Playing Dirty (20 page)

“The crap you gave me about sleeping with Jed.”

“Not true. I gave you crap about
not
sleeping with him.”
 

Griffen blushed and cleared her throat. “Well, this isn’t about me,” she said. “So...Was it everything you remembered?”

Mattie pressed her lips together. She looked to Hanna, but her friend was of no help and kept looking at her expectantly. She knew better than to enlist aid from Layla who’d practically reinvented the if-it-feels-good-do-it philosophy the past few months.

“Well...?” her sister prompted.

“You guys are so annoying,” Mattie complained. “I don’t know why I even called you to come over.”
 

“Because you love us,” Hanna said, ripping the paper off another package.

“Can’t live without us,” Layla added as she admired the high-end cappuccino machine Hanna had unwrapped. “You might want to reconsider your decision, Matt. This cappuccino maker alone might be worth hanging onto Trenton.”

“Nooo, that’s so wrong,” Mattie said, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.
 

Hanna swatted Layla playfully. “You’re headed for a time out, young lady.”
 

“Well...” Griffen prompted, again, in her usual, unrelenting way.

Mattie attempted to concentrate on the thank you card, but could feel them all staring at her. Finally, she let out a harsh breath. “Fine.” She tossed the pen on the table. “If you must know, we haven’t...gone there yet.”

Hanna’s mouth fell open.

Layla looked at her as if there was something seriously wrong with her. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
 

Griffen frowned. “You’re joking, right?”
 

“Nope,” Mattie answered, before she drained her wine glass.
 

“Well, why the hell not?” Layla demanded. “Is it broken?”
Mattie reached for the wine bottle and poured herself a refill, then topped off the other two glasses. “I needed time,” Mattie said without looking at them as she set the empty bottle back on the table.
 

“Time for what?” Hanna asked. “Revirgination?”

Griff laughed. “Is that even a word?”
 

“If not, it needs to be,” Layla declared. “Seriously, Matt. Why on earth not?”

She let out another impatient sigh and looked at her friend. “It’s too soon,” she explained. “Four weeks ago I was married to Trenton. Ford’s only been home two weeks. It took me over three years before I was ready to move on after losing Ford. What was I supposed to do? Break up with Trenton and welcome Ford back into my bed that night?”

“I’ve heard worse ideas.” Layla reached across the table for a crab puff. “Think how he feels. It’s been five years since the guy’s gotten any.”

Hanna looked at her as if she weren’t firing on all cylinders. “As much as I hate to admit this, Layla does have a point.”

Maybe she had finally lost her mind. Who could blame her after the emotional turmoil she’d been through since returning from Europe? Seriously, what
was
she waiting for? Or maybe she was avoiding the situation? But that made no sense, not after the way she’d responded that night on the deck with Ford.
 

“I think we all know you never stopped loving your husband,” Hanna said. “For that reason alone, I don’t understand why you’d wait.”

“No kidding,” Layla added. “The love of your life returns from the dead. What are you waiting for? Take that man to bed and fuck him, for fuck’s sake.”

“God, you’re so crude,” Hanna said with a shake of her head. “Do you even have a filter?”

Layla grinned. “I lost it with my virginity.” She looked directly at Mattie. “So?”

Mattie picked up her wine glass and swirled the contents. “It’s complicated,” she finally said, then took a big gulp of pinot.
 

Griffen folded her arms and gave Mattie a harsh stare. “Bullshit. You’re afraid.”

“Of what? Ford?” He was the last person on earth she’d ever fear. Losing him again? Absolutely. As long as he was a member of the Armed Forces, she’d have to live with the constant, nagging fear of losing him again. She didn’t like it, but what military spouse did?

“No,” Griffen said, her tone gentling. “You’re afraid of losing yourself again.”

