“I notice things, gorgeous.” He grinned. One that said just how proud he was of his acute ability to observe. “I saw Pete dump a few in your soda last weekend. Come on—let me introduce you to everyone.” His fingers brushed down her spine before finding their familiar place on the small of her back, the woven fabric of her sweater rasping against her skin from the pressure of his palm. He led her to the back door, his hand on her and the nearness of his body her very own haven. She was her own beacon of protection. But there was no denying the way that small touch calmed the foreign fluttering in her chest.
She smoothed her hands over her sweater and ran her fingers through her loose waves before stepping out onto the back patio.
“Rafe’s here,” a short, stocky man hollered out from behind a smoking grill. He was mildly handsome in that cute, domestic way that would make you think of family outings in an RV.
Rafe’s hand clamped down on the man’s shoulder. “You doing good, brother?”
He nodded, a moment passing between them that made Fallon feel she was intruding. Rafe nodded and slapped the man’s back before pulling him into a hug. She was lost on the outskirts of the emotions surrounding the two guys, and it was heartbreaking. There was nothing to pinpoint the pain that unfurled from their embrace, but it cinched her heart. A heart that was a stranger to feeling. But she did.
Rafe did that to her . . .
His tall frame towered over her as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Her knee-high boots clicked against the concrete patio as they walked to a cluster of people sitting around a long glass table. As introductions were made, Fallon felt her confidence return to her, and she began questioning why she’d been so damn nervous in the first place.
Then she remembered as Rafe pressed a kiss to her neck, pulling her onto his lap as he sat down. Affection—let alone a public display of affection—was as foreign to her as tennis shoes. She was more comfortable in heels. . . .
“Uh-uh. Fallon, doll, come sit over here with us. You’re bound to be subject to army talk and deployment stories if you stay over there with the men,” the woman Rafe had introduced as Stella said, waving Fallon over to the far side of the patio, where she and a bottle blond were sitting around another table.
Stella was right. The men had already jumped in to stories from their recent deployment to Afghanistan, but Fallon was actually interested in hearing them. Of course, the other women had probably already heard them time and time again, but Fallon had learned Rafe was a soldier only that morning. She was intrigued with this man, and despite her desire to stay firmly curled in his lap, her well-instilled manners won out and she joined the women at the far side of the patio.
“So, Rafe’s never brought a woman around,” Stella stated with a Jersey accent and a smile on her face as Fallon took the empty seat next to her. Fallon was a pretty good judge of character, and she liked Stella from the start.
“How are we supposed to meet them when he has a different woman every night?” the woman named Claire interjected with a tinge of hostility that made Fallon smirk. Claire didn’t like Fallon, and she didn’t like that Fallon was there with Rafe—it didn’t take a mind reader to reach that little conclusion. But unfortunately for Claire, her words were meaningless to Fallon. Fallon already knew Rafe’s secret—hell, she’d found him neck deep in the aftermath. His need for women wasn’t news to her.
“Yeah, I’m one of the lucky ones. But I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll be happy to introduce you to the woman he screws tomorrow night.”
Claire’s eyeballs bugged from her head. Fallon simply crossed her legs and took a sip of her soda.
Stella laughed. “I do believe I like this chick.”
“I do too,” a tall, beautiful woman with a thick German accent agreed as she approached the table and sat down next to Fallon. Claire’s face tightened up.
Fallon searched for the apologetic smile stored away on reserve and brushed the dust and cobwebs off it. “I’m sorry, Claire—you made that one too easy for me.”
Claire only furrowed her dark brows even more. “So, how did you meet Rafe anyway?” she asked. Fallon didn’t get into it with women. She didn’t care to indulge in the petty bullshit that women appeared to thrive off of. But the accusation in Claire’s words seemed to scratch at a layer of her resolve.
This time when she reached in, she looked for the smile that her mother had taught her. The one that inflicted a false sincerity of kindness. She was a lady after all. “I only met him last weekend.”
Claire nodded and leaned back against her chair. “Oh.” She sipped her white wine. “So you’re one of the two girls he took home from the bar last Friday that Carter told me about.”