Page 78 of The Bright Side of Brooding
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nick
Forgive me while I look my fill. I need to etch that little scar on your chin very carefully into my mind. I have to get the whorl of blue and gray in your eye just right. I have to make the memory of the curve of your cheek last until next time.
Icounted Art’s reps, knowing he’d lose track and do too many. The flowing movement of kipping pull-ups, the kind that used momentum to assist the arms and torso to complete high reps, proved mesmerizing this evening.
Two days later and I still couldn’t stop thinking about Sunday night with Summer. I hadn’t planned to show up soaking wet, nor had I anticipated taking off my shirt. The way she’d looked at me then… my gut clenched at the memory.
I’d waited for her to touch me, willed her to, begged her to in my mind. But she didn’t, even if her gaze felt like fingers tracing the grooves between muscles, every line of ink down my arms. Though we’d kissed plenty of times before, I still felt the hesitation of being a beast in her living room, so aware of my size and hers. I didn’t ever want to seem the aggressor. And the fact that she hadn’t touched me, not until she left to find something for me to wear, spoke volumes and reinforced my impulse not to pull her to me and devour her.
Then the fuzzy pink robe had taken the edge off. She’d laughed so hard, I could tell she’d needed the release, and I’d chuckled along with her, unafraid to look the fool to her in that moment. The hug, though… As so often happened with her, the hug sent my mind racing around the globe of dreams I carried in my mind. Then it was done, and we worked together, not talking, until we’d completed the cleanup.
I left with another hug and a short, sweet kiss, and a plan to talk this week before I left on spring break.
And so far, we’d texted. But we hadn’t talked on the phone, and stupidly, we hadn’t seen each other. I’d noted the words at the time—“We’ll talk this week”—and immediately felt the sliver of worry. Why wouldn’t weseeeach other this week? We’d managed that last week, and we could do it again.
I’d long since given up expecting to understand Summer based on her actions. I could easily admit I didn’t have experience with women enough to make an educated guess, and even if I had a hundred women in my past, I suspected I’d still find deciphering Summer to be like reading an untranslated manuscript. I didn’t know how much of it was me and my inability to guess what was on her mind when things shifted like they had during the hug, during the half hour after as we cleaned, and how much was her.
Whatever the case, I missed her. And her food drive was coming to a close soon—during spring break, in fact, so I couldn’t help her since I’d be traveling. I’d offered assistance more than once over the last few weeks, but she’d brushed me off. Perhaps there really wasn’t much I could do. But she’d mentioned a few times how she’d been expecting more donations and hoped people would remember to drop stuff off before the break.
And I decided I could help with that. So after a talk with CSM Allen and LTC Wolfe, I spread the word.
* * *
On Thursday that week, we finally found a few minutes late in the evening to connect. Whatever odd feeling I’d gotten when I left her house Sunday subsided when she asked me to come over for a few minutes tonight.
“The donations have practically doubled this week,” Summer said with a giant smile, then wrapped her arms around me.
I ducked my head into the hug and inhaled the scent of her, placing a kiss on the smooth skin of her neck.
I liked that place. Such a soft, vulnerable part of a person’s body. I relished being this close to her, being able to press my lips just behind her ear before pulling back.
“You don’t have to stop doing that, you know.” Her voice had dropped, and the look in her eye told me she meant it.
“I want to hear more about your week.”
I wanted closeness, yes. Contact. It felt like a need more than ever before. But I also had no interest in purely physical exchanges. I’d had too many relationships that devolved into that. When knowing me got challenging, when understanding how I thought or processed things or simplywasbecame effort, there was a shift to gratifying baser needs. That’s all well and good if you don’t want more, but I always had. And after a series of failed efforts at it in my twenties, the last one maybe just after thirty, I hadn’t even attempted anything like this until Summer.
So no. I wouldn’t continue the progress of my mouth and hands. Especially not when we’d had an unusual dynamic together last time I saw her. I set her away gently and squeezed her waist.
“Fine then.” She scowled, but a small smile pulled at her lovely mouth. “What was I saying? You scrambled my brain, Sergeant.”
I smiled and sat on her couch. “Donations.”
“Ah, yes. So, as I’d hoped, they’ve taken off this week. I think people must be prepping for spring break and really making an effort. I’m so relieved!” She slumped down and rested a head on my shoulder.
I laced our fingers together. My stomach flipped at the small contact and the ease of it. “I’m glad.”
And I happened to know that at least part of that was thanks to my soldiers, and the others in the OPFOR. Who knew getting out of a few PT days would be such a motivator?
Well, I did. Which was exactly why I got the incentive approved. LTC Wolfe was more than happy to support the effort, especially since the battalion’s schedule had been non-stop. Even little things like this, he’d said, helped morale. Might not’ve worked in a typical unit, but the rules when stationed OCONUS tended to be more relaxed, especially here at Kugelfels with our odd schedule, so no doubt the soldiers took the opportunity and ran.
“Are you ready for your trip?”
A small pang of longing hit at the question. I wished with every bit of me she could go with me. Seven days with her, no distractions, just experiencing a new place and watching her savor the local fare. How I wanted that.
“I’ll finish packing tomorrow. Roll out early Saturday and back next weekend depending a little on how things go.”
