Tossing It_A Navy SEAL and Secret Baby Romance Page 3

  “The tall one,” I whisper under my breath to Shirley, glancing away before his gaze sweeps over us.

  She clicks her tongue three times in a rapid succession. “The tall one,” she repeats. “If my research is thorough, which when is it not when it comes to hot dudes with muscles who bleed testosterone? His name is Leif,” she drawls, and then spells his name to explain the difference between what it sounds like and the letters that form it, and then continues, “He comes into the diner with Tahoe a lot. I haven’t heard any gossip about him bed hopping like his friend there on the left. The brown hair and deep dimple,” she explains, using her eyes to talk as much as voice. “That’s Sutter. He fucks like the Energizer bunny and doesn’t spend the night.” Shirley laughs when she sees my expression. She shrugs. “What? Not from personal experience, that’s what the girls said at the diner. I overheard it,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “They really should have kept their voices down if they wanted it to stay a secret.” I glance at Sutter and automatically see him naked, and fucking like a jackhammer.

  Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “Nothing about the blond one, then? Leif?” I ask, trying out his name. I haven’t heard it before, but that doesn’t mean much. I have spent most of my years in Bronze Bay where the residents have simple, ordinary names. My name was always the weirdest and I hated it. When I was a baby, my parents moved us to this small town to get out of the city. After my father left, I thought it was because he missed the city and Mom’s dementia was just the excuse. It’s easy to hate him even more that way. Drop me off here with my city ass name and then disappear. I hate him for too many reasons to count at this point.

  “Nothing. He’s clean at the moment,” Shirley says. “I need to go give Britt this card.” She pulls an envelope out of her purse. While this is a bar and we’d all be here anyway tonight, it’s also a couple of our friend’s engagement party. Britt is one of my good friends, but her fiancé, Whit, is absolutely rotten to the core. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s come on to me. He is a red-headed demon that Britt is too comfortable with to release into the wild. It’s a sad state of affairs. With my track record, I’m in no position to tell anyone how to drive their relationship though. I steer clear of anything serious, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man naked, let alone been touched by one. My friends assume I’m prolific like Shirley, and I don’t care to correct them. It makes it easier to explain why I have to skip out on plans. Taking care of my mom is only an acceptable answer for so long before those that care about me try to give me advice. I know she needs more care than I can give her and I feel awful about it.

  Shirley and I walk over to where Britt and Whit are talking to Caroline and Tahoe. After a few tense minutes of Whit being an annoying, weaseling asshole we all move our separate ways. I’m lingering in front of the jukebox, my quarters already inserted, when I sense someone waiting behind me. With my last song selected, I move out of the way, toss a friendly smile over my shoulder, and freeze.

  “Hasn’t been updated in a decade or so, huh?” Leif asks.

  I wasn’t prepared for conversation. Especially with this man. “Yeah. Probably a few, honestly,” I reply, sliding another step away. “It’s all yours.” I smile wide and check my watch. “There’s gotta be something you see that you like,” I add as his eyes scan over the choices, and then flit over to meet mine.

  He grins. “I’m Leif,” he says, extending a hand. A massive, freaking, whopper of a hand. My own gets lost inside his firm shake.

  “Malena,” I say, my voice wavering. I didn’t expect a proper introduction with handshakes and name exchanges. That can’t be his normal, can it? “Tahoe’s friend?” I add quietly, letting him know I’ve heard of him.

  He nods, taking his hand from mine and clasping them behind his back. The picture of a perfect gentleman. His demeanor is unnerving. The swagger he entered the bar with is replaced by polished poise. “Indeed. Are you having a nice time tonight?” he asks. “It’s quite a place. This Bobby’s Bar,” he says, raising both brows as he glances around the small dusty room, lit by old colored lights. The music is loud, but not so loud that I can’t hear him, though I do notice when I said my name he leaned toward me to hear me better. “You’re the first person who has stopped to chat with me.”

