I heard his sharp inhalation as he saw what I'd intended him to see, and I smiled.

I shucked the shirt from my body, tossed it on the dresser, and reached for the bra that was laying in the drawer beside where the panties had just been.

It wasn't the one that matched the panties, but a deep midnight blue.

It wasn't lace, but it was still pretty.

I didn't do uncomfortable bras nor uncomfortable shoes. Those were two things that I couldn't handle.

The scrub top came next, followed by the scrub pants.

I shimmied my a.s.s once I had them on to make sure I could handle the panties, and was satisfied when they didn't ride up to no man's land.

I walked to the end of the bed, grabbed my shoes, and sat down on the chase beside Cleo.

He shifted uncomfortably as I sat and shoved my feet into the tennis shoes.

"Let me grab my lunch and we can go," I said, before darting from the room.

I only ever left myself twenty minutes to get ready and leave. It was always a rush in the morning.

I a.s.sumed Cleo had to be in at the same time I did, and I didn't even know where he had to go.

He'd probably be late. But I wouldn't.

"Heh," I grunted as I grabbed my salad out of the fridge.

"What?" Cleo asked from behind me.

I turned, surveying him from head to foot.

"Do you wear normal clothes under your flight suit?" I asked.

He nodded his head. "Yep."

My brows furrowed. "Well s.h.i.t."

I'd been hoping for something more risque, kind of like him free-balling it.

He nodded. "You're eating a salad?"

I looked down at the unappetizing pile of lettuce covered in nonfat ranch and grimaced. "Yes."

My workouts had seen a significant drop since I'd moved here.

I never left myself enough time in the mornings to work out and, in the evenings, I was always too tired. I very rarely had a day off that I didn't have eighteen million things to do, so my last resort was to start eating healthy.

After having to go up two jeans sizes, I knew I had to do something.

Sadly, it was the good, yummy, appealing food that had to take a hike.

"Interesting. A lot has changed with you over the last year," he said as he took a look around my spa.r.s.ely furnished kitchen.

I didn't have much, but what I did have was enough.

I was renting a house in a shoddy part of town, but it was in my price range, and it didn't leak when the rain came.

The heating could use a little work, but that was nothing a blanket and a nice fire couldn't fix.

Which was what I'd done last night.

In Natchitoches, I'd lived in a very nice place. It had hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, and one h.e.l.l of a heater. That was only because the owner, one of my grandmother's best friends, had asked that we live there while Nonnie still needed it.

I ignored his comment and walked out of the room, grabbed my jacket off the couch, put it on, and then went out the front door.

I came to a stop beside his bike.

Dammit.

I'd done so well to avoid this very thing two days ago, and now here I was anyway.

f.u.c.k. Me.

I climbed on without waiting for him, and sat back as far as I could so I didn't touch him.

He laughed at me, and my attempt to keep my distance.

He didn't try to move me forward.

Instead, he started the bike, pushed it into gear with his foot, and eased forward slowly.

I reluctantly let my body scoot forward until it was plastered up against his, and closed my eyes on the sheer rightness that coursed through me at being pressed against him again.

He felt so d.a.m.n good.

As usual, he wasn't wearing a jacket, even though it was nearing the end of February.

It was a cool forty degrees out, but you couldn't tell by Cleo's short sleeves that it was anything other than perfect riding weather.

He didn't even have any goose b.u.mps on his skin.

The back of his head was trimmed neatly, leaving a clean black line of hair that was military precise.

He turned his head, giving me an unenc.u.mbered view of his strong, square jaw and the unshaven bristles covering his cheeks.

He looked so s.e.xy with a beard, and my heart only hurt all the more.

Instead of looking at anything else, I closed my eyes again, leaned my face against his t-shirt clad back, and tried my hardest not to cry.

I didn't succeed.

I cried the entire way to the hospital, only managing to dry it up when he pulled into the entrance.

He stopped next to the ER entrance, barely getting both feet on the concrete before I bailed.

I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

It wasn't until later that I realized that I left my salad.

Oh well.

I'd rather be fat anyway.

Cleo I watched her run away from me.

Again.

I'd known, going into this two days ago, when I'd asked her out that it was going to be tough to win her back, but I didn't realize it would be debilitating to see how very much I'd hurt her.

When I'd left her, I thought that it was for the best.

I saw how much being a PJ hurt the other men's wives.

I knew it wasn't easy.

I knew the divorce statistics.

I only thought to save her the heartache of being saddled with me.

Being a PJ wasn't for the timid.

We dropped off into the middle of warzones all in the name of preserving life.

We knew going in that we might not make it out alive again.

The morning I'd left Rue, after the best night of my life, I'd had so many regrets.

However, none of those regrets compared to this one.

Having the woman that I considered mine crying against my back for twenty minutes, because I hurt her, was awful.

I knew her crying was because of me, too.

I knew it from the bottom of my heart.

I was about to put it into gear when I saw a man, wearing the same color scrubs as Rue had on earlier, walk out of the automatic doors of the ER.

I probably would've left if he didn't look like he was planning murder.

And every bit of his venomous glare was directed at me.

This must be the best friend.

I'd asked around about Rue once I realized where she'd gone.

When I'd gotten out of the Air Force four months ago, I'd looked for her, but found her old house empty, and no indication of where she'd gone.

The man I'd tasked to find her had done it in less than twenty four hours.

It'd led me to Christus Health in Shreveport, or CH as the locals called it.

I'd been watching her for nearly a month, getting all my ducks in a row before I approached her. Knowing it wouldn't be easy.

Two days ago, when I'd gotten the call to transport an accident victim to CH, I'd known that it was time to make my move.

I hadn't quite planned on her downright not talking to me.

Everything I had planned stemmed on getting her to listen to me grovel.

Unsurprisingly, it looked like it was already time to implement plan B.

Shutting off the bike, I waited for the man to get closer before I spoke.

"I'm fixing it," I said to the man once he stopped next to the bike.

He was tiny. Like really tiny.

He reminded me of a rabid squirrel.

His brown, s.h.a.ggy hair was practically vibrating with his annoyance.

"Good," he snapped. "Cause if you hurt her..."

I raised my eyebrow, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"I know people," he finally finished.

I laughed. "Got it."