Page 124 of Ripped & Shipped
I’m putting away groceries when my cell rings.
Chris.
Can I help my face lighting up like last night’s firework show? Everything in me starts jumping up and down. I take a breath. We may be officially dating, but I don’t need to overwhelm the man with my swoon-induced euphoria.
Chill. I’m so so chill.
“Hey, Soldier.”
“Hi, Boots.”
Okay. You can know this, even though I can’t tell him. I have to grab the counter for a second when I hear his voice call me that nickname. He literally makes me weak in the knees.
“What’s up?” I ask, all casual like the super-casual, not head-over-heels-in-love woman I am.
Chillin’ like a villain. I’m so easy-breezy.
“Not much. Thinking of you, if you want to know.”
Okay. Yes. I do. I do want to know.
“Really? What would you be thinking about?”
“Maybe I should come show you.”
Fan. Ice. Cold water in my face. I’m definitely overheating.
“Um. Yeah. Sure. That would be great.”
Gah. I lost my game. See what this man does to me?
He chuckles. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. I just got groceries. And gave the town something to talk about—again.”
“What do you mean?”
Oh, to be a golden boy in Bordeaux. I think back to the party the town threw for him when he was discharged a few years back. Thewhole townthrewhima party. Wanna guess if this town ever threw me a party? If they did, it would be my going away party—sort of like inThe Wizard of Ozwhere everyone singsDing dong, the witch is dead, or inA Christmas Carolwhere Scrooge’s funeral is the cause of a spontaneous town parade.
“Nothing. It was nothing. Just some whispers and a comment that got under my skin. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I can hear it. And you shouldn’t be fine with this kind of crap. It’s uncalled for.”
“Thanks, Soldier. I appreciate it. Really. Knowing you’re in my corner helps.”
“I’m not just in your corner,” he says. Then I hear the knock at my front door. “I’m at your house.”
I run from the kitchen, then slow to a trot, so I don’t seem so overeager. By the time I reach the door, I take one deep breath, and open it.
Yep. There he is, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans and looking good enough to eat in that backwards ballcap. It’s his eyes that get me, though. They’re full of concern and care.
“Come ‘mere,” he says, opening his arms and stepping inside my house.
I fall into his arms and collapse. I’ve never had this—a man who gave me comfort. If my dad did something like this, I don’t remember it. After I was five, he sure didn’t. It’s beyond amazing to have a man hold me when I’m feeling so fragile. And, it’s not just any man, it’s Chris.
My thoughts spill out in the safety of his arms. “I’m just tired. You know? I’m tired of not fitting in, of the rejection, of having people think the worst of me. I’m tired of this feud between everyone over things we can’t change.”
“I hear you, Boots. It sucks.”
