ADEN
The sky is finally light by the time I hit my stride on Sunset Cliffs. It’s not my usual route, but it’s longer than the jogging trail I take along the marina.
After waking up with the sound of small-round fire still popping in my head I needed to move and couldn’t get far enough away from the guilt. That pain in the back of my throat and tightness in my chest wouldn’t let up.
The soles of my running shoes grit along the sandstone while NOFX blasts in my ears. I focus on the words and the steady beat of my footsteps, my muscles warm and soft and on the verge of exhaustion. The occasional surfer or jogger snags my attention reminding me that the warmer summer weather will fill the beaches today. Best I get my shit moving and get back on the boat and out on the open sea.
Crowds make me anxious as fuck.
A chain-link fence looms up ahead, and I instinctively slow my pace not realizing how far I’d run. I haven’t been to that spot since the day the city put up the protective barrier, never wanting to be reminded of what happened there or how low I’d sunk.
I turn my back on it and face north toward town, the sun beginning to shine on La Jolla’s hilltops and burning off what’s left of the marine layer. The ocean breeze cools my sweaty skin and I prop my hands on my hips to catch my breath.
Was it only months ago that I stood in this very same position in a very different location? I can still feel the weight of my IBA on my shoulders and my M4 in my hands. As if on cue a jet engine roars above my head, the first flight out of San Diego airport. I turn my music up to drown out the sound, but fuck, it’s like I can feel the vibration beneath my feet.
My palms sweat and my pulse jerks inside my veins. No, it’s too early for this shit. I shake off the urge to study my surroundings, to analyze the surfers standing watching the waves, or the single guy walking his purse dog.
Let it go, Aden.
I jog back to the cottages, keeping my focus trained to the ocean as a reminder to my brain and my body that I’m no longer surrounded by mountains and villages that camouflage the enemy. That I’m as far from war as I could possibly be, and more importantly, that no one is out to kill me.
Pushing my muscles to the extreme I hope to hit my heart hard so exertion will out-pump my fluttering fears. It works, and when the row of eight beach huts comes into view I’m gasping for air, but breathing a lot easier.
I take the concrete path that leads to Cal’s old place and focus on my breathing so I don’t pass out. Sensing a presence to my left, my eyes snap up. Celia’s standing on her porch, one hand white-knuckling the rail, with those same expressive eyes aimed at me.
I pop my earbuds out and study her. There are dark circles beneath her eyes and all that thick hair is piled high in a mess on top of her head. Those freckles I saw last night are intensified in the light of day and while she nervously fumbles with the front of her oversized T-shirt, she pulls the wide neckline down low enough to see more of those freckles disappear between her cleavage.
“What are you doing here?”
I motion to Cal’s place with a nod. “I work here.”
“You’re not wearing a shirt.”
The corner of my mouth pulls up. “No, I went for a run.” As if my sweat-soaked skin doesn’t make that obvious. “You okay?”
She blinks and the shock bleeds from her expression. “Yes.”
I take a few steps closer, not convinced. “Why do you look freaked out?”
She blinks again then visibly relaxes, but something about the way she does it seems forced, as if someone behind her presses her shoulders down from her ears. “I don’t have electricity. I probably didn’t pay the bill.”
“Nah, electric is included.” I’d expect her to know that. “Could be the breakers. I’ll check it out.”
I round the corner of her place to the back where the breaker box is. The soft thwacking of flip-flops echoes behind me, and she scurries to my side.
I pop open the rusty lid. “These boxes are old and the fuckin’ salt air does them no favors.”
“Should you have them replaced with new ones?” I can feel her heat at my side and with the endorphins filling my bloodstream her closeness is doing wicked things to my body. It’s not that I’m a perv, I’m just always aware of my surroundings, occupational hazard, and something tells me the adorable Celia is without a bra and possibly panties.
Come on, Aden! Everything isn’t a damn porno.
“Yeah. But it’s expensive and Cal refuses to raise the rent.” I palm the broken circuits and nod to her bright orange Volkswagen Thing that’s parked by the dumpsters and in desperate need of a wash. “Did you check to see if it starts?”
“What?” She follows my line of sight and her lips curls in what seems like disgust. “That’s . . . my car.”
“Cal used to start it a few times a month, I guess.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling like a bit of a fuckface. He asked me to do the same, but I never did. “The battery might be dead on it.”
“Great.” Her fingers tap almost impatiently against her bare thigh and I’m drawn to how stark white her skin is. I don’t see a lot of pale skin here at the coast, never would’ve thought I’d even be attracted to the sickly-looking color, but I have an overwhelming urge to touch it and see if it feels as soft as it looks.
Her fingers ball into a fist and I realize it’s probably because I’m staring right at them. I slide my gaze back to her eyes and sure enough they’re resting uncomfortably on me. “I’ll go get those new circuits, get you all set up.”
Maybe grab a cold shower and a reality check while I’m at it.
SAWYER
I’ve never been the type of woman to swoon. I’ve always found it petty and reserved for women who don’t think with their heads but rather their hormones. But being around a sweaty, shirtless Aden, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had those cartoon hearts throbbing in my eyes. And I hate sweat. It always grosses me out, but leave it to Aden to make even perspiration sexy. Every time I manage the strength to act unaffected, he throws me off with that lopsided grin as if he can read my thoughts and finds them highly x-rated and totally doable.
Those shoulders that look as if they’ve spent a decent number of hours pumping iron, round balls of muscle that pulse under the smoothest-looking skin. And judging by his tan I’d say Aden spends a good deal of his day outside without a shirt, and why not? Hell, the city of San Diego probably pays the guy to walk around topless as an act of goodwill.
Luckily he can’t see me gawking as he walks away, his back straight, chin held high like a man with confidence, accustomed to commanding whatever space he’s in and doing so unapologetically. Which makes sense now that I’ve seen his tattoo. Scrolled from one shoulder blade to the other are the words Death before Dishonor and in the middle there’s a dagger going through a skull wearing a military-style beret. So Aden is in the military. That explains a lot.