Off Base(38)

“No, thanks.”

“Course not.” He took a long sip, his dark eyes surveying her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shifted where she stood. Right now dipping her feet in acid would have felt better than enduring another moment in these boots.

This time when he lifted the bottle from his mouth those well-carved lips curled in a smile that made her stomach flip. Damn, she hated that he had this effect on her. Mostly because it meant she was like every other girl and not immune to him. She didn’t want to be like every other girl. She wasn’t. She was different. For starters, she was his friend. The women traipsing in and out of his bedroom could never claim that. That should be enough. It should more than satisfy her.

“You’re a lightweight. One of those girls who can’t stand the taste of beer and drank Strawberry Hill all through high school. You probably never even got drunk back then. Just took your five sips of Hill and faked a buzz.”

Crossing her arms, she glared at him even though he was closer to the truth than she liked to admit.

He chuckled as though he read her mind. “I’m right, aren’t I, sweetheart? I can see you now in some farmer’s field. Giggling and acting drunk. Probably letting some guy cop a feel and blaming it on the booze.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. There was an edge of insult to his words. He never talked to her like this. It pissed her off until she remembered what he was going through. This wasn’t about her. There was a reason he was pounding drinks like there was no tomorrow.

She moved to the table and plopped down on a chair. “It’s okay,” she announced as she tugged off one of her boots.

He frowned. “What’s okay?”

“You can be nasty. I’ll be your whipping dog if it makes you feel better. I know you don’t mean it, and I know you’re hurting.”

His dark eyes flashed and he pushed off the counter, his knuckles whitening where they clutched the neck of his bottle. “Bullshit.”

Maybe she shouldn’t push him, but he needed a friend. Someone who didn’t hold any punches and spoke honestly to him. Someone he couldn’t intimidate.

“Cullen, you need to talk about it,” she said gently.

He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t get all shrink on me, Huntley.”

She yanked off her second boot and dropped it on the floor. “There’s no shame in how you’re feeling. You’re entitled to feel bad. You can even take a night and get hammered.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Grieve, cry … but eventually you’re going to have to talk about it—”

He cursed and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “You want me to talk? You want me to tell you how I pushed Xander into the program, and when he had misgivings, I encouraged him to stick with it.”

She winced. “That’s your job. To train and support and encourage—”

“Yeah, well, I should have been more objective. I should have seen that he didn’t have what it took.”

“You don’t know that,” she protested, her heart aching for him. “It could have happened to anyone.” She hated that he blamed himself. She knew how much he cared for his trainees. He gave everything, making sure they were prepared for the realities of what they were going to face over there.

“But it happened to him. One of my guys,” he said flatly. He turned, removed another beer out of the fridge and disappeared into the bedroom.

She stared at her discarded boots, wondering what to do. It wasn’t as though she could get in her car and drive away. She needed to call a cab or her brother or just accept she was staying the night, which really wouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time they crashed under the same roof.

And there was the not-so-minor fact that she didn’t want to leave him alone when he was like this.

After a moment, she rose and followed Cullen, stopping in the threshold of his room.

Her heart constricted at the sight of him in front of his closet. The muscles and sinew of his back rippled as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Her mouth dried as she focused on the line of his spine, the way it dipped and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

He turned, blasting her with his bare chest. The washboard abs, the happy trail that beckoned questing fingers. His hands moved, stopping at the button of his fly.

Her lips parted on a breath.

“Like the show?” He cocked a dark eyebrow and hesitated only a moment before shrugging and sliding his jeans down his narrow hips. He wore boxer briefs, and her ovaries kicked to life at the sight of the impressive bulge there. Dear God, how big would that thing be fully aroused?

He was beautiful. Toned and carved from marble. His skin was tanned, hinting at some Mediterranean lineage. The saliva rushed back into her mouth. She wanted to kiss and lick and bite every inch of his body. One of her dates better pan out soon because she couldn’t keep eyeballing Cullen like this.

She shook her head. “Stop being so arrogant.”

“It’s who I am. You know that.” He winked at her as he flipped on the TV and moved to pull back the covers.

“What are you doing?

“I’m going to watch TV and finish this beer until I pass out,” he replied evenly as he slid beneath the dark blue sheets.