Page 5 of Wrong Number, Right Soldier (Wrong Number, Right Guy #11)

Trey

‘I’m falling in love with you.’

I hold those six words against my chest for days until I can hear her voice again. See her face. Hold her.

Kiss her.

I didn’t get to say the words back, didn’t get to tell her how I feel, all the ways she’s turned my world and my heart completely off kilter, in the most exhilarating way. It’s for the best; I want to whisper them, instead, right to her ear.

Not falling.

Fallen .

I love Saylis.

And so, maybe Mom will forgive me for the cardinal sin I’m committing right now: getting off the flight at DFW Airport instead of Austin, where my mom now lives. I love my mom—so fucking much. But it’s taken thirty-one years to reach Saylis. I’m not taking one more detour before I get to her.

We’re on high security alert, so we’re unable to use our cell phones or share any details about our route home or the timeline until we’re on American soil.

The no-contact weighs heavy on my shoulders, especially since our very last call cut out at the worst possible moment.

Deployments can be very frustrating in that way.

I don’t know why it happened, but I know that it happens.

Any potential threat to security or the mission, even outside of our unit or base, means our access to communication is quickly and quietly snipped—no explanation asked for or given. Only acceptance, and waiting.

It takes several long days to get home. Being stationed in Kuwait means I got lucky this time.

My last deployment was Iraq, and on our way home our second stop was Kuwait, where we stayed for five days before proceeding onward.

Back then, I was just a young, green 11B: eleven-bravo technically; “eleven-bang” endearingly—a true grunt soldier.

We not-so-lovingly referred to any and all military stationed in Kuwait as ‘ fobbits ’—with their cozy beds in a “nice” base which they rarely had to leave the safety of, while we’d worked outside the wire (off-base, in combat zones) basically daily.

Fobbit or foot soldier, it’s hell to be gone.

And now, with a girl like Saylis to look forward to who is waiting for me?

It’s been even harder to be away. Home , I realize now more than ever, is more than the place where you live: it’s the people you love, the ones you need like oxygen in your lungs and your blood.

I grew up in Dallas, went to school there, took my happy ass down to the Army recruitment center where I passed the ASVAB only by the thinnest skin of my teeth.

And she was just…there. The perfect girl. My girl . Just right there all along. What if we had somehow met back then? What if—

No . We are not going to sit here and play what-if. We are just going home .

Some of our unit departs at LaGuardia, the final stop for a handful of the troops, but I don’t de-plane.

I’ve got almost fifteen more hours of travel between the stops and the layovers, but thankfully, I’ve also got communications back.

I eagerly FaceTime Saylis, but she doesn’t pick up, and my heart sinks heavy into my gut.

Maybe she’s getting another massage.

Maybe…she’s out with friends.

Maybe she called Derek .

No, she fucking wouldn’t.

Ignoring every deluded and invasive thought that hates my brain, I send her a text with my ETA, flight number, final destination. The address to my place in Dallas I’ve always kept, for a number of reasons that never really made any sense, but now they perfectly, exquisitely do.

This was always going to happen .

And this: ‘Call me if you can, or just meet me at the gate – if you show your ID at the ticket counter they’ll give you a pass for security. I’m coming to you, sweetheart.’

#

Saylis

“Holy shit, Say. He’s coming now ?”

“Like really soon. Oh my god, it’s happening. What should I do, what should I say—what should I wear ?”

“Nothing, honey.”

“Er, Kim. I don’t think I’ll be allowed in the airport in nothing .”

She makes a face. “Nothing special , I mean. Remember how you looked when you first FaceTimed him?”

“Eek, please don’t remind me.”

“And he was enamored with you!”

“Brain damage. It’s the only logical explanation.” To be honest, he’s seen me in even worse states since that first call. I can’t always be camera-ready; I can just always be ready .

I settle on a simple fitted top and loose jeans. Comfortable but cute. Not trying too hard. Not not trying. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just headed to the airport.

I’m headed to the airport !

There’s this sense of time and distance expanding and collapsing, over and over again.

Is this how it is? I couldn’t talk to him for several days while he was coming home.

Aside from the impromptu mission he’d gone on—which I now realize may not have been impromptu at all, he just couldn’t mention it— we never went days without talking, texting, or FaceTiming, not since that first night-slash-very-early morning.

I hated the no-contact periods: those two weeks, and then this past week. I never knew how ferociously you could miss a voice . Like an insomniac misses sleep. Like a starved, wild animal misses a full belly. Like a dying person misses life.

Oh my god, I really am insane .

After I check in at the ticketing counter, I’m permitted through the security line and all the way to his gate, like he said. I wait and wait until I see his plane. It taxis so fucking slowly up to the gate I could explode from my body.

Finally, the door to the jet bridge opens.

And then all of a sudden, he is more than a voice, more than a face on a screen. He is tall and brawn and masculine-scented and here, right here , in full Army uniform dropping his bags onto the floor and wrapping me up into his warm, solid body.

“ My girl ,” is all he says, before his mouth falls down onto mine.

Our first kiss is an explosion of sensation against my lips and tongue.

Our rhythm has no manners, zero regard for onlookers.

It’s messy and hungry at first, the savagery of our desperation on full display, until we finally just sink .

I meet him where he meets me, something new that we create, ours .

My heart goes so berserk in my chest I’m certain he can feel it.

Without effort he lifts me higher against him, so my neck doesn’t have to crane so far back, effectively raising my feet off the floor.

Onlookers respond with a collective sigh.

As if he can’t even hear them, his hands start to roam, and a low groan unfurls into my mouth. My body responds instantly with tingles and greed.

“Get a room!” I hear someone call out.

Can we, please?

“Oh let them be, they are young and in love!”

And seriously thinking about that room .

Trey sets me on my feet, slowly slowing everything down. He pulls back to look at me, touching my hair, my face, his pupils blown wide in his midnight eyes. And I could swear I can see what’s on his mind in those eyes.

Me too, babe. I have definitely thought of him like that . Oh so many times. But if I had known what he actually felt like, tasted like, my fantasies would have been wildly more colorful and intense. Now my body is screaming at me. Get more of that, now !

“You’re here.” I smile up at him, utterly drunk on the delicious feeling that he’s actually…here. This feels like the most real moment I’ve ever had in my life, and a dream, all at once.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He draws me into his arms again, holding me tight, breathing deep. “ Finally . I’m so fucking happy.”

I go for it then: “Did you um…hear what I told you, before the line cut out?”

Trey puts just inches of space between us, looks down, and smiles, tenderly.

“I love you, Saylis.” And he dips his head toward me, kissing me again, softer this time, longer, slower.

Then he asks, “Was there something you wanted to tell me ?” He gives me this cute, Cheshire-cat grin that makes me just… want to mess with him a little bit.

“Yes.” I wrinkle my nose up. “You need a shower.”

“Truer words.” He chuckles, warm and deep from his chest. “C’mon. Let me show you my place.”

“Okay.” I smile up at him. I’m not used to looking…

up at him. We’ve always been screen to screen.

I remember him telling me he kept a place here.

“We can take my car there. I mean, obviously, I have a car. That’s how I got here.

” Stop it, you’re rambling . Meanwhile Trey has gone a little quiet.

I glance at him sidelong as we walk through the airport, his big, strong hand wrapped around mine. “You okay?” I check in.

“Yeah. Just…the driving thing. It’s kind of unsettling at first.”

“Oh. Would you rather drive?”

“Normally? Always. Not today.”

I don’t ask him to elaborate.