The Officer Says "I Do" (14 page)

“Stop thinking so loud.”

She leaned back and looked into her husband’s eyes. “If you can hear, what am I thinking of?”

He lifted a brow, as if to say,
Like
this
is
even
a
challenge.
“You’re beating yourself up over what just happened because of your rule. But you shouldn’t be. Know why?”

She shook her head, curious to hear his interpretation.

“I think in your mind, sex is a wall. But what if it’s not? What if it’s really a bridge, leading us to the better parts?” He shrugged a shoulder, her head bobbing with the movement. “We’re hot for each other. That’s good. You need that in a marriage, and it’s natural. I’m not going to push it though. So we took the edge off. And from here, we can just go on. Right?”

Mutely she nodded. How could she argue with that? He’d explained her thought process to a T. And released just a little bit of the shame that she’d felt creeping in.

It didn’t, though, make her feel any different about her choice to forego sex for the time being to strengthen their bond. Well, from here on out.

Tim nudged and pulled until she was on her feet.

“I’m going to go take a shower, and you’re going to… do something. That doesn’t involve me or the shower. Understood?”

More commands. More orders. She wanted to bark at him that she wasn’t one of his Marine minions. Instead she nodded. Because in the end, this was the whole point. And he was holding up his end of the agreement.

He blew out a breath, as if he’d just been given a reprieve from the governor not a moment too soon. Then he kissed her forehead and left, walking with a slight hitch.

She bit back a giggle until she could hear his uneven footsteps tromping up the stairs. Then she chuckled and turned back to her abandoned apple slices, then bit into one for the satisfying crunch.

Doing the honorable thing was killing him, but he was doing it. She’d accidentally chosen her husband well.

For the first time in a few days, confidence seeped back into her bones, warming her. This was going to work.

***

Hiding in his guest bedroom like a fucking coward was not how Tim planned on spending his Saturday morning. But after leaving Skye in the kitchen the night before, after instigating the break of her no-sex rule, that’s exactly what he was doing.

The way Tim saw it, he had two options. He could climb out the window, shimmy down the drainpipe, and head toward the nearest golden arches for breakfast. Or he could stay in the guest room until he died of hunger.

Or
you
could
choose
door
number
three: Grow a pair and go downstairs, O’Shay. She might not even be upset.

Right. And a wet cat might not be spitting pissed.

As his stomach rumbled, he realized he had no choice but to find out the depths of her anger. He walked down the stairs, prepped and ready for a fight, to give in-depth explanations, to apologize.

Instead he found breakfast cooking. Smelled like—he stopped to take a sniff at the bottom of the stairs—smelled like bacon and eggs. The good stuff, no tofu required. He shuffled into the kitchen to find Skye in another of her trippy outfits, this one a black ruffled skirt that came down to her knees, tan and pink striped leggings, and some sort of baggy purple top. Her hair was, as usual, pulled into a messy knot at the top of her head, which bobbed with every movement she made.

The radio was on; some top forty song blasted. Just not loud enough to drown out her unfortunate singing. Tim smiled at the picture she made. It was definitely not his mother’s famous Saturday morning pancake buffet. But it was something he could get used to. Especially if she was making
real
food, not something that rabbits would eat.

Hedging his bets, he walked up behind her and snuck a kiss on her cheek. She gasped, whirled around, and smacked him in the chest with the spatula, splattering what he hoped—and feared—was egg residue on his shirt.

“Good thing I didn’t wear my favorite shirt,” he joked as her eyes widened. “It’s okay.” He carefully unclenched her fingers from the utensil and set it aside, then reached behind her and turned down the burner.

She started to protest, but he kissed her soundly, and she melted like butter in the frying pan. Just a quick one, then he stepped back.

“Needed a good morning kiss.” Was she going to smack him? Make some comment about last night? Fling the half-done eggs in his face?

She only smiled and turned back to the stove. “That was nice.”

Hmm. It was, but that wasn’t quite what he expected. In fact, he found himself waiting for the other shoe and almost enjoying the anticipation. But she merely hummed along with the next song and flipped eggs.

