brother.” He poked at the remains of his cookie, turning it into unidentifiable crumbles, and it took everything in me not to reach over and stop him. “Your, uh, sister serve?”

I can’t help but snort at the unexpected and frankly preposterous question. “Yeah, no. Alexandra follows a different ‘protect and serve’ if you catch my drift.”

His smile is more genuine than I expected for some reason. “So both of the Weathers are badasses.” It was a statement, not a question, and I had to fight the knee-jerk need to correct him. Alex was the badass. Always had been. Me? I was the failed twin.The one with anxiety. The one who’d rather play with pretty flowers than things that blow up. And most telling of all, the one responsible for having their unit captured.

I forcibly shook off the funk that accompanied the thought. The guilt stayed, of course. I couldn’t outrun it with a rocket strapped to my back, Wiley Coyote style. Not to mention it was near-constant when I was with the man who pulled all of our asses out of the fire. Realizing I’d waited too long to respond, I cleared my throat and adjusted my position.

“What about your siblings? I imagine your family is bursting with pride at having such a decorated war hero among them.” Lord knew my father would be.

Something dark passed behind JD’s eyes, stealing the light from his bright eyes, and he dropped his head to examine the eviscerated remains of his cookie. “No. They, uh, didn’t serve. I’m actually the first person in my family.” Belatedly, I realized I’d done it again. It was obvious JD was uncomfortable talking about his hero-status and I just kept fucking bringing it up. On a whim, I swapped our small plates, giving him the remaining two-thirds of my coffee cake and taking his disaster that once was a cookie.

He glanced up, and I arched an eyebrow in challenge, silently daring him to call me on it. To underscore my actions, I pressed my finger onto the plate to secure a covering of crumbs and popped them in my mouth.See? No regrets. Totally selfish.Except… except now JD was watching me with an intensity I didn’t understand.

I finished pulling my finger free and surreptitiously slid the plate a little further to the side. “Right, should probably start tackling these. Any criteria I should keep in mind?”

He hiked a shoulder in a half-shrug, but I couldn’t bring myself to fully dismiss the curious look in his eyes. “Eh, you're the local. I guess a gym would be nice. More than anything, themore I see of this place, the more I want to see. Am I imagining things, or did I see an area that looks suspiciously like the French Quarter while we were walking?”

“That you did,” I said with a laugh. “It’s not nearly as old as the one in New Orleans, but it’s just as charming. Also, just between you and me, it smells awholelot better.” He chuckled, lowkey letting me know that he’d been to Bourbon Street and knewexactlywhat I was talking about, and the sudden band of tightness around my chest eased. “I’ll make sure to show you all the touristy spots and local hidden gems.”

“Careful, this is starting to sound like a vacation.”

I snickered. “You have no idea how badly I want to say that anywhere you don’t end up with sand in your ass is a vacation, but we have a beach. You will one hundred percent get sand up your ass.”

JD blinked, and I watched a smile slowly grow to cover his face while the light in his eyes flickered back to life. Then he let out the biggest belly laugh I’d ever heard from another man, and I had no choice but to join him. Between my stint with the sledgehammer earlier and now my second laughing fit, my abs and obliques were going to be fuckingsoretomorrow. But at least JD was smiling again. Darkness didn’t suit him, and it made me anxious.

Chapter 8

James

Marc was not happy. Scratch that. Marc was so unhappy that I was beginning to question whether I should have flat-out denied Jones the favor I owed him and made Jones find a way to fix his own damn oversight.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Marc muttered from the bar stool behind the counter as he set his cellphone down. We’d relocated to the flower shop when it’d become apparent that finding a room at a hotel would not be as simply picking one out of a hat. His increasing frustration had begun to make the other patrons anxious, and by the time the barista started giving us the side-eye, I knew it was time to head out.

Seeing his defeated posture now, I knew I’d made the right call. I set down the assortment of wood I’d been gathering that looked like it still had some life in it and walked over to him. I still didn’t see what the big deal was about me sleeping on the couch. We’d be able to get more done faster if I was literallyalready here. I mean, we were already making great strides, and it had only been a day.

Rather than place a reassuring hand on his back or, worse, on his neck, like I wanted to, I rested my forearms on the counter beside him. “More bad news, I take it?”

He raised his head, shaking it. “I don’t understand. When the hell didFairhopebecome the go-to destination for every convention, competition, and—” He waved his hands dramatically, then made an aggrieved sound and dropped his forehead to the counter.

I choked back the inappropriate laugh at the picture he created and focused on solutions. “The sofa’s really not a problem,” I tried again for what felt like the hundredth time. As freaking adorable as he looked, I didn’t like seeing him so stressed out.

“Yes, it is,” he mumbled without raising his head. “And there’s nothing. Like literally nothing.” He finally lifted his head, gaining steam, and gave me an incredulous look. “Sure, there’s the odd day here or there, but that doesn’t fucking help me.” I arched an eyebrow at the interesting focus of his rant, which he didn’t catch. “There has to besomethingI can do. You don’t deserve to sleep on some old, musty couch with squeaky springs that are probably justwaitingto give you tetanus.”

“Whoa,” I held up a hand to stop the argument inevitably coming, “I’m gonna stop you right there. ‘Deserve’ doesn’t factor into any of this. At. All. So the hotels—”

“And motels, and bed-and-breakfasts, and rent-a-places,” he interjected.

I gave him the same look I’d given many mouthy soldiers over the years, the same one I’d picked up frommydrill sergeant for being mouthy, and his teeth clicked shut. “Everywhere is booked for the summer. You specialized in logistics. What are our alternatives? Alternatives that donotinvolve me taking yourbed,” I added when he immediately opened his mouth. The only way I was “taking” his bed was if I was taking him in it.

He released a disgruntled huff and scowled. “I’m assuming that means you also won’t entertain taking turns.”

I shook my head and allowed a small grin to escape. Truthfully, I was vers as hell and the idea of Marc takingmein his bed sounded like my personal slice of heaven, especially after stealing glances of him the last two years. But I wasn’t going to think about that, because I was fully capable of keeping any advances I wanted to make to myself, even if Marc was throwing all kinds of mixed messages. Thank God we’d been at one of the wooden tables inside the cafe instead of outside at an iron,see-throughone where there’d be no hiding the effect his “innocent” cookie crumble taste had on me. Fuck, even thinking about the way his lips had wrapped around his finger and how he’d slowly pulled it free was getting me hard again, and there was nowhere to hide it this time.

Marc groaned again, though this time instead of beating his head against the counter, which was in serious need of an overhaul, he lowered his head to massage his temples. “The only two things I can think of would be to somehow make the couch less awful or use my great aunt’s spare bedroom. But that presents a different set of complications. Forget that it’d be rude as hell. There’s the matter of transportation back to the shop. And if I go, I’m pretty sure you’re going to say that falls under the ‘not taking my bed’ criteria.” He peeked at me from the corner of his eye.

“And you’d be correct. Which leaves us with: how do we make the couch better? Even though I don’t see anything wrong with it and I’m the one sleeping on it,” I added with a lopsided grin and immediately wished I could take the flippant comment back as I watched every muscle in Marc’s body tense. Without thinking, I grabbed the back of his neck. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’thave said that. You’ve made your position clear, and it’s my responsibility to respect it.” I gave his neck a light squeeze and watched in amazement as a tiny shudder rippled through his body, then he completely relaxed.