She draws in a shaky breath and nods. The fear is still there, but that stubborn pinch of her lips shows her struggling to stay calm. Her courage in spite of her panic makes me proud. I fucking love this woman.
I pull out my phone. Maybe my carrier has more bars down here. No dice—I don’t even have one bar of service.
“What are we going to do?” she whispers. Her gaze casts around the room below us. “I can’t stay in here. I need to get out.” She darts down the steps and eyes the tiny block windows at the top of the room, where the dirt is packed on thick enough that light barely penetrates. “Can we knock those out or something? Maybe I can wiggle through.”
I shake my head. “We both know you’re not going to fit. That’s way too small.” I clutch her shoulders and allow myself to rub my thumbs along her collarbone. “Lauren, stay calm. We’re fine, and safe. Worst case, we stay here overnight and Xander finds us tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes well with tears and she starts to shake. “But…I don’t want to stay down here. I’m trying to stay calm but I just need to get out of here. I’m freaking out.” Her voice is so throaty it makes my heart clench.
Fuck. Frustration tightens my chest and I stomp over to the cooler against the wall, filled with dozens of bottles of beer. I grab two, pop the tops off, and hand one to her.
“Drink,” I order her in a tone harsher than I intend. First step, get her to calm the fuck down. Beer should help. I chug mine fairly fast, and she follows suit, seeming happy to have something else to think about besides our predicament.
When we finish, I go fetch us two more bottles.
She eyes the new bottle of beer. “Seriously, we can’t just get loaded down here.”
“Why the fuck not? You got a hot date waiting for you?”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. I can tell downing the beer that quickly is working; her shoulders aren’t hunched around her ears anymore, and her eyes are a bit softer. “Hardly.”
“Then you can hang out with your old buddy and drink a few. We wanted to catch up anyway, right?”
She nibbles her lower lip, and I catch my gaze darting to look at her mouth. She takes a few deep draws from the fresh beer.
Beer therapy for the win.
A little over an hour into our accidental incarceration, our pile of beer bottles is starting to grow. To Lauren’s credit, she’s matched me beer for beer so far, and we’re working on our third now. I found a dusty blanket folded up on a rickety old chair and spread it out on the floor for us to sit on. Lauren’s legs are stretched out across my lap. The weight of her limbs is welcome, and I rest my free hand on her knees.
In between sips of beer, Lauren keeps trying to send texts out. I can see the frustration on her face every time it fails.
“Kitten, put it away,” I tell her. “It’s not going to work. Let’s make the best of it.” If she obsesses over this, she’ll never shake off the last vestiges of anxiety lingering around her.
She sighs heavily but does as I ask, tucking the phone into her purse. “Fine. Bossy man. When did you get so demanding, anyway? I don’t remember you being like this when we were kids.”
I remove her legs from my lap and stand, heading toward the shelves to see what packaged food is down here. “Years of army life,” I offer as an explanation, perusing the shelves. Nacho cheese, bags of tortilla chips, salsa, a jar of jalape?o peppers—the makings of a fine meal. I grab a paper plate and start working on dinner. “I moved up the food chain and eventually became responsible for men. If you don’t exude authority, they don’t respect you. If they don’t respect you, they don’t listen as well to instruction. Which puts lives in danger.”
I was forced fast to grow a set of balls. And thank God for it, because I stopped being that weak little chicken shit boy who was afraid to try anything. I discovered the rush of adrenaline that comes with living life on the edge, and it’s a high I’d never experienced before.
I’m starting to feel that rush right now. The small hum beneath my skin at the thought of being locked in here overnight with Lauren. I didn’t intend this to happen, no, but I’d be a fucking moron if I didn’t take advantage of the situation presented to me.
One-on-one time with the woman I want more desperately than anything else. A chance to find out if there is a possibility of something between us. Because I want it to happen so badly, but she’s proving a bit hard to read so far.
I turn around with the overflowing plate. “Dinner is served, madam.” I say it in my snootiest British accent.
She gives her first genuine smile since we got locked in here. “That looks amazing. I’m so hungry. I didn’t eat anything before coming here because I was going to make some pasta when I got home.” Her eyes narrow just a touch as she remembers our predicament.
None of that. I drop the plate between us and sit back down on the blanket. “Then eat. But you have to share—I know how much you inhale nachos.”
She glares at me. “I do not.”
I raise a brow.