He grabbed a glass of juice and sat at the table, waiting for some sign that she wanted to talk. But all he got was the opportunity to watch her flit around the kitchen with no real pattern until she had two plates full of bacon and eggs. She placed one in front of him, sat the other in front of the seat next to him, and plopped down with an exaggerated sigh.

“Whew!” She grinned. “I’m more of a cereal person. But I felt like doing something extra today.”

“I’m not going to argue,” he said and took a bite of bacon. “Hmm. Did you season this with something? Tastes different. Good though,” he added and took another bite.

“You like it?” she asked uncertainly.

He killed off the last bite and grabbed another slice. “Yeah.”

She sat back a little and blew out a breath. “Good. I was afraid you wouldn’t like the fakon.”

Tim paused with the next slice halfway to his mouth and eyed it warily. “The… what?”

“Fakon. Fake bacon.” She picked up a slice and bent, smiling when she heard the crisp snap. “It’s a vegan bacon substitute. Like I said, I’m not a big meat eater, but I know you are, so I was looking for ways to combine meals.” She smiled brightly. “I guess this is a score.” And with that she picked up her fork and dug into her eggs.

Or were they eggs? He glanced at the simple, fluffy yellow concoction on his plate with new curiosity. If he poked it, would it poke back?

Skye glanced his way, her smile slipping a little as she noticed his frozen state. Quickly he shoved the entire fake food product in his mouth and chewed with renewed vigor. Then he grabbed his fork and shoveled a load of I-hope-it’s-egg into his mouth and swallowed before he could taste it. With a large grin, he said, “It’s great!”

She smiled again and went back to her meal. “They’re real eggs, you know,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m a vegetarian, not a vegan. I actually like eggs.”

He sighed with relief and glanced over. She was looking down at her plate, but the corner of her mouth tilted up.

A few minutes and two more slices of fakon later, he asked, “Do you have plans for the day?”

“Nope. I have today off, then work six days straight.”

Tim opened his mouth but shut it again as he watched Skye drag her tongue over the tines of her fork. Her taste buds rasped over the cool metal, slipping between to grab every last bit of egg. His body hardened instantly. Was that her plan? He glanced at her eyes, but she was staring innocently at the vase of flowers she’d set out the other day.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “There’s a mixer today at the battalion if you’re interested. Guys bringing their wives and kids. Barbeque gets going. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the clock. “Is this a last-minute thing they put together?”

Of course not. The MWR put these things together weeks in advance. But between putting off announcing his marriage and just not being used to RSVPing for an additional person, he realized this was the first he’d mentioned it to her. Shit. “These things are pretty casual,” he hedged. “I’ll probably just wear this.” A polo and khaki cargo shorts were basically an out-of-uniform uniform for most Marines. “Well, minus the egg.”

“Ah.” She glanced at the clock again and nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll be ready to go in two hours?” When he nodded, she stood up and took her plate to the sink. After rinsing and putting it in the dishwasher, she came back and gave him a dazzling smile that made his lungs burn and his cock stiffen almost painfully.

“Thanks for asking me,” she said and bent down to give him a kiss.

Tim clenched his hands around the seat of the chair to keep from pulling her into his lap and spending the day remembering every spot on her body that made her moan. But no, he’d invited her to a battalion barbeque and he’d live up to the promise. Because for some unknown reason, it made her ridiculously happy and grateful.

As she disappeared up the stairs to do who knows what girly things that were required before leaving the house, he wondered about that. Mandatory fun, as they often liked to call “recommended” off-duty events, were usually attended grudgingly, at best. People didn’t like giving up an afternoon out of their free time. But Skye had acted like he’d presented her with the chance to go deep sea diving or take private flying lessons. It was just a barbeque.

Right?

So why did he feel the intense need to man the battle stations?

Skye’s bottom lip felt raw by the time they pulled up to the battalion. It was never a good sign when she chewed on her lip that much. She’d agonized over everything from her outfit to her makeup to her hair.