  Why? What game he’s playing at? “I wonder why,” I say, flicking my hair over one shoulder. “Get turned down a lot tonight?” I know he arrived to the bar recently, but I don’t want him to know I noticed.

  “Turned down?” The corner of his eyes slide down, and he frowns in confusion. “I didn’t know I was trying to turn anything up.” When he’s not wearing his smile, I can see how perfect his bone structure is. His cheekbones are high, and his jaw is square and masculine. Blue eyes peek out from underneath thick, blond lashes. The gentleman front slips as he grazes his top teeth over his bottom lip. Leif shows me how shrewd and calculating he is—how utterly mouthwatering he is when he tries.

  I tear my gaze from his mouth and pretend to be wildly interested in the jukebox. “I don’t want to assume anything, but bless her heart, my friend Shirley knows everything about everyone, and I know about you guys—you SEALs. You don’t have to play at the nice guy thing to try to talk to me.”

  “No? So, if instead of introducing myself I grabbed your perfect ass while you were selecting music you would still be talking to me right now?” Leif bends an arm and posts himself up against the jukebox, his gaze lighting my body on fire.

  “No,” I reply, letting my shoulders sag. “Probably not.” Shirley catches my eye and waves goodbye. I nod back, and she shoots an exaggerated wink.

  Leif clears his throat to draw my eyes back to him. “What you’re saying then, because you’re definitely talking to me right now is, I win,” he says, lips pulling up in one corner. “Your ass is perfect, by the way. That was the truth.”

  I try to catch my breath. Men don’t dazzle me, but Leif is paralyzing my thoughts. “Thanks. I think. You’re proclaiming your victory in one breath and complimenting my ass in the next. I can’t be sure if you want my number or if you’re bored,” I say, glancing over his shoulder to the hodgepodge of random bar patrons. “You’re probably used to places far more stimulating than Bobby’s Bar.” I meet his eyes and run my fingers through my hair. My song comes on, and I sway my head back and forth while I wait for him to respond.

  He groans. “You’re right. This place is dead. Want to get out of here?” While he’s distracted with thoughts of leaving the bar with me, and what that entails, I study his body. His arms are strong, blue veins cutting ridges across the tops of his hands and forearms. They show a touch more than on a normal person because his skin isn’t as dark as a Bronze Bay native. It’s more of a creamy beige, the color after you’ve been outside, but not too long. I bet he burns easily. “This is an awful song, by the way,” he returns after several long seconds.

  “Why would I leave here with you? You don’t like my music choices, and I know nothing about you. What if you’re a Ted Bundy copycat?”

  His smile is broad. “Are you calling me hot?”

  I furrow my brow. “He was a serial killer, Leif. A psycho.”

  “But he was hot. More attractive than most men. That’s why he was such a successful serial killer.”

  Turning away from him, I start to walk away. “Okay. That’s about enough of that. It wasn’t nice meeting you, but welcome to Bronze Bay. Officially. If you’re thinking about using your looks to kill chicks, stay away from the one in the black fishnet. She’ll slit your throat before you get the tip in.”

  He laughs loudly and grabs my arm. Annoyed, I turn back but don’t meet his eyes. “So, you are saying I’m good looking enough to kill chicks.”

  “Oh my gosh. You’re awful!” A smile slips, just because he looks so jovial and pleased with his sadistic jokes. At least, I hope they’re jokes.

  “Malena,” he coos. “You know where I work. You know my friends. You know more about me than I
know about you. I’m not killing anyone,” he says, looking to the side. “Not tonight at least. I don’t think.” His face is thoughtful, and a chill creeps down my spine. He does kill.

  I widen my eyes. “Comforting. Really. This conversation is really something. I’ll give you that much. Can’t say I’ve ever had a pick-up line quite like this.”

  “It’s not a pick-up line,” Leif says. “You can see the dust motes in the air in here. I’m asking if you want to get out of here. We could walk down to the beach and talk about serial killers and hot men. I’m not coming on to you. My friends are busy,” he explains, eyeing his friends trying to pick up a few Bronze Bay ladies. “And I don’t want to go back home yet in case my sister hasn’t left.” Leif looks like he wants to explain, but decides against it.

