Lust in Translation (Harbour Point SEAL Series Book 1) Page 3

  He sets the tablet down and pushes it away from his large chest. “If I need conversational skills, electronics won’t help me. We should be talking.”

  Sighing, I check the clock overhead. “How do you propose we do that?”

  “My name is Leo. How are you?” he says in Spanish.

  I roll my eyes and respond to his basic, badly pronounced question. Then in English, I say, “You need to be able to negotiate, and not sound like a toddler. Take the test.” I slide the tablet back to him.

  “Do I look like a toddler, Kid?” he bites his bottom lip.

  My neck works to swallow. He has looked like a man since the moment I laid eyes on him.

  He finally breaks his intense gaze. “Let’s make a deal,” Leo rasps, motioning to the tablet. “If I speak to you in Spanish, you have to agree to answer my questions. Doesn’t matter what they are or how gritty your answer will be. You have to answer.” His big brown eyes blink once, anticipating my response.

  I quirk one brow. I’ll answer him, alright. In Spanish. He’ll have no clue what I’m saying. “Deal. But for today how about you take the test. We’ll go over some differences in grammar, several of the basics, common phrases on the white board when you finish, and you can practice your questions for me tonight as homework.”

  Leo leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. His back cracks loudly and I wince.

  “That’s not good for you,” I say.

  He smirks when he sees my eyes on his body. “Ah, I’d say it’s not good for you more than it’s not good for me.” Leo winks once. Perfectly, without any of the awkwardness some people have when they wink. It’s picture perfect and unnerving.

  I’m preparing a defense, but he grabs the tablet and turns it on. Rounding my desk, I let out a pent-up breath. The uniform is distracting—that’s all it is. The whole situation is confusing because it’s one on one. I was prepared for teaching a class. Not this one-on-one scenario. Not with Leo. I remind myself why I’m here.

  Noel.

  Noel.

  My marriage.

  Failing.

  Failing.

  I look at Leo’s profile while he struggles with the questions, biting his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he taps the tiny screen with fumbling fingers. At the very least, this insane setup is a high-level distraction.

  An email pops up from Margaret. It informs me of my scant class size. Huh, little too late, Marg. Little too late. I look up at Leo and he has one hand on his forehead.

  “How’s it coming? If it’s too difficult, I can reformat it.”

  He looks at me and smirks, quirking a brow. “I think I can manage.”

  I hold up both hands. “Sorry. Sorry. It just seemed like you were struggling.”

  “I don’t struggle with anything, Kid. Don’t you know better?”

  I narrow my eyes. “That’s an awfully self-centered thing to say.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not self-centered if it’s the truth. All men were not created equal, I don’t care what they say. There are the ones who work their asses off and succeed, there’s the ones who think they’re awesome, then there’s a select few who work their asses off and actually are awesome.”

  Clearing my throat, I stand and walk over to the table. “Let me guess, you fall into the last group?”

  “You need confirmation?” he snaps back. “Look at me.”

  I do the opposite.

  My inner bitch rises. He’s awful. Even more conceited than he used to be, and that’s saying something because he was an enormous jackass when I knew him five years ago. He had beef with another SEAL, my stepdad Aidan, of all people, and he tried to use me to break up my mom and Aidan. I think it was because he was bored. And immature. Or he had something to prove as the new guy on the Team. He befriended me and made it seem, to Aidan, that he was going after me in a romantic way. We were always only friends, though.

  “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” I say, sliding into the chair next to him. “I need you to dial it down. The cocky, self-assured persona is great when you’re out doing your thing. In here, in my classroom, I need you to enter another frame of mind. A humble one in which you learn things. Things that you want to learn.”

  He scoffs. “Did I piss you off already?”

  Internally seething, I blink slowly. “I’m not angry. Just laying the ground rules.”

  “I don’t do well with rules, Kid.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not a kid, and you won’t call me that in here. It’s Simmons. Or Mrs. Simmons.” There. I feel better already.

