“Take your time.”
“Lord of the Rings: Return of the King,” I answered. “But maybe my answer will change to Ladyhawke after tonight. Who knows?”
She leaned in and brushed her mouth over mine, and every nerve in my body went on high alert. “Thank you for today.”
I threaded my fingers through her hair and pulled her in, deepening the kiss but keeping my tongue firmly behind my teeth. The first taste of her was a rush that flooded every cell in my body. Keeping myself in check was a struggle, but I managed. I wasn’t about to kiss her the way I wanted in front of all these people, so I pulled away before we headed that direction.
She smiled against my mouth as we broke apart, her hand rising to her chest. “You should feel the way my heart is pounding.” Her fingers brushed over the little lock necklace I’d bought her for her birthday. The shit that came in the little blue boxes was expensive, and she’d protested, but I figured classy girls wore classy jewelry.
“Mine too.” Maybe the admission wasn’t smooth, but I didn’t feel that kind of pressure around Izzy.
“Here you are,” the bartender said as she returned, putting our orders in front of us.
Izzy leaned back, and I instantly mourned the loss of her mouth.
“Thank you.” I put my debit card on the counter before Izzy could even try. “For a tab.”
“We won’t need a tab.” Izzy shook her head as she took the slim stem of the champagne glass between her fingers. “We’re only staying for one drink.” She glanced my way. “And thank you.”
“I’ll get your check.” The bartender nodded and took my card to the register.
“You sure about only one drink?” I lifted my brows at Izzy. “It’s your birthday. I’m down for whatever you want.”
“I don’t want to be drunk on the last night I get to have you with me.” She shrugged.
I would have argued, but I knew exactly how she felt. I wanted to remember every single second. “Happy birthday, Isabeau.” I lifted my beer.
“Thanks, Nate.” She smiled and clicked her glass against mine. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too.”
After the bartender brought my card back, Izzy and I sat there talking about her classes for the better part of a half hour while she sipped her champagne, and I barely touched my beer. Every time she tried to steer the conversation to how the deployment had gone for me, I carefully altered course right back to her. I tried to sit still, to focus only on her smile, her laugh, the light in her eyes, the overwhelming way I wanted her and didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it. But the walls closed in tighter and tighter, and the people came closer, reaching around us to get to the bar, bumping into my back, reaching into their pockets for . . . wallets.
Just. Wallets.
Not weapons.
Because I was stateside, not in Afghanistan.
Fuck. It wasn’t this bad last time. Then again, I hadn’t spent nine straight months in hell, facing extension after extension. Rangers were supposed to have shorter, more frequent deployments, but that hadn’t been our luck. I hadn’t been wounded this time, but I hadn’t stood in four separate formations in front of makeshift memorials of boots and rifles last time either. Hadn’t—
Not here. I took as deep of a breath as my tight chest would allow and shoved all that shit back in the box where it belonged. I glanced back at Izzy to see her watching me in that way she had, like she could cut through all the bullshit with nothing but her beautiful eyes.
“If you had to pick a zombie-apocalypse partner, who would it be?” she asked, then threw up a finger. “Present company excepted. That’s just an easy way out.”
“Rowell, I guess.” Torres would have chosen his girlfriend, and it felt wrong to deprive the man of his love life, even in a hypothetical situation. “We’ve fought our way out of some shit together.”
“Fair answer. Now, let’s get out of here,” she said.
“You haven’t finished your drink.” There was no way I was forcing her out of her birthday celebration because I couldn’t hold myself together.
She rolled her eyes, downed the last quarter of the glass, and set it on the counter. “I have officially finished the drink you promised Serena.” Slipping off her barstool, she held out her hand for mine. “And I’d honestly rather spend the rest of my night at home. With you.”
“Not even a dance?” I glanced toward the crowded floor, and every muscle tensed reflexively.
“Not even a dance.” She wiggled her fingers, and I couldn’t resist her. If she wanted to go home, I’d take her home.
Our fingers twined, and I led us back through the crowd and out of the club. The brisk March air was a godsend as it hit my face, filling my lungs as I took my first full breath since walking in.
“You okay?” she asked as we started walking down the sidewalk, heading the half-dozen blocks to her apartment.
“Okay is a relative term.” I picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. The touch was innocent enough, but the scent of her perfume had my thoughts dipping into flat-out carnal territory. I wanted to stretch her out underneath me and kiss every curve she possessed until that scent was branded on my brain, replacing every bad memory I’d gained over the last few years.
“You haven’t talked about the last nine months for you,” she said, her finger flexing around mine as we started to walk again. “Even in the letters.”
I looked both ways before crossing the first street with her and fumbled for the right words, if they even existed. “Writing you was my escape. I wasn’t exactly eager to put all of that on you.”
“Even if I want to know?” She flinched. “Crap, that came out weird. I mean, even if I want to listen?”
“I know what you meant,” I replied softly, pulling her closer against the bite of the cold. She’d been against bringing a coat, but I guess it gave me an excuse to hold her. “But it’s not a conversation for birthdays.” Or ever.
“Oh.” She nodded slowly. “Right.”
We passed the rest of the blocks in an awkward silence that I loathed. Everything with Izzy had always been . . . easy, and I’d just put up a barrier. It was for the best. I didn’t want the ugliness of what went on over there to touch her in any way. But I felt that wall I’d erected like a tangible fence between us as we made our way into the apartment.
I followed her into the kitchen, and she dropped her purse on the counter, grabbing the box we’d carried home from the bakery earlier. “Cupcake?” She put the box on the counter, then braced her hands and hopped up to sit next to it, her feet swinging gently. “I always like sugar with my movies.” Flicking open the box top, she revealed the ten cupcakes we hadn’t eaten earlier.
Taking the olive branch, I leaned in to see what we had left.