Hard Beat

“Sometimes out here it is easier to create your own reality. Ironic as hell considering it’s our job to report on the actuality of what’s happening here when I also use it as a place to make my own… so I get it. I do,” I confess as I roll on my side and adjust my positioning so that I can link my fingers with hers in a silent show of understanding to reinforce my words. And as much as I want to ask her so many more questions, my investigative journalist mode humming in full force, I don’t.

“It doesn’t sound like things have been easy for you either. I’m sorry for that. You want to talk about it?”

“No,” I murmur, not ready just yet to rid myself of that guilt I carry over Stella’s death. We’ve each shared a small piece of ourselves, and yet I’m not ready to delve into the rest of the shit in my mind. “I should get going.” When I start to push up out of the bed, Beaux just holds tight to my hand.

“Stay?” And there’s something in the way she asks that tells me she’s not asking for sex, but rather for companionship, a warm body beside her in this place that leaves you feeling isolated from real life, good and bad, in more ways than one.

“You sure?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I rise from the bed, toe off my shoes, and pull my shirt over my head before crawling back up the mattress. Once I maneuver myself beneath the covers, I don’t even think about what I’m doing when I scoot up behind her and pull her body into mine, her back to my front.

“No fu

I chuckle into the back of her hair, my breath heating it against my face as I settle into the welcoming feeling of her body snuggled up against mine, soft curves, warm skin, the scent of her shampoo, and the feel of her ribs expanding with each breath. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night on my end with temptation against me but with my chivalry wedged between us.

And as much as my ideal way to spend the night with a woman is not exactly with our clothes on, this is beyond nice. It’s the first time I can remember in ages that I don’t feel so lonely.

“Sleep sweet, BJ,” I murmur as I press a kiss into the back of her head and pull her a little tighter against me.

“It’s Beaux. And sleep sweet too, Ta

A ridiculous grin spreads on my lips at her correction and stays there as I slip into the clutches of slumber.

Chapter 11

Over the next couple of weeks, the days drag and tumble endlessly one into another until the boredom feels like one solid stretch of wasted time. I’ve reached out to every one of my sources to try and get something, anything, to give me an inside for a story, but they’ve got nothing to give me.

The lot of us in the hotel are on edge, keeping to ourselves as much as we can because we know from experience that this is when we start to get on one another’s nerves. When there is something happening on the military front, this place hums with speculation, thrives with paranoia over who has a better story, and comes to life with excitement. But it’s been quiet for a while now.

Even though I’m restless for action beyond the hotel’s walls and the city’s limits, I’m also antsy because something has me feeling like this is the eye of the storm. Something big is coming. I can feel it.

Let’s just hope I get there first and report it better.

In the meantime we wait. Omid’s gone back into the wind again. It’s only been three weeks by the calendar, but it feels more like a lifetime. I’m not letting myself grow too concerned since I’ve seen this pattern from him before; nevertheless¸ I still worry after Beaux’s error in taking photos of him that I’ve lost him.

In midafternoon I glance around the lobby at everyone keeping to themselves, heads down, earbuds in, and laptops open. I shift my gaze across the room and lock eyes with Beaux just as she’s lowering the camera from where it was aimed in my direction. An unsettling feeling flickers through me as I wonder just what exactly she saw this time behind the curve of her lens.

A man who’s finally settling back into the life he was meant to lead? One who’s a little bit smitten with the woman snapping pictures of him?

Because… yeah, I guess I am smitten with her. Especially after the last two weeks where we’ve had easy conversation, numerous laughs over endless games of Scrabble to pass the time, and a few nights when we’ve fallen asleep together after talking late into the night. The fu

I don’t have walls up when it comes to women. Never have. I didn’t have a fucked-up childhood or any damaged relationships that have scarred me for others. But that doesn’t stop Stella’s voice from creeping into my mind in the silence of midnight to tease me about how easy it is for me to fall in lust with someone. And that has me stepping back some from Beaux and this newfound camaraderie, holding my emotions a tad closer to the vest, preferably protected by Kevlar, to prevent more ache in my heart already saddened by Stella’s death.

But regardless of how much I tell myself to take that necessary step back, I can still feel myself slipping deeper into whatever this is between Beaux and me. I mean fuck, I want to have sex with her again – that’s a given – but since that first-time buildup has already happened between us, we have this oddly fascinating co

And God how I want to handle it before I handle her, because I know the next time we co

But I’m pulled from my thoughts as a soft smile turns up her lips and reaches her eyes. At the sight a warmth spreads through me. And with the quality time we’ve spent together lately, I feel like even though we are in this room filled with colleagues, we are having our own private conversation without speaking.

She slides her eyes over to the empty pool table, and when I roll my eyes in response, her laugh crosses the distance between us. She knows I detest pool just about as much as she hates Scrabble, but we’ve learned to compromise to pass the time. Shaking my head, I rise from my seat while she walks to the far wall and grabs the cues and the rack for the balls. Out of habit and because, shit, how can I not look, I take in the curve of her hips and the muscles in her shoulders as she grabs the sticks for us.

“Ready to lose, Pulitzer?”

“Someone has to let you win so you don’t pout,” I tease as she picks up a ball and pretends like she’s going to huck it at me despite the smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

“You talk a good game. Too bad you can’t play one.” My laugh comes freely, our banter a reliable form of entertainment as we sit in limbo for the next story on the horizon.

We take our shots, and balls fall in the pockets while she hustles me like usual as we tease and walk that fine line of flirting without flirting: a brush of a hand on a lower back, a lean in with a comment in a lowered voice, eyes hungry for the next look from the other. All the while cautious of the eyes watching around us, ready to make assumptions that don’t need to be made.

“You’d better watch your back, rookie,” I tease as I glance at the table, well aware that there are a lot more of my solids on the table than her stripes. “I’m making a comeback.”