  “Simmons,” he says, then licks his lips. My eyes trail the movement—an action that happens without my consent. “Simmons,” he says once more.

  I meet his gaze. He smiles, exposing a white smile. “I need you to fuck off if you want me to finish your little test.”

  I must look shocked, because after a second he adds, “Please. Good manners and all that, right?”

  I stand and walk back to my desk unevenly, my heels feeling much higher than they did minutes before. “You don’t have to be so rude.”

  “You want rude, Simmons,” he says, accentuating my name, “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

  It’s not about a high-level distraction anymore, it’s about getting back at him any way I can. He finishes the test fifteen minutes later, the results display into my system, and I click them open. Leo did way better than I thought he would. From the corner of my eye I see him smirking at me. Rage enters my bloodstream.

  “Any other tests? Or do you want to look at my lips some more?”

  Huffing, I grab a few of the dry erase markers and walk to the marker board. I write several phrases on the board, hyper aware of how he’s probably staring at my ass. The squeak of the marker is the only sound in the room. My handwriting gets sloppier and sloppier as I go, trying to finish quickly. I spin and cap the marker the second I’m done. Leo is picking at his fingernails, not paying attention to me at all. I begin to explain what I’ve written and how rules in Spanish are different than in English. Leo looks absolutely bored as he nods along and checks the clock several times.

  I ask several times if he has any questions, but he never does. By the end of today’s class, we’re able to have simple conversation back and forth without him making too many mistakes. I send Leo home with the tablet and tell him what apps will help him best if he has free time to study. I’ll take his stoic indifference over his cocky rude behavior any day. I return an email to Margaret while Leo lingers in the doorway.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Leo says, adjusting his uniform before entering the hallway.

  “And the day after that,” I reply.

  He steps out into the hall. “Get some rest tonight, Kid. I’ll have questions for you.”

  I’m about to snap at him for calling me kid, then I realize he’s not in my office. I snarl at him—slanted brows and pursed lips. I don’t dignify him with a response. I close the door instead.

  _______________

  Adam lays a hand on my shoulder and I shift out of his grasp. “It was good. It’s more of one-on-one tutoring than a class, though. I guess it will be different each session. Sometimes I’ll have more students and other times just a few.”

  “How many are you teaching now?” he asks, his kind gaze appraising me.

  I shrug. “A few, I think, but only one today. I guess the guys kind of pop in and out depending on when they have time and what their schedules look like.” I shake my head. “The pay is so good I didn’t question it, but I’m not sure how much they’ll be able to retain with this kind of haphazard attendance.”

  “One guy?” Adam asks, voice raising in alarm. He goes straight for the jugular—the one thing I was hoping he wouldn’t land on.

  My heart pounds. There’s nothing to feel guilty for. Nothing. “Yeah, I actually know him from Bronze Bay. He used to work with Aidan. He transferred here because this is where his family is from.”

/>   Adam furrows his brow. I see the questions in his eyes, but he’d never ask them. He wouldn’t risk shaking the stable ground we’re almost on. “Don’t worry. He’s still as arrogant as he used to be. It’s challenging getting him to do anything other than praise himself.” I tap my chin. “That gives me an idea.”

  Adam grunts, and grabs a beer from the fridge. He pops it open and looks at me, waiting for me to finish my thought. “The lesson will be he can only talk about himself if he does it in Spanish.”

  Adam snorts a laugh. “That bad?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “He told me how he’s not a normal guy.” I air quote the word normal, and laugh. “It’s asinine. He seems to want to learn the language, though.” I shrug. “Aidan hates him. I need to FaceTime him tonight. I want to watch his face when I tell him I’m teaching Leo Callaway. So rich.” I shake my head, clearing our dinner plates and silverware in a precarious stack on both hands.

  Adam stays silent. It’s an odd pause, so I glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me. Watching isn’t the proper word. He’s trying to stare into my soul. Through narrowed eyes and pursed lips, his gaze bores through me.

