Hard Beat(11)

She murmurs something about understanding that I’m not sure I believe as I pick up my phone and head toward the bathroom to try and get some privacy in this tiny room.

“Dude. Do you have any clue what f*cking time it is?” I ask the question to save face on why I sound winded, but then I look at my watch and realize it’s two o’clock in the damn morning.

“No. No damn clue, but you picked up awfully fast, so I know you’re not sleeping.” His statement hangs on the line like a question, but I just ignore it.

“What do you need, Rafe?” I glance over my shoulder to see BJ lying on the bed but covering herself up with the sheet. Shit. Well, I guess I can look on the bright side; more sex might be in my immediate future. That’s never a bad thing.

“Got your new photographer lined up. Name’s Bo Croslyn. I set it up for you two to meet in the normal place,” he says, referring to the hotel’s one pseudo–conference room all of us correspondents have taken over as our place to do official business when we need privacy and we’re not out in the field.

I knew this phone call was coming, knew I was going to get a new photog, but for some reason having it actually happen makes me feel like I’m betraying Stella. Ridiculous.

“Experience?” I ask as I take the condom off and toss it in the trash can next to the toilet. The line fills with silence while I turn the faucet on and clean up. “Rafe? What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing abroad just —”

“Nothing abroad?” My voice escalates. “Are you f*cking kidding me? You’re sending me a goddamn newbie? Some fresh-faced kid that’s going to get himself killed… or better yet, get me killed. What the —”

“Calm down. That’s not what —”

“This. Is. Calm.” I grit the words out. The false calm from the whiskey and the orgasm that were like a salve to soothe the invisible wounds is now gone. “Jesus H., man. After Stella… after how that went down, you’re gonna do this to me?”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Bo’s pictures are killer.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I catch a fleeting glimpse of BJ in the mirror, but I don’t turn to look because I’m so damn busy being pissed at Rafe.

“That’s not what I meant, Tanner.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Just wait. I think you guys will really click.”

“I don’t need you to bullshit me. I really don’t. The only click I need from Bo is the damn camera’s.”

Rafe chuckles into the line, but I know he’s just humoring me. I don’t have a damn leg to stand on since I’m the one who begged to be back here.

“Oh wow. I didn’t realize how late it was there. I’m so sorry,” he says, feigning apology to change the subject.

“Uh-huh.”

“Meet Bo at ten a.m. I’m late for a meeting.”

“Rafe —” The rest of my comment dies on my lips when the line goes dead. Fucking hell. Seriously?

I slam my fist against the cheap bathroom counter, but I haven’t even been here long enough to have any products on it to rattle. Something about the thought hits home. Why? Because I’m back and it’s all so different but the same too. I toss the phone onto the towel there, brace my hands on the Formica edge, and let my head hang down for a brief moment to rein in my frustration.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say as I walk back into the room. My steps falter when I take in the empty bed and my clothes as the sole items strewn on the floor. My immediate reaction is to stride toward the door, call her back, and apologize. Hell yes, it was a one-night stand, but my mother raised me to respect women.

Then I laugh at the thought, finding humor in the notion, considering what BJ and I just did: wham, bam, and not even a thank you, ma’am.

When I realize how stupid I am for almost chasing after her since I don’t want anything more, I take my hand off the door, turn around, and stand there naked with my hands on my hips. I glance around my room to see if anything was disturbed. People are ruthless trying to get a leg up on a story in this industry, but shit, I’ve been here for less than a day; it’s not like I have some big scoop worth stealing. Besides, I’m smart enough not to leave anything out if I did.

Look at me, paranoid already, and I’ve only been back in the game for less than twenty-four hours. Just like riding a bike. I sigh at my stupidity and make my way to the bed, but with Rafe’s words still ringing in my ears, BJ’s kiss still on my lips, and perfume on my sheets, I know sleep will be hard to find.

I sit on the edge of the mattress and lie back, scrubbing my hand over my face. What a f*cking day. Back in this land I love and hate all at the same time with ghosts I need to let go. Except I f*cking can’t. Add to that how goddamn good it was to see all of the guys again and the unanticipated bout of sex.

The longer I lie here, the more I think about everything. I blame jet lag for my inability to sleep, but the problem is that no matter how much I try to pull my thoughts from BJ, they keep going back to her. It has to be her damn perfume clinging to my skin and the sheets, but I don’t get up to take a shower.

Even though I need sleep to get a leg up on the wicked time difference that’s going to hit me with a sledgehammer in the coming days, it doesn’t come no matter how hard I try. So I divert my thoughts and make a mental list of sources I want to contact by week’s end, military and locals, to try and get some information on what Pauly was talking about earlier, the rumored meeting of high-level opposition. But the moment I close my eyes to will sleep to come, I see BJ and her sexy-as-hell body laid out before me on the bed. I hear that little moan she made right before she came that was a plea to both move faster and to prolong things all at the same time.