Page 71 of Long Shot

So I don’t feel anything.

Okay, not entirely true. I feel a lot of guilt.

I know what Reese is going through. Guilt over something she really had no control over. It’s not logical, but then emotions never are, which is why they’re messy and unreasonable and something best avoided.

The weird thing is . . . I’m damn good at shutting down emotions when it comes to myself. But when it comes to Reese . . .That’swhy last night was so disturbing. Because I felt forher. I felt pain for Reese. Ihatethat she suffered through that. I hate that she’s terrified and guilty. I feel those emotions inside me as if they’re my own, and dammit, that’s everything I’ve been avoiding.

Maybe it’s a bad idea, getting involved with her. The sexual heat between us makes it impossible to resist her, though. I tried. Dammit, I tried. And then last night, even more dangerous than just attraction to her sexy body were all those feelings she stirred up in me. A need to make her feel better, no, to make her feel amazing . . . to take care of her.

Yeah, that’s definitely the disturbing part.

I have work to do. I need to focus on that.

But first, I should check on things in the kitchen.

Yeah, I’m fucked.

Reese

I walk into the kitchen at Conquistadors with my head high, my insides a knot of nerves, not knowing what kind of reaction I’m going to get from the others here.

Last night was mortifying. But tempting as it was to just stay in bed forever, I’ve been there and done that. I got past it and I can do it again.

So I hold my head up. “Morning, Sid.”

“Hey, Reese.” Sid rushes over to me. “How are you feeling?”

His sympathy nearly makes me cry. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Danny’s in the kitchen, too, holding a clipboard, and he follows behind Sid along with Jenn.

“Cade explained things to us.” Sid shakes his head. “Lots of vets have PTSD issues, panic attacks . . . after what you went through, it’s not surprising.”

Well, shit. Cade told them? Everything? Dismay has my heart dropping to my toes.

Damn. I didn’t want people to know what happened back in New York. I didn’t want them to know I’m a basket case. Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to think of myself that way; it’s a denigrating ableist term for someone with a mental illness.

Anyway, people sometimes get weird about mental illness so I kind of wanted to keep it to myself.

Annoyance flares in my belly. Dammit. Couldn’t he have just told them I wasn’t feeling well?

Meh. I dove under the table and hid. Let’s be real here.

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you,” Danny adds.

I bite my lip, my heart suddenly swelling up so big it nearly chokes me. “Th-thank you. I appreciate it. I’m feeling fine today, and much better than I was after it first happened.”

They all nod, and Jenn reaches out and gives my arm a brief squeeze.

Relief makes my knees wobble as I busy myself cooking. Maybe it’s not so bad that people know. “Okay, remember those Tater Tot nachos you made?” I ask Sid.

“Yeah.” His forehead creases. “You hated them.”

Ack.“It’s not a bad idea, actually. Let’s make them from scratch. Fresh potatoes, cooked, shredded. We’ll add some seasonings, some finely chopped jalapeños, shape them and fry them up crisp, and serve them with chipotle ketchup.”

“Okay. Sounds doable.”

I smile.

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