  “Are you okay,” I ask.

  He looks away, neck working as he forces a grin. “Fine. We should get going if we’re going to make our appointment.” He finishes drying a dish and disappears into the hall.

  Another goddamn therapy appointment. Usually, I’m okay with it. It’s when I get the things off my chest I can’t on a typical day. Today, it feels like too much work. What if the therapist sees through me? What if she can sense the tiny shred of happiness I’ve gotten from getting out of my house and away from Adam? I grab my jacket from the coat rack and wrap my scarf around my neck. I hear car keys jingle and I follow Adam out the door. We talk about the weather during the drive.

  I ask him about his day, and don’t hear his answer. Mostly, we stay quiet. We know what comes next and it’s nothing but words and feelings. When I was still numb, therapy was the only time I felt anything at all. Adam has probably never needed to go. I know he does it for me, for our marriage. He’s too pragmatic about the whole situation. She was stillborn because she was unhealthy. Incompatible with life on Earth. All of the tests missed it. End of story. He thinks I don’t grasp that. I know he doesn’t understand there’s more to it. I went to a grief counselor directly after the loss, but I found these couples’ appointments with Adam helped me more.

  He opens my car door like always. I don’t take his hand like I used to. We walk through the dark parking lot, and my feet get heavier as the spotless glass door comes into view. The second I enter the warm waiting room that smells like caramel and mint, I shift into autopilot. Smile at receptionist. Take the third chair in. Fold hands in lap. Keep face neutral. Adam checks us in. Then he breaks protocol and sits in the chair directly across from me instead of beside me. He sighs big and heavy. Adam is tired. I think it won’t be long now. He’ll leave me and abandon whatever the hell this loveless marriage is.

  We stare at each other, trying to find a conversation that isn’t there anymore. I can’t tell you what’s going on in his mind and I know there’s no way he knows what I’m thinking. His eyes look challenging. He’s daring me to be honest. That’s what this is. That’s why he’s not in his normal chair. He’s trying to throw me off autopilot.

  The therapist pops her head out of her office and calls us back. She uses my name first. I blow out a relieved breath and enter her office. Adam closes the door behind us and sits on the chair on the right side. My side. I panic a bit, but I don’t let it show. Sliding my jacket off, I hang it on the back of the chair on the left. Sitting down in his chair, I remove my scarf and begin twisting it in my hands.

  “You guys have a good week?” she asks, removing her glasses and setting them on her yellow notepad.

  There’s nothing more for her to write. She’s heard it all before in these months of conversations. Adam always speaks first. He’ll tell her what progress we’ve made as a couple and how he perceives our relationship status in relation to healing. He stays silent, one foot on his opposite knee, head tilted leaning on his hand. “Fine. It was a fine week. Right, Adam?” Why is he being so quiet? My stomach roils and flips as my mind races through the possibilities. I’m terrified this is the moment he’s going to drop the D bomb. I’m not ready. Am I?

  “Kendall started sleeping in our bed again this week,” Adam says, voice monotone. Uninterested. “She still won’t let me touch her, but she’s in our bed.”

  “You’re upset she won’t let you touch her?”

  I swallow hard. “I let you touch me.”

  “You pulled away when I touched your damn shoulder, Kendall. If you won’t let me touch your clothed shoulder what’s that say for sex?”

  “You’re feeling frustrated because you haven’t had intimacy yet?”

  Adam laughs. “It’s been six months. I have to watch her walk around the house in various states of undress knowing I can’t have her. My wife. It’s fucking torture,” Adam says, wincing. He turns his gaze to me and it cuts me to the quick. My unease grows. Now I know what I have to do if I want to destroy us completely.

  I knot my scarf to busy my hands. “I’m not ready. I thought you understood that.”

  “What are you ready for? You started a new job last week. It seems you’re moving on with your life.”

