Page 35 of Glamour and Grit

Part of me wants to return to sleep, but I know that ship has sailed. There’s nothing to it but to rip off the band aid quickly and see if he’s here.

I think I’m prepared for the swell of disappointment when I open my eyes. But seeing the rumpled, empty sheets cuts deep anyway. With a sigh, I roll out of bed to begin as much of my morning routine as I can, under the circumstances.

It takes me a while to find my toothbrush and stumble into the bathroom on slumber-thick legs. I look at myself in the mirror and see my smudged makeup, and the torrid memories of last night come flooding back. The heat is tempered by Dane’s absence. He left at some point in the night and I don’t think he ever came back.

A tiny seed of fear digs itself into the soil of my subconscious andsprouts into a bloom. Dane said he was going to check the compound. What if something happened to him?

I know it’s ridiculous, because Moreno and his family don’t want Dane. They want me, so once my bodyguard was out of the way I would be next. But it’s still a relief when the savory smell of hickory bacon hits my nostrils.

I doubt the bad guy would be making me breakfast.

I enter the kitchen and pause in the doorway. Dane stands before the propane stove, watching the bacon while giving a pot of what I suspect is oatmeal an occasional stir. His muscled, tattooed back ripples with every movement.

My heart beats faster. He’s a gorgeous specimen of a man. Even with the demonic visage tattooed across his shoulders and back. Or maybe because of it. A lot of things about Dane scream ‘stay away.’ From his propensity to withdraw, to the tragedy I see dancing behind his emerald green gaze, to his choice of vocations. He chose the path of soldiering where you keep maximum distance from everyone else.

But that just makes me want to get closer to him. Is he a good man? I think so. I hope so. If he’d let me in, I might be able to find out.

Dane hasn’t noticed me yet, or if he has, he’s given no sign. I cross the floor, and the timbers beneath my bare feet creak. Dane tilts his head slightly in my direction. Now that I know he won’t be startled, I cross the floor and seek the connection we had last night.

“Good morning,” I say, surprised by how sweet my voice sounds. I start to reach for him, then stop myself. Is this appropriate? Where do we stand? I split the difference and put my hand on his shoulder instead of giving him a hug.

“Morning.”

He just stands there and keeps right on cooking like I’m not even there. When he goes for seasoning, he pulls away and my hand drops limply to my side. I know he’s busy, but he could spare a hand for a second to hold one of mine. Or maybe even take five whole seconds to spin around and give me a proper hug, maybe even a kiss.

I brushed my teeth especially.

But instead, he just…cooks. The food might be hot, but I’m simmering down. With a sigh, I release him and seat myself on one of the industrial kitchen chairs.

“Smells good,” I say when he remains silent. Great, he’s gone all moody and quiet. Eventually he mumbles a thanks.

Dane lays out the breakfast spread of bacon and eggs, oatmeal, and a halved grapefruit. He pours us each a mug of divine-smelling coffee and thunks down a ceramic urn of thick cream with a little spoon scoop shaped like a cat.

“This is cute,” I say as I use the spoon to turn my coffee from jet black to a proper tan hue.

“Thanks.”

His green eyes don’t look my way. Instead, they stare out the window.

“Dane, are you all right?” I ask.

He flinches, and looks my way.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

I roll my eyes. “Because your despondency radiates on the visual spectrum. Are you…you’re not…do you regret last night?”

“What?” His face scrunches up in annoyed confusion. “No, of course not. Last night was great.”

He pats my hand, awkwardly, and goes back to eating. This isn’t the connection that drew us together last night. This…sucks. He’s completely cut himself off from me.

What to do, what to do? Why do I always attract emotionally distant guys? Is it my perfume? The leftover aroma of latex applications from my day job? Karma? What?

If I try to force the issue, he’ll probably act confused. Or defensive, like he hasn’t done anything wrong. Then it will just push us further apart instead of bringing us closer together.

He serves up the meal, chock full of proteins and carbs, but I gobble it up all the same. I didn't realize how empty my stomach had grown.

We eat in silence, because I can’t muster the gumption to start another conversation. He clearly isn’t interested. Is he like this withall the women he sleeps with? Is this a Dane thing? Or am I just lucky?

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