“You might be right about that,” Mattie admitted. “But it isn’t like Ford came home and nothing had changed. I’d remarried. I was invested in Trenton, in starting a life with him. I loved him. I might have chosen to stay with Ford, but that doesn’t mean I can shut off my feelings for Trenton that easily.”

She straightened the stack of generic notecards. A basic thank you for your thoughtful gift kind of note. No long explanation, no intimate details. The kind Trenton would’ve approved. Clean. Unemotional. Not too personal.

Hanna dragged a pita chip through the artichoke dip. “I feel bad for Trenton,” she said. “It’s like he was destined to end up in second place.”

“I never thought of him that way,” Mattie told her. But in the end, that’s exactly where he’d ended up—a distant second.

“Until Ford came home,” Layla said, reminding her of how in those first moments no one else had existed except her and Ford.
 

Slowly, Mattie nodded her head. “Yeah. There was that.”

Hanna drank more wine. “Nothing will screw up a honeymoon like a dead husband coming back to life.”

“Yeah, that’ll kill the romance.” Griffen said. “For the record, so will teenagers.”

Layla’s lips pulled into a sly grin and a wicked gleam entered her friend’s eyes. “Poor Ford,” she said. “Five years is a long time. Have a heart, Mattie. It’s not a job, it’s an adventure.”

“Oh, no,” Hanna laughed. “You didn’t just say that.”

Mattie grinned. “You’re cut off,” she said to Layla with a laugh. “And I am
not
having this conversation with you people.”

“Hey, just sayin,’” Layla said. “Consider it your patriotic duty.”

“I think I’ve done more than enough for my country.” Mattie snagged the empty wine bottle from the table and walked into the kitchen. As she stood debating opening a third bottle versus brewing a pot of coffee, she was struck by a deep sense of guilt. She
had
paid the ultimate price. Not once, but twice. First, with Ford’s demise, then by losing Trenton because of Ford’s return. But really, despite the heartbreak over Trenton, even she had to admit she was one of the lucky ones. Her husband had eventually come home, and in one piece. She didn’t doubt there weren’t emotional scars he’d kept hidden from her. A man didn’t survive that long in the presence of the enemy without acquiring a few.

She flinched when Griffen’s hand settled on her shoulder. “You okay, Stinkerbell?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just spending too much time in my head.” She tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin. “Maybe Layla has a point.” She went to the wine fridge. Since they’d wiped out her last two bottles of pinot grigio, she withdrew a bottle of moscato.

“You mean that whole take one for Uncle Sam thing?”

“God, when you put it that way,” Mattie said with a laugh. “No, about Ford. He’s kept his distance since I ended things with Trenton. He’s been patient, and that’s not like him. When Ford wants something, he goes after it. Always has.” She looked at her sister. “Do you think maybe he’s avoiding me?”

Griffen opened the refrigerator and looked inside. “Maybe he’s just keeping his word and respecting your need to mourn.” She pulled out the bottle of orange juice before she went to the cabinet for a glass. “But that’s a question you’ll have to ask him.”

Mattie knew her sister was right. The problem was, she wasn’t sure she was ready to have that particular conversation. Ford was her husband and she loved him, but they hadn’t yet rediscovered that sense of intimacy between them. Maybe it was time.

“Let’s wrap this up, Grayson,” Layla called from the dining room. “We’re wasting a good buzz here.”

Mattie opened the wine and followed her sister back into the dining room. “Heaven forbid,” she said as she refilled their glasses. “We can’t have anyone getting sober.”

* * *

Before the sun crested the horizon early on Sunday morning, Ford pulled his shiny and new, silver Dodge Ram pickup into the driveway and killed the engine. In the past thirty-six hours, he’d been lucky if he’d slept six, and he was grateful to be home after the weekend spent on base. With his training, he should’ve been able to go another thirty-six easy. As much as he hated to admit it, he was dragging ass and out of shape due to his years in captivity. But damn if he wasn’t enjoying the last of the adrenaline-fueled buzz brought on by the intensity of the mission they’d tracked.
 