  I look at my watch once more. I have an hour. I can give him an hour. “Only because the air quality really is something I worry about,” I reply, smirking. “And only if you dance with me to my song choice.”

  He leans off the jukebox, arms held wide. “I am your man for that job, Malena of Bronze Bay.” His shoulders rise up and down as he bends his knees and juts his hips. One of his friends catcalls, witnessing his atrocious attempt at what I assume is a form of dancing.

  Leif bites his bottom lip and doesn’t take his gaze off mine. His blue eyes are challenging, searching, blazing with anything except indifference. “You going to join me?” he asks.

  “It was one of my most unforgivable mistakes asking you to dance with me. I rescind my invitation.”

  He shakes his head. “I called your ass perfect.” His sway becomes more severe as the beat drops, and I laugh out loud. People are noticing the show he’s putting on. “Show me you can move it.”

  “Air quality, remember?” I pick up my watered down drink and take a sip. “Beach?”

  Leif narrows his eyes and doesn’t stop dancing. “It would be a crime if you don’t dance with me,” he says, noticing the attention he’s getting. “Any other ladies want to dance with me? Malena here isn’t up for the challenge.” His voice is booming with command and I know they’ll come.

  My face heats as two skanky river rats wind their way into our vicinity and start working their bodies against Leif. One in front of him and one behind him. He’s thoroughly engrossed in watching me as he dances with the girls—trying to decipher my reaction. His friends are now shouting his name, and women are shouting out joyfully. The first time he looks down to the girl in front of him is my chance to escape, putting my drink down on the nearest table, I back into the hoard of people surrounding us.

  I rush down the dark hallway with the peeling wallpaper and old posters advertising live mic nights and hit the back door at a jog. He was right about one thing. The fresh air really is a relief. I have to be back home in forty-five minutes and while I dread returning, especially even a minute early, there’s no way I’m staying here to talk to my friends after the Leif show. How embarrassing? It reminds me why men are more trouble than they’re worth. Rounding the dumpsters, I head to the side lot and find my parked car.

  “I thought we were heading to the beach,” Leif says, appearing on the passenger side of my car. He’s grinning like a complete lunatic, utterly pleased with himself. If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d probably smile back. At the moment my resting bitch face is at full tilt.

  “Bringing your dance partners to the beach,” I ask.

  “You invited me to dance and then turned me down,” he replies. “Rude.”

  I bring a hand to my chest. “I’m rude? You’re crazy. I don’t have room for any more crazy in my life.”

  “I don’t want to be in your life, Malena. I want to go to the beach with you, right now.” He says the words right now like they’re the words he wants me to focus on. “Be my beach friend,” he adds.

  “I’m going against every womanly instinct by agreeing to this. You’re lucky I have some time before I have to be home.”

  His forehead wrinkles. “Before you have to be home? Do you have a boyfriend? Husband?”

  Releasing my door handle, I turn toward the edge of the lot where it dips down to a path which leads to the beach. When he’s next to me, I answer. “Would my husband or boyfriend be okay with me walking down to the beach with my new beach friend?” I let my gaze flick from the top of his head down to his toes very methodically.

  He kicks up his flip-flops and catches them when we hit the sand section of the path. I scoop up mine in one hand. “I suppose he wouldn’t, would he? So why do you have to go home?” Leif clears his throat and looks at my profile. “You have a kid?”

  He’s perfectly uncomfortable now, and I relish the feeling he gave me back in the bar. “Do I look like a mama?” I ask, smiling at the dusty pink and dark blue swirls of the sky butting up against a glass calm ocean.

  His eyes slant down in the corner, deep in thought, trying to figure out how best to answer such a pivotal, possibly offensive, question. We stop before we hit the packed, wet sand and stay perfectly still as we take in the beautiful night. Leif takes in a deep breath and finally replies, “Honestly, your ass says no, but your age, location, and desire to be at home, say yes.”

