The Officer Says "I Do" (15 page)

“Work? Surely you can ask off for important things. Your husband’s boss invites you to dinner, that seems like something you would want to attend,” Patricia commented sourly. Her voice said she was shocked it even had to be debated.

There was no way to back out of that. “Great. Sounds great.” He excused them and headed for the parking lot, all but dragging Skye behind him.

“Got everything?”

“Yeah, I do… but, Tim,” she panted behind him. “Why are we leaving so fast?”

“I’m just ready to go.” It was an asshole answer, but he didn’t want to get into why he was pissed while they were there. Frankly, he didn’t want Skye to know his misgivings about the CO at all. She seemed nervous enough as it was. No point in giving her something else to worry about on top of her nerves.

He didn’t relish the thought of having dinner and mixing more of their personal life with work. But there was no way to get out of it now. They’d push through and move on.

***

“Tim, do you really want me to ask off for next week?”

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and glanced over. Skye was in the passenger seat, her fingers scrunching and releasing the hem of her purple skirt. “Do you work on Saturday?”

“I don’t know yet. Won’t know until Monday, when Mac has the new schedule out. But it’s easier to ask off before he makes the schedule than it is to trade a shift. So if you want me to…”

Tim swallowed. “I’ll be going either way. But I don’t want it to mess up anything with your work schedule. I know work is important for you.” Despite what Patricia Blackwater thinks. The old bat.

Skye was quiet for a moment, then said, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For acknowledging that you understand working is important for me.” She took a deep gulp of air. “I don’t know if you expected your wife to work or not, since we never really talked about that. We didn’t have the chance. But to me, it’s not just about adding to the income. It’s something that I enjoy, and it makes me feel independent and my own person aside from the relationship. So it’s a big deal for me.”

Matter-of-fact, when Tim thought back to his vague “someday” version of marriage he’d always carried in the back of his mind, his faceless, nameless wife hadn’t worked. Maybe that was because his mother didn’t work outside the home, maybe he just knew he would always be able to support a wife so she wouldn’t have to work, or maybe that’s because he just had no imagination.

For which Skye would make up for quickly.

But despite the fact that he never expected her to hold a job or contribute financially, he really didn’t mind it.

“It’s not a big deal for me. If you like your job, then that’s what matters. If you don’t, then quit. Stay home and make crepe paper flowers all day. Do what makes you happy.”

Skye’s face split into a huge grin, and she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “That’s really sweet of you to say. Do what makes you happy. I think there might be a little hippie in you after all, Timothy O’Shay.”

Tim scowled at that. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. I’m not running out to hug trees or save otters or whatever.”

Skye settled back in her seat, a smug smile curving her lips. “Mhmm. Just keep telling yourself that.”

He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. Skye might think she had the upper hand in some things, but Tim’s personality was too dominant to let control pass him by for too long. It wasn’t a matter of need. It was pure habit. He was in control all day long, making decisions that affected hundreds of people. But he could relax that from time to time. At least, he hoped so. Marriage was about give and take, he reminded himself. He had to give up control as much as he used it.

“So I’ll just ask Mac if I can make sure to have Saturday evening off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. Give and take, right? That’s marriage.”

Skye went back to humming with the radio, but Tim had a moment to wonder if he’d been thinking out loud. No, she was just repeating a well-known phrase. That’s all. “Did you have fun?”

“I loved meeting the other women. And Beth was a hoot. That sweet Southern belle routine is all a front. She’s a feisty gal for sure.” Skye gave a dreamy smile. “I’m glad I found some friends. I love hanging out with Madison, but I need some variety. They were all really nice. Except, well…”

When she didn’t finish, Tim prodded, “Well?”

“I don’t think Patricia Blackwater really thought very highly of me,” she said carefully, and went back to fingering the hem of her skirt. He watched as she caught the bottom of her lip between her teeth.

