Page 32 of The Commander

GI?

Accountant.

Jesus Christ, Quinn. Do you love him?

Noah Jenkins, the stupidly handsome son of a bitch, is way out of line. He has no right to ask me those sorts of questions.

We never dated.

We never... fine, we did things.

It doesn’t matter; he still has no right to know what’s going on in my world, especially my dating life. Asking if I loved Mark was crossing the line.

Even if the answer was a loud hell no.

The way Noah took my chin last night, brushing my lip and looking directly into my soul, seeking my truth and submission, had my knees wobbling.

I tried to hide it and hoped that all he saw was my neutral outer shell.

Tell Mark you’re in love with someone else.

If he thinks I’m going to break up with Mark just because he’s instructed me to, then he is out of his damn mind.

As if I’m going to do that.

Why would I do that...?

I know what he thinks. He still thinks there is a reality where we are together because he thinks...and he’s wrong.

I do not love Noah Jenkins.

It’s not that simple. There is much more to our story...to my story. Much more than what happened after we stood eating homemade Italian in my kitchen after that wet spring evening.

After brushing my teeth, I throw on my running gear and do a few circuits of the field nearby to clear my mind and get a start on the day. Then I hit the shower, get dressed in my Army-regulation sweatpants, T-shirt and a light jacket, and head out to one of the assigned restaurants for breakfast.

Marlene is pouring coffee.

“Morning.” I grab a mug and do the same.

“Surprisingly comfortable beds. I was able to starfish. My god. Being married is all very well, but the starfish is underestimated.”

“Not by me.” I grin, adding cream and a touch of sugar. Breakfast is a buffet, so I put two eggs, bacon and fried tomatoes on a plate and sit down at a nearby table.

Marlene joins me.

“Is there some history between you and Captain Jenkins?” she asks, sipping her coffee.

“He was my CO for years. You know how it is; you get to know some of them more than others.”

Usually, you don’t kiss them, but here we are.

Marlene nods, digging into her oats. “He’s a good-looking man. Seems interested in you.”

Fuck.

Marlene is far more aware than people give her credit for. I mean, she’s a trained soldier, but because she has all these maternal vibes rolling off her, people don’t think she’d pick up a weapon and shoot you in the face if you were a danger to her.

She would.