  “Age and location, huh?” A few seagulls call out overhead and break up the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

  “Forgive me if this is a stereotype, but I have discovered that many of the women who look about your age,” he finally glances over to meet my gaze. “Have kids and husbands. There’s nothing wrong with that, mind you, but it’s not that way where I’m from. The big city and everything. City people are busy doing everything except settling down.”

  I don’t say anything. I keep my face neutral and pretend to be offended. The longer I stay silent, the more he moves—his body rocking back and forth, from foot to foot. “You are a serial killer, aren’t you?” I say. “Making sure I don’t have a family that will look for me. Rest assured, I’m more like the city people you speak of. I don’t have any kids or a husband. Not even a boyfriend. Or prospects.”

  He blows out a long breath. “You had me worried.”

  “Don’t like kids?” I smile.

  He shakes his head. “Or families,” he jokes. “For the record, I feel like I need to say it right now, I’m not going to kill you.”

  “My mom has dementia,” I blurt. He looks surprised. “Her nurse leaves in about thirty minutes and someone has to be there all the time. She forgets where she’s at and will try to leave. It’s a pretty shitty situation.”

  He nods. “I see. I’m sorry. No one else to help out then? Sisters or brothers?”

  Sighing, I turn my eyes back to the ocean. “Unfortunately not. Just me, and the person she’s turned into. I shouldn’t be telling you this. You don’t care. I don’t talk about her often. It’s a depressing subject and I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. So don’t.”

  He clears his throat. “Family is important. You shouldn’t worry about what people think. It’s not depressing, it’s life. I’d never feel sorry for you.”

  I quirk one brow and sit down in the soft, dry sand. Looking up at him, I’m greeted with a mammoth figure. “What if I told you to feel sorry for me?” I smirk, trying to sway the mood of the conversation to something lighter.

  He sits down next to me, his long legs stretched out way past mine, and puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re the most pathetic excuse for a woman I’ve ever met. I am more than sorry for you, I feel bad for you, and I’m going to be your beach friend anyways.” He sighs. “Better?”

  I nod. “So much better.”

  “Good.”

  The silence beats on, and I know I have to go soon, and for the first time in a long time, I’m happy right where I am. Random questions are always the safest. You can discover things about another person without getting too personal. “What would you do if you won the lottery?” I ask.

  “We don’t have enough time for that question tonight,” he replies. “What would you have done if I had pulled
you to my chest and danced with you inside the bar?”

  I swallow hard. “I would have danced with you.”

  “Noted. What would you do if I asked you out to lunch tomorrow?” Leif asks. I started the harmless game, but he’s giving it a life of its own, taking it to dangerous places.

  “I’d say no.”

  “Why?” He looks at me, and I feel his gaze boring into the side of my head.

  “I work tomorrow,” I reply, turning to take the full-on seduction of his eyes. My breaths quicken and my pulse skyrockets—I can feel it slamming against my neck. “So I can’t go to lunch with you tomorrow. I would go to lunch with you on another day.”

  He leans back on his elbows. “I’ll take that.”

  “You’ll take what? I’m the one accepting a lunch date with a serial killer.”

  He pulls me back so I’m on my elbows next to him, my body buzzes where my arm skin meets his. “A hot serial killer,” he admonishes.

  “How could I forget,” I add, my tone sarcastic. “You are a horrible dancer, though. It makes me trust you a little more.”

  “I don’t trust you at all,” he returns.

  I laugh. “You shouldn’t.” Running my hand through my hair, I catch him watching my face. “What would you do if I asked you to come home with me? Hypothetically, of course.”

  Leif tilts his head to the side, and his brows tilt inwards. “I’d tell you yes, and probably make it halfway to your house before I would turn around and decide it was a bad idea.”

  “Huh,” I say, nodding thoughtfully. “Interesting. Why a bad idea?”

  “I don’t even know your last name, Malena. What kind of man do you think I am?” Leif stands, and clasps his hands behind his back, looking like that picture of a gentleman he was when he introduced himself.