Crazy Girl(30)

I clicked on several of the links, reading articles about Wren and his work with Wounded Warriors. He’d been showcased in many magazines and even interviewed on television for his compassion, determination, and hard work with the foundation. As if that wasn’t impressive enough, I watched a few videos he’d created himself, tributes to our country and his fellow brothers-in-arms. The videos were top notch, full of beautiful and tragic images that tugged at my heart. He was good at this. Leaning back in my chair, I squinted my eyes, feeling perplexed. He hadn’t mentioned any of this during our encounters. Not one word. Why hide it? It was amazing. It bothered me a little because clearly, he was incredibly passionate, but I would have never known had I not looked online. Was he just modest? Humble?

“Hmm,” I continued to mumble to myself as I rolled that thought over. Every interaction I’d had with him he’d seemed as if he was straddling the line between confidence and being egotistical. He had an air of mystery about him, and I hadn’t quite decided if it was an admirable one or not. In some ways, I envied his confidence. He seemed so sure of himself, which was completely unlike me.

With this new revelation about him, I wasn’t sure what to think, or how to feel, but I did realize there was a depth to Wren. On our first date I’d gazed upon a shallow pool of a man wishing it was deeper. I’d pigeonholed him as a puddle. Now it seemed he was a lake, maybe even an ocean. I felt something rush through me and I flinched. I so desperately wanted to be let in. He was hooking me. Damn. Damn. Damn. And there it was…that draw—that part of me that honed in on the complicated man. Someone might as well have tied a tourniquet around my arm and tapped a vein; I was itching for a fix.

Glancing over at my cell phone, I scrunched my nose. I didn’t want to do what I was thinking about doing. My pride was shaking its fist at me, scolding me. He should text first. He said he’d call, and he didn’t. Wait it out. Be strong.

Taking a pen from the cup on my desk, I wrote on my hand: Where are your lady-balls? It wasn’t my most eloquent inspirational reminder, but it was to the point. Picking up my phone, I began texting Wren while my pride shouted at me how weak I was.

My pride could be such an asshole.

Me: Hope you’re having a good day.

After I sent it, I dropped my phone on the desk and flopped back in my chair with a groan. That was probably the dumbest text I could have sent. My pride had been right—that was a terrible idea. It was a text that didn’t warrant a response. And any response it might have inspired would be basic at best. A, yeah, you too, or thanks. Exiting out of the web browser, I decided it was time to get back to work. All I really wanted was something—anything—to make me think of anything other than the mysterious man that was Wren. I was in big trouble.





Complicated





Today we were doing tactical training—one of my favorite courses. Mostly because it involved guns, and like any respectable man…I loved guns. We’d just finished running a scenario and were cleaning up when I got Hannah’s text.

Hannah: Hope you’re having a good day.

“What are you smiling about?” Kegs asked as he tossed a bag in the back of the field truck. Jerking my head, I shoved my phone back in my pocket.

“Nothing.”

“Was that a text from crazy girl?” he jested, humor and teasing laced in his tone. I knew women all around the world would sneer at us calling Hannah that, but it had become a bit of joke between she and I. And I wished her no harm. The truth was, she was crazy. But in an odd twist of fate, I was equally terrified and intrigued by it. “She’s got you smiling at your phone. Man, you’re whipped already.”

After slamming the tailgate shut, I flipped him off. “You should talk.” I snorted. Kegs had been married for seven years and was three kids deep. His wife Tracey lived states away, which sucked majorly. But he made damn good money working here, so it was a sacrifice they were willing to make. Hopefully he’d be able to move them all here soon. For now, Kegs went home at the end of every course for a week or more, depending on when our next group of students would arrive. The distance might test the limits of some marriages, but it only seemed to strengthen Kegs and Tracey’s. But if he was going to start talking about a man being whipped…he was the definition of it. So I wasn’t taking any of his crap.

Once we were in the truck, Kegs drove us back to the facility. Taking my phone out, I debated texting Hannah back. I’d felt bad about not calling her last night like I’d told her I would, but I was honest when I’d told her it had been a long day. One of our students had broken an ankle and anytime someone got injured it involved a shit-ton of paperwork. By the time I’d made it home I was dog-shit tired and just wanted to go to bed. I wished I could say that kind of long day was rare, but it tended to be more common than not. Which was the main culprit for why I was still single.

“You going to text her, or just sit there and stare at your phone?” Kegs asked as he pulled into the facility parking lot.

I needed to text her back. There was no question about that. The real question was…with what? Grimacing at the thought, I decided to take a few minutes to think about it. I knew what she wanted. She wanted what most women wanted. Attention. Interest. I was interested, though a tad terrified of her, and she had my attention, no doubt, but my work schedule, coupled with the distance between us, was going to make things complicated. Still, I kept coming back. I had no idea what kind of baggage she was carrying emotionally, but it wasn’t hard to see she’d been burned by someone. Women like that tended to need a bit more…of everything. And I barely had enough to give a woman who only needed enough. The last thing I wanted to do was be yet another man to disappoint her. It was one of those moments, as a man, when what you want is fighting what you think is right. I wanted her, but the right thing to do would be to let her go. “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, fisting my cell in my lap. “I was just thinking our schedule is nuts, and she’s the kind of woman that’s going to need attention and time. Time I don’t have. I should have never gotten anything started with her.”