Reaching a red light, he leaned over and put his thumb against her lips to stop her from biting harder. “Well, I think it looks nice on you.” And it did. The vibrant color made her skin glow, and the material flowed around her like a cloud, following her curves lovingly without being overly sexual. Just a sweet hint of the body beneath.

Instead of biting her lip, she took the pad of his thumb in her mouth and gently closed her teeth around it.

Tim hissed in a breath. “Maybe the best place to tease me isn’t in the car, sweetheart.”

With obvious reluctance, she pulled away, teeth grazing his thumb until he was free.

“Thanks for saying I look nice.”

Tim struggled to downshift from the mental image of pulling into the nearest parking lot and tossing her in the backseat for a reenactment of his teenage years. “It’s just the truth.”

“Hmm,” was all she said. But the fantastic mood she’d shown while talking about Beth had somehow dimmed.

Tim hated that—when she turned inward and somehow the thing that made her Skye became shuttered. So he did the only thing he could think of.

“I’d love for you to come to the dinner. It would be nice having you there with me.”

She smiled again, more genuine this time. “Okay.”

Skye let out a frustrated groan as a car cut her off. Her hand hovered over the horn, then she counted to ten and went back to clenching the steering wheel. Time for self-inflection. The traffic wasn’t the true source of her frustration. Her lack of loving was.

She was the one who made up the stupid “no sex” rule to begin with. Shouldn’t she be the one who gets to take it back? What the hell kind of game was Tim playing? She’d been putty in his hands the other night in the kitchen. And he just… walked away. Who did that? What was his end goal? Or was it the same as hers, and she was just paranoid?

She caught herself hitting the gas a little too hard and eased off. Getting a speeding ticket would have just been the cherry to her craptastic sundae.

Skye rarely saw her husband at all during that week. The universe was conspiring against her. Thanks to being the new kid on the management block, she still worked long hours. It was always an adjustment working at a new restaurant. And she refused to look like a slacker. So she came in early to make sure she was prepared, and stayed way beyond “late” to read up on procedures and ordering and to organize her own work space. Not her favorite way to spend evenings, but she was dedicated to being a good employee. It mattered.

Skye flipped her turn signal on and merged onto the exit ramp like a civilized human. It was more than plenty of the drivers on the road today were able to say. Three more calm breaths as she headed her car towards the mall.

Tim seemed to spend more and more time at the unit than ever. He always had good reasons. Paperwork that couldn’t leave the office due to security. A problem with a training manual. Helping Dwayne work out kinks before their company deployment.

He assured her after Dwayne’s company left that things would be easier. And once she had complete confidence in her spot at Fletchers, she would be able to leave as soon as her shift was over. But until then, she and Tim were like passing ships in the night. If she got a goodnight kiss from him, she felt lucky.

’Cause she sure as hell wasn’t getting anything more than kisses. Not at this point. He’d barely put his hands on her since the night he’d given her pleasure against the fridge. And it was eating her alive. Every moment of her day seemed to remind her of their lack of intimacy. Jealousy flared when she saw couples on dates, holding hands at the restaurant. Sharing kisses between courses or sneaking peeks over menus. The radio always knew she was listening. Every station managed to play some soft, slow ballad about love and lust and finding that special someone. The languid beats were just the right rhythm to make love to.

Which, from a more logical standpoint, she knew was wrong. Because she was the one who started the whole “no sex” rule in the first place. And it had its merits. They needed it. A little breathing room, a chance to get to know each other without letting physical intimacy get in the way.

She just really, seriously hoped they’d be in a good place and ready for sex soon. Very. Very. Soon.

Even her dreams were plotting against her, taking her to the brink of sanity. Images of Tim, naked and sweating in bed, infused her nights. Her straddling his legs, his hands bruising her hips with his grip. His rough play when he flipped her around to take her how he wanted…

And yet, the only times she saw him were buttoned up and laced into his stuffy uniform. Or when he was already heading to bed, and she was still in her own starched manager’s outfit, just home from work.

