Page 37 of Beast

She bit her lip. “What, are you a cop now? Why do you care so much?”

Fuck it. “For someone who thinks I need therapy, you sure get angry when the tables are turned. Forget I asked.”

She lowered the window and exhaled. “Sorry. I just don’t like to talk about it.”

I understood. Completely. “It’s fine. So what about your ex partner? Is he still hung up on you?”

“Pasha? No, we never dated. We danced together as teens, won some championships. He wanted to be a professional dancer, and I didn’t. We ended our partnership when I left the show, which is for the best. He wasn’t there for me when my mom died, and didn’t defend me to the tabloids when they were printing lies about me. We’re not friends or anything, but we don’t hate each other.”

I studied her face. She spoke flatly, little emotion toward her memory of him, a guy she’d spent years with pursuing her dreams. It made me think she was cold, closed off. Same way she was with me. Only time she’d been raw with me was when she’d admitted that she’d stolen my bullet. I was used to overly emotional women. “Have you had serious boyfriends?”

Now she turned away from me, gazing distantly. “Not really. I dated some guy in college but it didn’t work out. No major drama. What about you? Have you ever had a serious relationship?”

I pounded back my coffee. It was my fault for walking into this line of questioning. I actually hated hearing about a woman’s exes, imagining them fucking her. But I’d only asked her because I wanted to see if we had the same views on relationships. Wasn’t this what all women wanted? Intimacy? Fine, I’d play. “Once. We started dating before I’d deployed. I thought I was in love at the time, but it was bullshit. She couldn’t stand the sight of me after my injuries, not that I could blame her.”

Now she turned her attention back to me, her hand placed firmly on my thigh.

“I’m sorry. But Grady, it’s in your head. You know that, right?”

“What’s in my head?”

“Your perception that no one could love you because of your appearance. I’m sure most people see you how I see you—strong, sexy, masculine, invincible. I just want you to know that no matter what happens with us, I think any woman would be so lucky to have you in her life.”

She caressed my face and I resisted the urge to kiss her. I wouldn’t allow her to penetrate my soul, get under my skin. Her words were nice to hear, but I refused to believe them for they couldn’t possibly be true. I was afraid to let her care about me, because I was still certain she would eventually leave.

I pushed her hand off of me, accelerated the truck and sped down the freeway. Being around Isa was just like being stuck in one of my PTSD group therapy appointments, but at least it had included the added hope of sex. I didn’t want to have to think about my feelings, about the past, about my buddies. I only wanted to forget.

We pulled into the parking lot of the Riva Grill. I wished for a second that I had a mask to wear. I adjusted my baseball cap lower on my face, pressed my sunglasses down, and prepared to face the world.

Isa attempted to open her door, but I stopped her. I jumped out of my truck and walked around to open it for her.

She smiled and hopped out of the car. I wanted to spoil her, make her feel like a princess. Show her that I could be a normal guy.

I took her arm and we walked through the little shops on the way to the restaurant. My eye scanned the tourists, assessing any threats. I couldn’t help myself.

A little boy around three years old pointed at me, “Mama, is he monster?”

His mom shushed him, gave me a sympathetic smile, and pulled him toward her. I kept my chin up, not knowing how to respond. Isa’s grip remained tight on my arm.

The hostess seated us, a table with a view of the dock. I would’ve preferred a secluded booth.

As we were perusing our menus, someone dropped a glass behind me. My heart raced. All my nerve endings prickled as adrenaline jolted my system. I clenched my hands into fists around the menu, struggling to keep my breath anywhere close to steady. This was a mistake. I needed to go home.

Isa took my hand. “Are you okay?”

Despite the riot battling inside my body, I replied, “Yup.”

We ordered, and as I was sipping my beer and feeling a little calmer, I heard a voice behind me.

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you. Are you by any chance Sergeant Grady Williams?”

I turned around and saw a tall man with white hair wearing a red Marine Corps cap.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“Well, son, it’s an honor to meet you. I told my wife it was you when you walked in the restaurant. A real American hero, that’s what I said. Would you mind if I took a picture with you?”

I couldn’t say no; I had a soft spot for old Marine vets. “Of course, sir.”