He loved the feeling and missed the rush of being on the ground, in the thick of the action and calling the shots. But that was no longer his job. He’d made a promise to Mattie, so today he’d find satisfaction in knowing they’d won one against the bad guys. In the end, all that had mattered was the members of the SEAL team they’d been tracking had not only extracted the package, but they’d been picked up by the crew of the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan and were underway to a fresh rendezvous point. Who exactly that package was, or the location of the next point of contact, was above his pay grade. His job was to oversee his crew who monitored the ground team’s progress, and to provide valuable intelligence to the support team waiting to recover the extraction team.
 

Mission accomplished.

God help me, it’s not enough.

He shut down that train of thought and left the truck parked in the driveway. He hadn’t been stateside all that long, and had been on the job less than ten days. There was bound to be a period of adjustment. While he understood it took time to re-acclimate, both at work and home, it didn’t lessen his level of frustration.

At this hour, Mattie would probably still be sleeping, so he quietly let himself into the house and disengaged the alarm. He’d love nothing more than to take a hot shower, slip into the warmth of his wife’s bed and make love to her as the sun rose, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He’d promised her patience, that he’d wait until she was ready. The truth wasn’t quite as black and white. While he was so ready he was close to exploding, a part of him also hesitated. There were things he needed to tell Mattie, about his time in the hands of the enemy. He needed to prepare her so when she witnessed what they’d done to him, she could handle it. Since he wasn’t exactly anxious to have that particular conversation with her, keeping his distance wasn’t only for her benefit.
 

Coming home hadn’t been all that easy. In the past couple of weeks, he’d discovered other landmines he hadn’t realized needed navigating. For one, he’d had to learn how to be a parent. Not being there through Phoebe’s infancy and toddler years, he hadn’t had the opportunity to grow into the role like other fathers, but instead was learning on the fly how to parent an intelligent, inquisitive and damned precocious five-year-old.
 

His daughter wasn’t his only adjustment. Just learning how to be home again took effort. He’d forgotten the pitfalls of small town life. The gossip, the speculation, those who meant well, but weren’t sure what to say to him. He’d run into a couple of guys he’d gone to high school with and had met up with them for a beer. They’d had a few laughs, but in all honesty, he’d rather spend his down time with his family, getting to know his daughter and reconnecting with his wife.
 

Without turning on the light, he dropped his keys in the glass bowl on the accent table in the foyer. Mattie called the pale turquoise, three-drawer chest, shabby-chic. He called it old and needing a decent coat of paint.
 

He turned to head toward the kitchen and tripped over a cardboard box. He put his arm out to steady himself and knocked a tower of boxes to the floor. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “What the hell?”

He flipped on the overhead light, bathing the foyer in a dull glow. Along both sides of the half-wall separating the formal living room from the foyer, were two rows deep of cardboard boxes stacked three to four high, all packaged for shipping.

“Ford?” Mattie called quietly from the hallway. “Are you okay?”

He righted the boxes he’d knocked over. “I’m fine,” he answered as she rounded the corner. “What’s all this?”

“Wedding gifts,” she said. “I thought it was time I return them.”

He looked to the living room and into the dining room where the unopened wedding gifts had been taunting him, reminding him his wife had briefly belonged to another. To say he was relieved they would soon be history was an understatement. “You did all this yourself?”

“Oh, no. I had help.” She bent to retrieve a stray package, and his eyes landed on her curvy backside, barely covered in a pair of blue pajama shorts. He eyed her legs, lightly tanned and shapely, and his imagination took off like a jet catapulted from the deck of an aircraft carrier. He tried not to swallow his tongue at the sight of all that exposed skin. Smooth, sleek, and he’d been dying to touch her.

His patience was seriously starting to wear thin.
 

“Griffen, Hanna and Layla stayed over Friday night and we knocked it out. I bribed them with food and a few bottles of wine.”