Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1) by Paris Wynters

Author:Paris Wynters [Wynters, Paris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Western
ISBN: 9781951786557
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Published: 2020-06-24T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Jim

The television casts a comforting glow throughout the living room, and I sink deeper into the couch. It’s been at least eighteen hours since Taya left, and I never thought I’d miss being at work so much. Hours of enforced solitude aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Bear and Marge are having date night, and only God knows what Craiger and Martinez are up to.

I haven’t sunk low enough to call those two knuckleheads for company, so for the last few hours, I’ve been binging on ’80s and ’90s sci-fi. Not that I mind. I fucking love ’80s movies. I’d grown up on this shit.

Popcorn sticks in my throat when I swallow too fast, the twin beams of approaching headlights startling me. Who the hell is pulling into my driveway? After coughing the piece up, I straighten on the couch and place the popcorn bowl on the cushion, preparing to hoist myself up. But before I can get up to investigate, keys jingle and the front door clicks open.

Taya.

The hinges on the closet door in the foyer squeak and I tense, heart pounding in my ears. What if she comes in and says she wants to quit the program, that she came back to collect her things? The idea brings something ugly and desperate squirming to life in the center of my chest.

Some of the tension drains away when the car backs out of the driveway. If she plans on leaving, it’s not tonight and that gives me time to apologize. Time to make up for being such an asshat.

My chest tightens once again. What if she goes straight to her room, avoiding any further interaction with me?

But a few seconds later, Taya stands in the archway entrance of the living room in an oversized Edmonton Oilers sweatshirt and leggings. Who knew she was a hockey fan? Or maybe it isn’t her sweatshirt. The thing could fit me.

She hesitates, like she’s waiting for something. When I don’t move, she sighs and turns away.

“Wait! Do you want to watch this movie with me?”

Desperate. That’s how I sound. A real turn-on. No wonder she ran away.

“A movie sounds great right now.” She glances at the TV and her face lights up. “Ice Pirates? Nice choice. Do . . .” She clears her throat and tries again. “Mind if I join you on the couch?”

Yes, of course I want her to sit with me. Hell, I want to know if she enjoyed last night as much as I did. I want to ask if she ran because she regrets having sex with me, or if she was afraid of something else. And most of all, I want for her to know she is safe with me.

I also want to ask her if she’s on birth control, if she’s upset with me. Well, she and I would have that in common, because there’s no way I am going to be a father, raising a version 2.0 of my own shitty self. I wouldn’t want that for anyone.

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