And how annoying was that? She wasn’t a self-conscious person. For the most part, people could take her or leave her, and she was fine with their decision either way. It’s how her parents raised her. And thanks to her admittedly unique views on life, she had run into judgmental people all her life. But this was different.

These were Tim’s people.

And much like with his parents, she didn’t want to embarrass him or have anyone judge him based on her actions. Nobody wanted to be
that
girl
in groups. The only problem was, in this situation she had no clue who or what
that
girl
was. Or how to avoid becoming her.

Out of her element did not begin to describe the sensation she was feeling.

They crossed the grassy field toward the tents set up behind the building that she and Madison had visited Tim in. She could already smell the smoke, the cooking meat, hear the music blaring, and see the children sprinting in circles around each other. A group of shirtless guys played volleyball in a sandy court a few yards beyond the picnic area. It should have been welcoming, comforting.

Instead she just felt nauseous.

No. She wouldn’t let this defeat her, Skye scolded silently. It was important for Tim, and she wouldn’t act like an idiot and run back to the car to hide. She would just be herself.
Herself
was a cool, interesting, down-to-earth person. There was no reason someone shouldn’t like her. It would be fine.

The pep talk worked, and as Tim steered her toward massive coolers where people were bending over to grab drinks, her nerves started to settle.

Tim said hello to a few people in passing. He grabbed her a bottle of water and a beer for himself, then headed toward a group of both men and women standing to the side.

“Hey, guys.”

They greeted him back, then Tim slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Someone I want you to meet. This is—”

“Hey, O’Shay bagged himself a nice weekend piece,” one obnoxious man slurred. For the love of the ozone, it wasn’t much past noon and he was already drunk? In Vegas, this would have been typical. But here, it seemed a little unnecessary.

“Shut up, McNelson,” Tim said quietly. Though he’d made no threat, a person would have to be stone drunk not to hear the venom in his voice.

Like McNelson. “What? I won’t poach. I’ll just wait until next weekend. You’ll be free, right, sweetie?”

Before Tim could say another word, Jeremy stepped over and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, McNellie, since you were gone all last week, I wanted to ask you a question.” Jeremy’s voice faded as he led the intolerable drunk away from the group. Everyone else stood in uncomfortable silence.

All that was missing were some cartoon cricket noises to make the entire thing more bearable.

“Tim, weren’t you going to introduce us?” one blessed woman spoke up, giving Skye an encouraging smile.

“Right. Thanks, Beth. This is Skye. My wife.”

And they were back to awkward silence. A few people looked at each other from the corner of their eye, but nobody said a word.

“Holy shit, so the rumors are true,” one short, bulky man finally breathed. An even shorter woman to his left elbowed him in the ribs.

Had he not told any of his coworkers about her? What was she, some dirty little secret?

No, that’s not right, she chided herself. He wouldn’t have brought her with him to the barbeque if he didn’t want people to meet her.

Tim went around the circle, introducing the group. Names were never her specialty, but she tried her hardest to concentrate. After she’d shaken hands and said hello, Dwayne leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Good to see you again.”

Ah. She loved Dwayne. He was a teddy bear. “Thanks. Wait, I thought you were deploying again.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Any day now, they tell me. Any day now.” He scoffed. “Which could mean in an hour, or in three weeks. Meanwhile, my guys get to suffer through never knowing if this is the day they leave. Hovers over their heads like an anchor. Sucks.”

There were murmurs of sympathy from everyone, all of whom seemed to relate to the unfortunate situation. After a moment the men slipped into what Skye could only consider “shop talk.” Weapons and training exercises and travel arrangements sounded like gibberish to her, but she did her best to at least appear like she was following the conversation.

A tug on the crook of her elbow had Skye looking behind her.

The woman Tim had introduced as Beth was standing, one hand on Skye’s arm. She gave her a warm smile.

“Time to escape the man cave,” she said with a wink and a grin. She tilted her head to indicate a group of women twenty feet away. “It’s safer over there, in the estrogen zone.”

