“No complaints with that here,” he says into the crown of my head. We’re on his couch in front of a whitewashed brick fireplace. Flames crackle and snap. I can’t believe he built me a fire simply because I said I missed having one in my New York apartment. “Are you tired? Do you want to sleep or catch a movie or—”

“I want to know more about you,” I say.

“Me?” He laughs the word out.

“Yep. Tell me about your childhood. Where you grew up. Were you a pain in the ass who caused your parents headaches or were you a perfect angel?” He snorts and I laugh. “Did you always want to enter the service or was that a decision made later in life?” I ask leading questions, because I genuinely want to know. And I refuse to rely on Kelly’s information as my source.

“Why all the focus on me? Don’t I get to know more about you?”

“You’re the mysterious one,” I counter. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“Camden,” he says without hesitation. I don’t know why I expected him not to. It’s not like he was hiding it on purpose or even knew that I was looking for him. But it just feels weird to have him offer it up so easily.

“Camden,” I murmur, getting used to the feel of it rolling off my tongue.

“Ryan Camden to be precise, but ever since my first tour in Afghanistan, I’ve gone by Gunner.”

“I’m sure there’s a story there. But see? I told you that you were mysterious.”

“Says the sexy grad student who lives in New York and is researching a topic I’ve lived, but who I don’t know much else about.”

“Yes, you do. You know I have three sisters and that my mom died. You know I have an affinity for Converse, dancing in the rain, putting things in order, and can’t paint for shit.”

“Any dislikes?”

“Beside bed bugs, men whose biceps are bigger than my thighs, and Neapolitan ice cream? No, none that I can think of.”

Gunner barks out a laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Who me?” I look up at him and bat my lashes, once again struck by just how damn handsome he is. And the more I get to know him, my attraction seems to grow stronger. “I’m known for being the picky one.”

“Apparently not too picky seeing as you’re here with me.”

I desperately want to kiss him but don’t want to get him sick, so I do the next best thing and press my lips to the underside of his jaw, close my eyes, and savor him. The scent of his soap. The strong rhythm of his heart beneath my hand. The warmth of his hand as it runs up and down the length of my back.