GUNNER STARES AT ME LONG and hard with those dark brown eyes in a way that makes me feel like he can see straight through the lie I just pulled out of my ass.

Not really my ass.

More like straight from the article I thumbed through in the hotel magazine that was in my room. It talked about the mental and emotional toll deployments took on children of military families.

Gunner kept pushing for an answer. I panicked, giving him the first thing that came to mind.

The upside? I’ll probably never see him again.

The downside? Maybe . . . I want to.

“If that’s what you’re researching, you definitely came to the right town for that,” he says with a strained smile before heading to the other end of the bar where the redheaded server waits with more drink orders for him.

I glance around FU-Bar. It’s dim where it needs to be dim so that people can slink in the shadows if they prefer, and light where it needs to be light, like over by the pool table where a few women are showing off their assets to their dates.

Military mementos are everywhere with each one of the bar’s walls dedicated to a different branch of it. There are flags, pictures, plaques, memorabilia, and more representing someone’s history down the line somewhere.

I have a feeling that within these walls, soldiers, vets, and their families have celebrated as many victories as they have defeats or losses of lives.

The music is low but present, the laughter is loud and frequent, and it seems the man who currently holds my attention is the maestro of all of it with his kind smile and friendly words.

“He really is that good of a guy, you know.”

“What was that?” I ask, turning to my left to face Nix. He’s tall and burly with a dark skin tone that does a good job of camouflaging an array of burn scars I can make out just beneath its surface. His eyes are dark and his smile warm as I meet his eyes.

“Gunny. He really is that good of a guy. We’re talking a true decorated war hero.”

“Is that so?” I murmur and glance over to where Gunner is chatting up his patrons at the other end of the bar.

“Yep. He’s a total badass. Like the kind they hand medals out to during fancy ceremonies with lots of high-ranking people.” His grin is wide and gloating. “So when he asks you out later, you’re going to want to remember that.”

“He’s going to ask me out, is he?” I ask, drinking in Gunner once again. His dark hair, which is a little long over his collar. The cuffs of his black V-neck that are a little tight on his biceps.