God, she had ideas. Hundreds of ideas. Thousands of ideas how to get rid of that damn camouflage. Rip it from his body. Tear seams. Pop buttons. Take a knife to it and cut the material away. Burn the damn thing.

Of course, Tim would probably call that blasphemous or something ridiculous. She’d make it up to him though. Inch by sweaty inch.

But first she had to get through this dinner at the Blackwaters’ house. The dinner that, despite his best effort, she could tell bothered Tim. He wouldn’t say why. Whether he disliked his boss, or he was worried about introducing her, or maybe he didn’t care for the other people who would be there… her mind ran wild with possibilities. As usual. Nothing could be simple or straightforward in her mind. Whatever the reason, Tim was definitely anxious about the evening coming up, and Skye refused to make him regret asking her to come along.

The dinner felt almost like a test, some real, tangible hurdle for their relationship to leap over before they could really make a go at being married in truth.

And she would pass. For the love of Mother Earth, she would pass. She slammed her car door a little harder than necessary and closed her eyes. One more breathing cycle and she felt calm enough to walk into the department store and meet up with Beth.

“Now tell me again, why do you need my help picking out an outfit?” her new friend asked, holding up a dress. She presented it out to Skye, then shook her head and put it back without Skye’s opinion.

“Because I seem physically incapable of picking anything remotely conservative. Even when I try to be more proper I end up looking out of place around here. The only thing I own that looks remotely proper in a moderate sort of way is my uniform for work. And I can’t wear that, obviously.”

“But I like the way you dress,” Beth pointed out. She flipped through the racks of clothing with expert speed. This was not her first last-minute shopping expedition. That much was clear. Once again, Skye blessed the stars she had thought to invite Beth out for help with an outfit.

“I do too,” Skye said, doing her best to keep the whine out of her voice. “But obviously what I wear isn’t appropriate for certain functions. And since everything I have with me I wore in Vegas, where anything goes, I need to get an outfit for this dinner on Saturday.”

She didn’t want to embarrass Tim in front of his boss. It hadn’t escaped her notice how quickly Tim tried to drag her away from the Blackwaters at the barbeque. It was almost as obvious as Mrs. Blackwater’s distain for her colorful outfit. An average person’s scorn for her fashion sense would normally make Skye roll her eyes and move on with her day. But the boss’s wife was different. Just like Tim’s mother was different. She wouldn’t flaunt her problems blending in front of the boss. Not when she could fix it with a shopping excursion or two.

“True. I’m probably the most boring dresser ever and even I have to think twice before heading over to their house,” Beth conceded. She pulled out a shirt the color of drywall and tossed it over her arm.

“You’re not a boring dresser,” Skye protested.

Beth stopped in the middle of the aisle, held her arms out, looked down at herself, then back up at Skye. One eyebrow arched in a silent
who
do
you
think
you’re kidding?
question.

Her friend’s shell tank in light pink, khakis, and black flats would be five kinds of torture for Skye to wear. But she smiled and said, “I think it works for you. Bolder colors would overpower your smaller frame. Do you go over to the Blackwaters’ often for dinner?”

“Nice topic change,” Beth said with a smile and tossed Skye another skirt. “No. I’ve only been over twice. To my knowledge this isn’t something they do often. At least, that’s what Toby says.”

“Does Toby care what you wear to this kind of event?”

Beth snorted. “No way. He wouldn’t know female fashion if it slapped him in the ass and called him Harry.”

Skye laughed and slung an arm around her friend. “I knew I was going to like you. Now come on. We’ve got some beige to try on.”

***

Skye draped herself over the bed and let her shoes fall to the floor with a thud apiece. Bags littered the floor around the bed, but she was too tired to put them away yet. Exhausted from shopping for clothes she didn’t really like, combined with the insane schedule she was working this week and no afternoon nap, had her feeling depleted. And not just physically. She was missing Vegas in a big way, for more than one reason. Her Skye-tank was running on E. Time to fix it the best way she knew how. Without another thought, she grabbed her cell from the nightstand and dialed. And her heart jumped with joy after the first word.

