Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(67)

Something that gives me hope that my trip back wasn’t for a few nights of drinking and French toast. Something that tells me I better know what I want in my life, if I sit down for coffee with her, because things will only escalate from there.

For once, I don’t mind adjusting the career path I’ve carefully laid out, not if she wants to be a part of my world. There’s a shit load of questions to answer before it’s a possibility.

But I’m willing to consider the option that I might need to make a change to where I’m going in life. Our first meeting gives me a good idea of how this is going to play out. What I’m not sure about: if Katya’s figured it out yet or not.





Chapter Twenty Two: Katya


The nervousness I experienced about running the event is nothing compared to the emotions flying through me at the prospect of having coffee with Sawyer. I still can’t quite believe he’s here. Or that he actually spoke to me.

He even smiled. Not the terse one he used to give me at camp, but a real one, like he gives others.

After my letter to him, I didn’t think it was possible for us to meet again without there being too much bad blood between us. He was so calm and contained, though, I have no idea what he’s thinking. So he asked me for coffee. Maybe he’s being polite, for Petr’s sake, wanting to rebuild a bridge that can at least hold our weight so we don’t upset my brother.

I can’t read too much into this. If nothing else, coffee might give me the ability to say a few things I’ve been rolling around in my head. Closure.

Then it hits me; he’s looking for closure, too. It dampens my spirits but does nothing to stop the fever inside me or the fact I have trouble focusing long enough to think straight.

His smile and the way he regarded me with familiar intensity …

It’s too much to think about.

The rest of the day flies by. On the ride home, I’m trying to figure out if I want to text him now or wait until I get back. I don’t want to seem either eager or the opposite, unwilling. Because I’m dying for some time with him and dreading it at the same time.

Disgusted with the emotions I thought had somewhat under control, I tuck the phone in my purse without texting.

The party is raging out back when I get there at eight. The evening schedule was a formal dinner and after-party style night. Open bar, electronica blasting, a dance floor on the back lawn …

My old scene. I wind my way through the crowd onto the deck, where couples are snuggled up together around fire pits. They appear cozy and happy. I’m trying to figure out if I’d ever be that relaxed around Sawyer when I trip over my own feet.

I catch my balance, tug off the high heels and continue through the kitchen and up the back stairs. Padding down the hallway where my room is, I frown when I see my door open. I walk in and toss my jacket and shoes on the bed. The closet light is on.

“Petr!” I complain before I get there.

“Just showing Sawyer the ammo depot,” he calls cheerfully.

He calls my shoe closet the ammo depot, because of how well I throw shoes when I’m pissed. I’m not sure if he’s seriously proud of the fact he organized it alphabetically by designer a few weeks ago or if he’s messing with me. Having him home is great, except for the fact that he is always straightening up everything of mine. I like my messes the way they are.

“I don’t think Sawyer is interested in my shoes,” I retort and enter, crossing my arms.

“It’s fascinating,” Petr replies.

I have a couple hundred pairs of shoes, if not more. They’re over by the Jimmy Choo rack.

“This pair cost half what my Land Rover did,” Petr says picking up a rare pair.

“Definitely couldn’t buy these on a captain’s salary,” Sawyer mutters.

“I buy my own shoes!” I snap. “I have a trust fund.”

“This is what you use it on?” Sawyer glances at me. His intent gaze lingers. The combination of his chiseled features, direct look and the cling of his dark sweater to his lean frame cause the base of my belly to grow warm.

It’s something like his reaction to my shoes that indicates we might be too far a part for any bridge to connect us. I’m not sure how to answer. Or even if I can right now. I’m staring at his body.

“The good thing is that you don’t have to buy her shoes on your salary. Her trust fund will last a few lifetimes,” Petr says. “You’ve got one thing going for you at least.”

We both look at him. My brother sounds crazy right now. He’s definitely not helping the growing tension.

“Just in case anyone was wondering.” Petr shifts uncomfortably.

I roll my eyes and leave them in my shoe closet. God knows why anyone but me is interested in my collection. Snatching clothes to change into, I escape to my bathroom and swap out the dress for jeans, grateful to be back in comfy clothing after the long day.

My phone chimes, and I glance down. My stomach flutters to see Sawyer’s name pop up.

Coffee/cocoa on the deck, 5 min?

Part of me wants to mess with him and say I need at least seven minutes.

Another part wants to run down now and melt in his arms.

“What is wrong with me?” I’m twenty-five and feel like I’m fifteen.

I don’t answer but end up rushing anyway, the way I did at camp when he told me to hurry and I told him I had no intention of doing so.