In the Likely Event(80)

I took the list from him and read over it. “Palau next year, Peru the year after that, then Borneo, the Canary Islands, and the Maldives.”

“Did I miss anything?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Seychelles,” I said.

“Right.” He handed me a pen. “Write it in.”

I glanced from him to the pen, then took it slowly and wrote Seychelles in the empty space at the bottom, pushing a little too hard and sending the pen through the paper. “Shit.”

“I already booked flights for next year. You wanted Palau, right?” he asked, putting his cell phone on the table.

My pulse leapt. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? “You did?”

He nodded. “I made them for October next year, but we can move the dates, depending on which firm you go with, or if I’m . . . not around.”

In other words, deployed.

I put the paper and pen next to the phone and sat back, curling my legs underneath me. Nate’s eyes heated as he glanced down my body, and I did my best to ignore the answering hum of desire that look ignited. “Where did you buy the tickets from? What cities?”

He took a deep breath. “I bought mine from North Carolina, and yours from New York.”

My lips parted.

“I texted Serena, since the time difference helped me out, and she said that’s where the firm you want is. The one that you’ve been talking about for the last year.”

He didn’t want me to even consider moving to North Carolina to be with him. He wanted to keep us just like this, the once-a-year fling that consumed my life, my heart.

“Is this about last night?”

“I just wanted to make sure that we followed through.” He swallowed. “We spent years talking about doing this, and it took . . . years. Now we know we’ll get to see each other.”

“Even if it’s just for a week?”

“A week is better than nothing,” he said.

“And how long is nothing supposed to be our baseline?” I stood, needing a little distance from him. “How long are we supposed to try and steal a weekend here, a week there?”

“As long as we have to.” He watched me pace, his body calm and still but his eyes assessing every move I made.

“That’s not an answer!”

“It’s the only one I have.” So. Damned. Calm.

How long did he plan to stay in the military? Couldn’t he see what it was doing to him? I could. It was clear as day.

“Are we even going to talk about last night?”

“There’s no point in us talking about a nightmare,” he said, his eyes tracking my movements. “I get them. You probably get them.”

“Yeah, well, I go to therapy too.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “Please tell me you’re seeing someone.” I held up my hand. “And before you ask, no, you didn’t hurt me. I’m not mad about last night. I know you’d cut your hand off before you’d use it against me.”

His jaw locked and he looked away, focusing on the scenery outside the open double doors. “I passed the psych eval for selection, so apparently I’m just fine. I can’t control what I dream about, Izzy. And the second I go talking to some shrink about nightmares, I can forget all about getting through the Q Course for Special Forces. They’ll kick me out.”

“What were you looking for last night?” I asked. “When you had me underneath you, your hand was searching for something.”

He blew out a slow breath and raked his hands through his short hair. “I usually keep a weapon under my pillow when I’m deployed, and I was dreaming—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. And honestly, things like what happened last night just add to the many reasons that you and I work the way we do.”

“But we don’t!” I pushed off the bed, unable to sit still. I felt like I was going to come out of my skin, like my body couldn’t possibly hold the intense emotions coursing through me. “This isn’t a real relationship if we keep doing it this way, Nate.”

“I never said it was.” He stood, but didn’t move closer to me, just watched me prowl back and forth across our room. “We agreed not to blow our shot, remember? We agreed—”

“A lot changes in three years,” I countered. “That’s how long I’ve been waiting, Nate. Three years, constantly comparing whomever I happen to be dating to you. Constantly wondering where you are, how you are. Wondering if you’re ever going to let me in, tell me what happens to you when you deploy.”

“You don’t want to know any of that.” He slid his hands into his pockets, the picture of cool and collected.

“Yes, I do! How am I supposed to know you if you won’t really let me?”

“You know me better than anyone—”

“No, I know what you let me see better than anyone.” I pivoted on the hardwood floor, my back to the door as I faced him.

“What do you want me to tell you, Iz?” He cocked his head to the side, and that mask I saw from time to time—the one he’d worn at his mom’s funeral—appeared. “Who I am over there isn’t who I am when I’m with you. I really don’t want you getting to know that guy.”