“You had me at ‘escape,’” Skye joked and followed Beth, who linked arms with her. Already, Skye felt the buzzing nerves start to settle down. Here was someone that had reached out. Maybe Beth would become her new Tasha. She could use a best friend about now.

“I know my ears start to ring and my brain starts to ooze after ten seconds of listening to that macho stuff,” Beth explained as she led Skye to the gaggle of women. She carried a Southern accent dripping with genuine warmth. She could have been Dwayne’s sister with that accent, if they’d looked anything alike. “I just had to save you.”

“You are my new best friend,” Skye said earnestly, and Beth laughed.

“Ladies,” Beth announced as they approached the circle. “This is Skye. She just married Tim O’Shay and she’s new to the area.”

Heads swiveled, and once again Skye felt herself being evaluated. For a moment she longed for Vegas, where nobody looked twice at you whether you were wearing a ball gown or an Elvis costume. Everyone stood out, which meant nobody stood out. It was safe, comfortable.

Beth performed introductions. More names she’d forget. Skye slyly checked each woman’s outfit—as all females do—with each introduction.

Many were wearing simple jeans or capris and shirts. A few wore khakis. Some were in skirts and cardigans, much like Susie O’Shay. But they all seemed to wear more muted colors; their outfits were subtle.

“Where did you get your skirt?” one asked with a smile. “I love the color.”

Name. What was her name? Amanda. Yes. “Thank you. I actually got it in Vegas, at this cute little boutique that’s way off the strip. Some of the best shopping is so far off the strip you wouldn’t find it if you didn’t live there.”

She’d worn her favorite skirt and shirt, sort of a confidence boost. The vibrant purple of the skirt had cheered her up in the privacy of her own room. But now she felt loud. Garish compared to the other spouses in their muted pallets and simple outfits.

“I actually really like this shirt.” The woman to her left reached out and fingered the puffed sleeve on her shirt. “It’d look awful on me, but it’s great with the skirt.”

“It wouldn’t look awful on you,” Skye protested, starting to feel a little better.

When in doubt, a woman’s group turns to fashion. They started to comment on her jewelry, her sandals. What shopping was like in Vegas. And Skye relaxed with each question. They might not dress like her, but they didn’t seem to think she was a freak either.

“It’s like, boho chic, right?” one asked, tilting her head and studying Skye from head to toe and back again. “Very Mary-Kate Olsen. Though sometimes she just looks homeless.” Her eyes widened, as if she just realized what she’d said. “And you look cute,” she added quickly, and the group laughed.

“Okay, who wants to go grab some pig? I’m starving,” Beth announced, and others agreed. Skye followed the women to the food line, grateful for something else to talk about besides her own fashion choices. They had been kind, even complimentary. But it just served as another reminder that she was very different from the other women.

Variety
is
the
spice
of
life.

Except, looking around, Skye realized she seemed to be the only spice at the party. At least from her eye line.

She contemplated heading to Tim’s table, but all the women sat together and she was having a good time with them. Plus, there was only so much gun-talk a pacifist could listen to before wanting to cry.

As she dug into her salad, one asked if she worked. Skye talked about her job at Fletchers, and a few others mentioned their jobs. One nurse who worked at the naval hospital like Madison. Another hospital worker, this time clerical. One teacher. And the rest stayed at home, either with children or without.

Beth told a joke, and Skye couldn’t help but laugh, full out. It felt good, too good. She hadn’t laughed that hard in a while. Then she realized that others had laughed as well, but more lightly. A polite chuckle, really. And here she was, braying like a donkey.

Well, it’d been funny.

The other women seemed to be more reserved, but not in a snotty way. No, they were just more quiet in spirit. Their very nature seemed a little more relaxed, calm.

Skye’s spirit, as her mother used to say, was louder than a ticker-tape parade.

So
you’ll just be the big mouth. Every group’s got one.

An hour later, they all gathered around an open space while a few of the Marines were coerced into playing a relay game designed to make them look silly. Tim walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her torso; she felt relaxed enough to lean into his supportive embrace.

