“You shouldn’t do that,” she warned, rolling over onto her side and poking her fingers into his stomach on the premise of being even more threatening. In reality, she just wanted to see if his abs were really as hard as she guessed. And they were. Maybe she could get him to lose the shirt so she could inspect the full beauty of what lie beneath. How much of his skin bore those dark, sexy tattoos?
“Shouldn’t do what? Laugh at you or give you shit?” He grasped her wrist and held her hand away, both of them struggling for control. She was no match for him, but he played with her a bit, giving her hope she might actually be able to take him.
“Both. It’s rude. And the only reason I let you stay is because you promised you’d talk.”
“I never make promises. In fact, if there’s anything you should know about me, it’s that.”
She stopped fighting his arm and he let their hands drop to the bed. But he didn’t let go. “Didn’t you make a promise to this country when you joined the Marine Corp.? To your fellow Marines, too?”
Something dark flashed over his nearly clear eyes and his throat worked as he swallowed. “That’s completely different.”
“Different than what? What do you think we’re talking about here?” It was a silly question, of course, because she knew what he meant—don’t think I’ll call you in the morning, sugar—and she liked that he’d thought to edge their discussion in that direction. The honesty was nice. But attraction aside, she wasn’t any more interested in him than he was her. At least not beyond the company they shared in these early morning hours, both of them so obviously avoiding being alone.
He tipped his head to the side and pinned her with a knowing smirk. “Come on, Jenn.”
“Oh. That.” She blinked, feigning innocence. “I’m so disappointed. I, like, thought maybe you’d propose or something. You did allude to putting a ring on my finger earlier.”
Now it was his turn to chuck her with a pillow. “You are such a smart ass.”
“Better than a fat ass,” she said, snatching the pillow away from him and propping it between her knees.
He laughed and folded his arms behind his head. “I’m gonna take a wild guess you’re bitter because your boy toy left you for someone else. No offense to you, of course, but he’s always come off as the type of guy who can’t keep it in his pants.”
Ugh. Were they really going to do this? “Saying he left me isn’t entirely accurate, because we were never really together.”
“So he used you.”
Seriously, was this guy some kind of mind reader? How did he know this stuff? “Not any more than I used him.”
“You sure about that? I mean, no matter what you chicks say, you almost always get invested in a relationship even when you say you won’t.”
“Oh, so you’re not only perceptive, but you’re sexist, too. Nice.” She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to kick him in the shins.
“That’s not sexist,” he protested, shifting to his side so they lay face to face. “It’s a fact. Google it.”
“So you’re saying it’s my fault that I’m hurt? Not his?” It totally was her fault, there was no doubt in her mind. Still, she wanted to see if Brody would try and talk his way out of his ballsy opinion or if he’d own it.
“You knew damn well that he wasn’t going to put a ring on your finger and, if you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t want one anyway. You just don’t like being alone.”
Well then...
“That’s why you haven’t kicked me out yet. That’s why you’re laying in bed—in bed, Jenn—with a virtual stranger at two o’clock in the morning.”
Seriously, when had he sobered up and discovered all the answers to the universe?
“You’re just lucky I’m a nice guy or you’d be on your back, working out your loneliness the only way you know how.”
That asshole! She blinked at him, not quite believing her ears. It was one thing for him to insult her when he had Jameson in his veins and marbles in his mouth, but it was something entirely different when he did it sober. Well, not sober...but not wasted out of his mind either.
“Get the hell out of my hotel room,” she spat, clamoring to her feet and pointing to the door. She pretended her hand didn’t shake and that her stomach didn’t churn like she’d just swallowed sour milk. There was a fine line between honesty and being a dick, and he’d just crossed it.
“Jenny...” He got to his feet, too, and came around the bed, lifting his hands to her shoulders before she could put any meaningful distance between them. Run to the bathroom, maybe, where she could steel her resolve and shutter out his harsh words. His harsh, but true words. “Look at me,” he demanded, yet his voice wasn’t more than a whisper.
“You don’t know me.” She kept her eyes on the floor between his stupid, sock-clad feet.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” His big hands slid down her arms, tender despite their size and strength. “I knew you the second you climbed onto that barstool. I recognized your pain before you said a single word. You wanna know why I drank tonight? Why I have almost every day since my last deployment? It’s because I fucking hurt, too, and I don’t know any other way to deal with it.”
Who was this guy? Why had he come into her life tonight, of all nights? When she’d vowed to make a fresh start, no matter how many layers of shit she’d have to shovel away first?
Brody represented the very kind of man she needed to give up. Yet he was also the type of guy—the type of friend—she needed most.
The contradiction made her head spin, and that was reason enough to send him on his way. But, like he’d confessed himself, something about him resonated with her, too.
“Why do you hurt?” Reluctantly, her fingertips pressed against his stomach. The only part of her that made any attempt to push him away. Even then, what should have been a nudge was really more of a caress...a gentle persuasion, hoping he’d open up a little more.
“I watched two of my buddies die last tour.” He broke off and dropped his chin to his chest, blowing out an exhale so deep, she wondered if he’d actually been holding his breath. “Shit like that messes with a guy’s head.”
She nodded slowly, questions on the tip of her tongue she knew better than to ask. How did they die? Were you close? Did they have families? “I know,” she began, but the truth was, she really didn’t. Not at all. “Actually, that’s a lie—I have no idea what you went through. I can’t even begin to.”
Head still down, he squeezed her wrists. “That’s the most honest response anyone’s given me.”
“Brody...” she began, breaking off when no further words came. Here was this big, formidable man standing in front of her admitting that, beneath the steely, bad boy exterior, lay a fractured, miserable soul. What was she supposed to say? What would get through to this seemingly invincible man?
“I don’t even understand it myself, Jenn, so I don’t know how anyone else can. But some think they do. They think I need help.” He gave his head a half-shake, held it, and huffed out another heavy breath. “I can’t wrap my head around that. I mean, I’ve seen it happen to other guys. I’ve seen them fall apart over all the shit that happened over there, but that’s not me.”
“But you said you’ve been drinking...” she offered quietly and he nodded.
“I am. Too damn much. As much as pisses me off—as much as I don’t want to admit it—maybe they’re right. Maybe this is how it goes. Maybe I’m so caught up in my own head that I can’t see what everyone else does.”
Twisting out of his grasp, she flipped the gesture and took his hands in hers. This man...God. She knew virtually nothing about him, but there was this invisible thread between them, a tug, she couldn’t explain. He was as lost as she was. Probably worse. And here they stood, trying to reassure each other. The broken aiding the broken.