Page 51 of Badd Ass
“Sounds good.”
And that’s what we did. Hand in hand, just strolling the boardwalk next to the cruise ships and fishing boats and sailboats, telling stories about our childhoods. Zane did a lot of the talking, which was fine by me; he had an endless stream of hysterical stories about his brothers.
And then things turned to our experiences in the military, and I told him a few of the antics my unit had gotten up, pranking each other mercilessly, and he talked more about his friend. Specifically Marco, the one who’d been killed. I had a feeling he found it cathartic to talk about Campy with me, since I would understand the strangely intense bonds you form with people in your unit, especially if you’ve seen combat, which I had, since I’d been a “Sixty-Eight Whiskey”, a 68W—a line medic, meaning I went with the Joes on hazardous missions to provide trauma care.
We eventually ended up on a bench near the docks, looking out over the water as the sun set behind the mountains, and we were there when the moon rose, still talking.
I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to one person for that long in my life. Even Isaac, we’d only get to see each other for a few hours at a time, and honestly, we didn’t exactly spend a lot of time just talking—we were teenagers, after all. But this? With Zane? I just couldn’t fathom ending the conversation. The thought never even entered my head. We sat, and we talked, and so many hours passed I lost track. And then, when the sky started to go hazy gray with oncoming dawn, he led us to a place called Pioneer Café that was open twenty-four hours on the weekends, and we ordered an early breakfast and talked until the sun was high.
Eventually, I was yawning and my eyes were burning, and even Zane, conditioned to long hours of being awake, seemed to be dragging.
“I need to sleep,” I said, pushing away my now-empty plate.
Zane wiped yolk off his plate with the last of his toast and stuffed it in his mouth, eyeing me. “I have a suggestion,” he said between chews. “Feel free to call me crazy.”
“All right,” I said, sounding as wary as I felt.
“Come back to my place with me.”
I made a face at him. “Why would that be crazy?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “That wasn’t the crazy part.”
“So what is?”
“We go back to my place, we get in my bed…” He trailed off dramatically.
“Yeah…” I prompted. “And?”
He leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “And we just sleep.”
I sank back against the booth, blinking at him. “Thatiscrazy.” I ripped up the remnants of my napkin. “Just sleep?”
He nodded. “Just sleep.” His fingertip traced the bumps of my knuckles. “I don’t work until four tomorrow, so we can sleep in. I’ll make you breakfast—well, actually, Xavier will make you breakfast and I’ll take credit.”
I nudged my plate. “Isn’t this breakfast?”
“Nope. Breakfast is whatever meal you eat after you wake up, regardless of what time it is.”
“Oh.”
He tossed a pair of twenties on the table and tilted his head at me. “So, Amarantha. What do you say?”
“I say…I like the way you say my full name, and I also say…let’s go non-euphemistically sleep together.”
Chapter 10
Zane
We walked backto the bar, still talking, this time about our favorite movies and actors.
I’ve never been much of a talker, never was one to stay up with the guys chewing the fat all night. Brock, Xavier, Bax, Cane and Cor, they can all talk till the cows come home. They’ll talk your damn ear off if you let ‘em, especially Bax. But me? I like to listen, like to sit back and watch. I’ll talk when I’ve got something to say, but once I’m done, I just don’t have any more words. But with Mara, there just always seemed to be something else to talk about. I think I told her more about myself and my life and my time as SEAL than I have anyone…maybe even everyone I’ve ever known put together. I told her shit I never even talked to Campy about, and that man was my best friend in the world. She just…brought it out of me.
The bar was dark when we got back, all the stools up on the tables. I led her upstairs to the apartment and, unsurprisingly, Xavier was at the kitchen table, some kind of thick textbook on the table, a laptop next to it, with a bunch of electronics bits and pieces and doodads and gizmos and gadgets spread out around him. He was reading the textbook at lightning speed, flipping pages every few seconds, and every once in a while he’d do something with the wires and motors and computer chips, tap at the laptop, fiddle a bit more, and then go back to reading.
Mara stopped at the table, watching. “What are you doing, Xavier?”
He blinked at her for a moment, as if registering that she was there and that he was expected to respond. He kind of goes into a trance when he’s working like that, so he was a little slow on the uptake.