“How’s it going?” he asked in her ear.

“It’s going well,” she said and meant it. Mostly.

***

Tim watched from a distance as Skye laughed with another wife. And he breathed.

Skye—the beautiful, funny woman he’d married—had been winning people over left and right. Nobody had made a huge deal about their marriage to him, or to Skye as much as he could tell. Minus the debacle with McNelson and his drunk ramblings, the barbecue had gone well. And as far as he could tell, she wasn’t holding a grudge against him for not mentioning the gathering sooner.

“She’s not what I would have expected,” a voice said behind him.

Tim felt the temperature around him drop twenty degrees, and he internally groaned as he turned and held out a hand to his CO. “Sir. Afternoon.”

Colonel Blackwater shook and clasped his other hand over Tim’s shoulder. Though the man had an enviable military career and was a respectable CO to serve under, Tim could never entirely shake the uneasy feeling around him. He seemed to set himself in the father figure role for most officers, playing both professional and personal confidant.

Tim didn’t need a father figure. He already had one. A great one.

“She’s unexpected,” Col. Blackwater repeated.

Tim felt backed into a corner. He didn’t want to say anything about his personal life, period. It was nobody’s damn business unless he chose to share. But it never paid to tell the boss to back the fuck off, either. “She’s great,” he said neutrally.

“From what I’ve seen of you, your wife is the complete opposite of you in almost every way.”

“Opposites attract.” How soon could he escape?

“So goes the saying,” the Colonel said wryly. “Ah. Here’s my own other half.”

A woman with shoulder-length dark hair and tight lips came to stand beside him.

“Tim, I believe you’ve met my wife before, Patricia. Patricia, Captain Timothy O’Shay.”

“Ma’am,” Tim said, shaking her offered hand.

“Captain O’Shay,” she responded. Her lips barely ever moved; her expression never changed. It was like talking to a wax figure in Madame Tussauds museum. In the past he’d asked her to call him Tim, but she’d ignored his request. So he stopped bothering. The Colonel wasn’t kidding when he said Patricia was his other half. Mrs. Blackwater was his match in every way, including the old-school family values she tried to push on every wife she met. The woman always had a pinched, almost pained expression on her face. Likely still recovering from the pole she had shoved up her—

“Tim, hey.” Skye appeared at his side, nearly out of breath. Her hair was falling around her face in a curtain of unruly curls, her face was flushed, and she was smiling.

He wanted to kiss her sun-warmed cheeks. Let his fingers thread through her heavy hair. Feel her sweet, curved body pressed up against his side.

No, he really wanted to find the nearest horizontal spot, flip her skirt up, and consummate their damn marriage. Again.

But he refused to give the CO even a small hint into his personal life if he could help it. Maybe that was childish, but oh well. Keeping a small distance between himself and Skye—which hurt more than he wanted—he said, “Skye, you remember my CO, Colonel Blackwater.”

“Right, hi.” She held out a hand and shook firmly, a friendly smile pasted on her face. But he could see the nerves taking over as she smoothed hair back from her face and her fingers shook. And she was chewing on her lip again, just like in the car on the way over.

“This is my wife, Patricia.”

Patricia held out a limp hand, giving Skye an obvious once-over. “Interesting outfit for a barbeque,” she said, her lips pinching together.

“Oh. Um. Thank you. I like bright colors,” Skye said, her voice trailing off quietly.

Damn. This wasn’t how he wanted her to feel. “I think we were about to make the rounds and say good-bye to everyone. If you’ll excuse—”

“How about dinner next weekend?” Colonel Blackwater said, cutting Tim off without hesitation. “I was thinking of inviting a few other officers and their wives over for a little get-together. Saturday night, our house.”

“I don’t know. Skye might have to work,” he put in quickly before she could say a word. When she shifted to look at him, he put his arm around her waist and squeezed meaningfully. She kept silent. God bless his intelligent wife for being quick on the uptake.