I frown. Shit. I’m predictable as hell. Have I really been that shallow since I returned from Afghanistan? I rub at the old bullet wound in my thigh. I’ve got another to match it on the back of my shoulder, as well as some ugly shrapnel scars running down my right hip to upper thigh. The bullet wound in my leg aches after a solid sparring session, but nothing ibuprofen, a hot shower, and a glass of wine won’t fix.
“Your silence answers that question. What’s the deal with this woman?” Trent asks, stripping off his sweaty shorts, leaving him in boxer briefs.
I stand up and focus on his face because no man wants another man looking at his junk. Period.
“Not sure. She’s beautiful. Blonde with these sad eyes. Makes me want to put some light in ’em, you know? But she’s timid, shy. Doesn’t say much. It’s effort getting her to share.”
Trent crosses his arms over his massive chest and rubs a hand through his facial scruff. “You’re gonna have to break her of that. One thing I know about women is communication is key. I have no fucking idea what Viv is thinking ninety percent of the time. And usually, whatever it is, is fucked-up shit she doesn’t need to be worrying over.” He frowns. “Like how she looks after having a baby. If I think she’s fat. Do I like her meals? Is she a good mother? Fuck! The crap woman put on themselves…” He shakes his head. “Dude, it’s whacked. My system for keeping Viv in check is to keep her talking. And most women love to talk about their feelings and shit. You pick up the important bits and take care of your woman, and you’re solid.”
I nod, but fuck all if I know how to do that. “I’ll take any suggestions you’ve got.”
Trent clasps my shoulder and squeezes. “Easy. Get her talking on the phone. She can’t go quiet the whole time.” He laughs, grabs a fresh bath towel from his bag, pushes down his underwear, and heads toward the showers.
Get her talking. Genius. Why the hell didn’t I think of that? I pull out my phone and grin, seeing a new message from her.
It was time for a big change. Be safe. Don’t hurt yourself.
She’s worried about me getting hurt. A wave of happiness blankets the initial frustration I had about getting her talking. Trent’s right. I just need to force her out of her shell. Make her talk to me. Decision made, I remove my clothes and hit the showers. I want to be clean and settled in my home when I call her back.
Forty-five minutes later, I relax into my plush leather couch. It was a hand-me-down from Dawn and her husband, Lorenzo. When they bought their first home, Dawn wanted to redo it all. Since Lo’s goal in life is to make my sister smile, he agreed. The timing for me was perfect. I’d just gotten home from serving my country and needed everything. A lot of what I own now was hers, but I’ve added to it over the years. Put my own bachelor spin on it. The couch is the softest, smoothest leather, and the cool chill I feel when I first sit on it is unparalleled, as if it’s welcoming my heated skin.
Grabbing my phone, I press call on Honor’s number and wait.
It rings four times before I get a breathy, “Hello?”
I chuckle. “Hey, Dove.”
“Nick, um, hi,” she offers meekly.
I grin, lift my legs along the length of my couch, and cross my ankles, settling in. “Thought I’d give you a call, find out more about this house-hunting business. You moving out of your current place for a particular reason?”
She clears her throat. “Well, yes.”
“And that reason would be…” I prompt, determined to get my girl talking to me. If anything, I need to break up her shyness toward me. Make her comfortable.
“Um, I was still living at home.”
That’s it, no other response.
“Dove, you’re going to have to give me more than that. Here’s the thing: I talk, you answer. Feel free to ask a question of your own. Then we’ll go back and forth. I want to get to know you better.” I lower my voice to what I hope is a seductive timbre.
“Why?” The one-word question strikes like a sucker punch to the gut.
The fact that this woman doesn’t see her worth, her beauty, and why a man would want to spend time with her, talk to her, has me grinding my teeth.
“I believe I told you that I found you attractive and sweet. You’ve got these big eyes I could stare into for days.”
“You think so?” Again her voice is breathy, uncertain.
Still the sound goes straight to my dick, making him perk up. I grip my erection between my thighs and readjust to a more amiable position for us both.
“Dove, I know so. Now why is it time to leave your parents? How old are you, by the way?” I realize I don’t even know.
“I’m twenty-six. And I, uh, know it’s odd to still be at home, but I was away at school for a long time and didn’t see the need to leave again. Until now.”
Good, this is good. She’s said more in that one response than I think she has in the entire time I’ve known her. “What’s your degree in?”
“I have a Master’s Degree in Business Administration from Stanford.”
“Master’s! Damn, baby, that’s amazing. What do you do for a living?” I ask, imagining Honor as a college student wearing a plaid skirt and a button-up sweater I could peel off her.
“Uh, not much.”
I frown. “You currently unemployed?”
“You could say that, technically…yes, I’m unemployed.”
“Aw, it’s okay. I’m sure you’ll find the right job for you. With a business degree from a school like that…I’m sure the bigwigs downtown will be
