He let the words he was about to say simmer in his mouth before he said them. “This stays between us.”

I nodded.

“I have to be more careful, Nomes.”

I shook my head, still confused.

“Darby’s pregnant.”

chapter twelve

dutch boy

Naomi

“Y

ou’ve been to war. Twice… Officially. You’ve led entire units of militia of veterans from all branches. You’ve taken four bullets. You’ve stood up to your mother-in-law, for Christ’s sake. You can do this,” I said aloud.

I gripped the steering wheel of my FJ, seeing Zeke’s silhouette in the rearview mirror. He was standing in front of the hotel entrance, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Get out of the car, Naomi,” I said to myself. I’d had more courage counting down the seconds before my team charged into an enemy camp in Yemen. “Get out of the fucking car.” I barked the words like I was a new militia recruit then scrambled for the handle, pushing my way out. I smiled when my feet touched the pavement, and Zeke smiled back.

“Did you have problems with the food?” Zeke called, strolling across the lot.

“Oh shit,” I said, reaching for the white plastic sack that had been riding shot gun since I’d left the Chinese place.

I’d felt off ever since Trex and I had walked away from the soldier in Deep Echo, and I couldn’t shake it. Now I was meeting Zeke for the closest thing I’d had to a date since Matt was last home on leave.

I kicked the FJ’s door shut, lost in that thought only to realize when I snapped back to the present that Zeke was standing two feet away, grinning like an idiot.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to get out of the car,” he said.

“Me either.”

He took the sack from my hand and signaled for me to follow him inside. We walked together, but it felt too slow and forced, like he knew I was only pretending Plan B—me dropping the sack and peeling out in the FJ—wasn’t imminent.

Zeke didn’t seem as nervous as I felt. Why the hell not? And why am I nervous? Spending time with him wasn’t a date date. We were eating takeout in his hotel room and maybe watching some pay-per-view.

Zeke put one hand in the pocket of his gray sweatpants. Between those and his well-worn t-shirt, I felt better about my attire. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun. I might’ve put mascara and lip balm on, I couldn’t remember.

He stopped just before the door sensors tripped, taking the white plastic sack from my hands. “Uh … Naomi?”

I stopped, swatting away the gnats that had been drawn by the light from inside. “Yeah?”

“Just ignore the guys.”

“What? Did you tell them I already put out?”