  The therapist clears her throat. My cue to answer his question. “I don’t know. Not sex.” This is the first time we’ve tackled sex during our sessions. I should have known that’s why Adam was acting differently. We’re airing our dirty laundry.

  “I’m happy to hear a job panned out That’s really a step in the right direction. You’re healing in your own way. There’s no wrong way or right way to move on after loss.” She directs a poignant look to Adam. “Be proud of yourself and this achievement. You’ll make friends there.”

  I don’t have a lot of friends here in Cape Cod. I moved here with Adam after we graduated from Boston College. All of my high school friends are still in Florida and my college friends dispersed after we graduated. I don’t have anyone to lean on. I had no one to talk to after everything happened. My mom is far away, and despite her pleading with me to come home to live with her while I got over this, I was determined to at least try to suffer through this with my husband. That’s what an adult would do. I nod. “Thank you, I’m trying. It’s a really good distraction. The job,” I add, looking first at her and her bright smile, and then at Adam who is seething red with anger.

  I look back at the therapist and meet her gaze. Her smile falls, “That’s a big step outside of the home. Do you think you can make another step in the home? For him? It doesn’t have to be sex, but something?” She’s embarrassed to say it. Adam is horrified she’s even insinuating it. I turn my gaze down to my fists. My knuckles are white. The whole point of this is healing my relationship.

  “I cooked him dinner,” I say. “His favorite.”

  I hear Adam sigh next to me. I close my eyes. I’m fucking this up.

  “That’s great. And you moved back into your marital bedroom?”

  “No, she just sleeps there. On her side of the bed,” Adam interjects.

  I release the scarf. “I’m trying. I’m sorry I can’t be the person I used to be.”

  “I’m not asking for that. I’m just asking for you in any form I can get you.”

  My heart pounds. “Why? Why do you want me? What if I’m never your version of better and this is who I am forever? Why don’t you leave and find a woman who can give you all of herself? The best of herself.”

  “I want you. My wife,” Adam fires back, tone heated. He shifts in his seat so he’s facing me. “That’s why we’re here.” He opens his arms to the sides. “Because I want you. We’re not here because you want me. That’s obvious. We’re here, still, after half a year, because despite it all, I want you. To come back to me.” He didn’t say he loved me. I watch his full lips, and try to imagine
what they’d look like if he said it right now.

  A tear slips down my face. I’m quick to wipe it away. “I ruined everything. I’m not sure I’ll ever be worthy of you.”

  “He’s not asking that, Kendall. He doesn’t care about the circumstances. Can you find it in your heart to make another small step? If it makes him happy? It takes two people to make concessions in a relationship. There’s give and take. You know that.” She looks to Adam. “I’m going to be frank,” she says. “If she offers you intimacy, and I’m not talking about intercourse,” she amends, meeting my gaze. “Foreplay. Pleasure for both of you. Would that suffice your needs for the time being?”

  “Anything. I’ll take anything,” Adam says, voice cracking. “It’s not even about the sex. I don’t even think she likes me most days.” He knows. I wasn’t careful enough with my emotions. I let my guard slip, and the truth was set free. “A goddamn kiss would be enough if I could feel something behind it, if I could tell she actually wanted to kiss me.”

  I swallow down the huge lump in my throat. “Kissing usually leads to sex, so that’s why I’ve stayed away from all intimacy. I’m afraid of what it will lead to.”

  “He’s telling you just a kiss. Can you trust him?”

  I resume twisting the scarf and two sets of eyes land on me. “Yes,” I answer.

  “It would be okay if kissing led to more. It’s fine if you’re not ready for that, but you need to know that enough time has passed. Your body is made for intercourse. Nothing is ruined. You are still perfect, Kendall. Perfect. All intercourse isn’t going to lead to a baby.”

  “I’ll get a vasectomy,” Adam deadpans. “I’ll get a vasectomy. If it means you’ll never be afraid of me again. You don’t want children. You don’t want to chance a baby happening again, fine. I’ll get a vasectomy.”