Page 93 of Ripped & Shipped
“Come in. Did you eat?”
“Yeah. I ate. Then I went by Aiden’s to get his opinion. Then I came here.”
“Aiden’s opinion?” I step out of the way so Chris can pass by me. He smells like a workshop—like fresh cut wood. But also like something almost minty.
“I’m liking the haircut, Soldier.”
“Yeah. Laura took care of me. She even put this stuff in my beard.”
“Beard oil?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
I point to myself. “Influencer. I know all the beauty and self-care stuff.”
“Huh.”
I lean in and sniff his beard.
He chuckles, and looks down at me with warmth in his eyes. “Did you just sniff me?”
“Sort of. You said beard oil. I wanted to smell it. It’s yummy. Sandalwood, Cedar and Eucalyptus. I thought I smelled mint.”
“I brushed my teeth.”
I laugh. It’s this laugh that only Chris seems to elicit from me. I love this laugh. I feel like I can be a complete dork and he’ll just wait my little dorkfest out until it passes. Maybe it even entertains him.
“What? What’s wrong with brushing my teeth?”
“Nothing. It’s just, usually when a guy comes by a woman’s house in the evening and he brushed his teeth, he’s counting on her being so close to his mouth that his breath would matter. It just made me laugh. It’s a good thing. I like when you make me laugh.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
I can’t dwell on that fact. So, friends like making one another laugh. It’s all good.
Chris follows me back to the living room. Thankfully, my screen on my phone went dead so he can’t tell I was sitting here reminiscing over our romantic photo shoot this afternoon.
“Have a seat. Want some tea?”
“No. I’m here for a reason.”
“I figured. It’s not like you’re actually my boyfriend, so you’d just show up here with your teeth brushed and your beard oiled all ready for a night together on my couch.”
I glance over at Chris. He’s blushing. That’s for sure a blush.
He clears his throat and takes a seat in one of our living room chairs. I plop back down on the couch.
I’ll never decipher this man. Maybe that’s part of the allure. He’s so mysterious. At first, he comes across almost pompous, definitely steely and reserved. Then he softens and you surprisingly encounter this tender heart.
Yes, he’s a hero. But underneath his acts of heroism, he genuinely cares. And he’s got a layer of radical guilt in there. Of course, I know about Bridgette and his mom. And I can only assume his time in the military wasn’t all unicorns pooping marshmallow rainbows, so I’m sure he’s got some stuff he’s hanging onto deep down. It should make him less appealing—this wounded side—but somehow it just makes him more relatable. And maybe I want to rescue him a bit too. After all, it’s only fair if I return the favor.
But more than all that, Chris is funny, and serious, and thoughtful, and he’s really intelligent. Yep. Chris St. James is the whole package.
“So, spill. What brings you here on my unplugged night?”
“Unplugged?”
“Yeah. Sometimes—maybe about once a week—I just feel like turning the phone off and sitting still. I curl up with a book, or I just sit. It’s a nice break from all the posting, and commenting, and people always wanting a piece of me.”