“Hello?”

Skye swallowed around the lump forming a block in her throat. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry. I must need to get my ears checked. This sounds like a friend I once knew. Skye was her name…”

“Ha. Ha.” Skye rolled on her back and smiled to the ceiling. “How’s life, Tasha?”

“Oh, little of this, little of that. Had a date the other week with a guy I will now refer to as Grabby Hands McGee. Almost had to beat his fingers off my ass with my purse. So of course I’m seeing him again next Thursday.”

“Of course,” Skye agreed, because it was so like her friend.

“They found your replacement at work. He sucks.”

Skye chuckled, then gave a half-hearted apology. “I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

“Uh huh. Liar. You’re not sorry at all. You’re holed up in domestic bliss somewhere in California, leaving behind us poor single people without big strong Marines to keep us warm at night. Traitor.”

“Domestic, yes. Bliss? Still up in the air.”

Tasha was silent for a minute. “Well, he did take off the morning after your wedding. I warned you that wasn’t the greatest of signs.”

“He didn’t know we were married,” Skye reminded her.

“Always what you want to hear about your friend’s husband. That’s not exactly a point in his favor, you know that, right?”

“Hmm.” Skye only made a non-committal response, knowing that’s all her friend really required to keep going. Sure enough…

“But I thought things were getting better. Or at least there was effort on his part. Is it not? Getting better, I mean?”

“Getting better…” Skye sighed and covered her face with a corner of the bedspread. “Yes and no.”

“Which is it?”

Skye said nothing.

“That bad, huh? Are you coming back? ’Cause I guarantee you, the GM would drop this new guy like a bad habit and grab you back. And never let go. At this point, I think he’d tie you to the bar with a bungee cord if he could get away with it.”

“No,” Skye said firmly. “No, I’m not coming back. This will work. It has to work.”

Tasha blew out an impatient breath. “Has to? Skye, I know you believe in Fate and that everything has a reason and all that, but have you ever thought that sometimes things just happen because they happened? And that we just have to find the quickest and most painless way out of them? Like ripping a Band-Aid?”

“No,” she said again. “This marriage means something. We both walked into it with eyes wide open—”

“One of you was wearing beer goggles,” Tasha interrupted.

“Eyes wide open,” Skye repeated more forcefully. “And we’re both determined to make the best of it. Think about it, why would a stable guy like Tim who has absolutely no belief in destiny or Fate agree to stay married? I mean, that’s got to mean something!”

“It might mean he likes having a convenient booty call.”

Skye mumbled something into the bedspread.

“Say again?”

“I said we’re not having sex,” she said through clenched teeth.

Tasha whooped with laughter. “So you’re telling me,” she gasped through the gut-wrenching laughter, “that you’ve got all the duties and responsibilities of a marriage, all the shit that comes with tying yourself to someone for the rest of your foreseeable future, without any of the actual perks? And he agreed to that?”

“Yes, he did. Which only proves my point that this marriage is meant to happen. Besides, there has to be room for adjustment. You’ve seen enough newlyweds in Vegas to know things aren’t magically perfect. Fate takes her sweet time.”

Tasha’s laughter died down. “Then why don’t you sound more happy?”

Skye examined her fingers for a moment. Short, clean, but definitely made for work. Not the hands of a cute housewife. “I don’t really fit in here.”

“Why the hell do you care?”

“Because it matters to Tim.”

“He said that?” Her friend’s outrage was clear through the phone.

“He wouldn’t. But… it’s just obvious. I stand out, big-time. And as much as I think everyone wants to pretend otherwise, it matters to his boss.”

“So his boss can take a flying leap.”

“I’d love to agree,” Skye said dryly. “But his boss is the one that can make or break Tim’s career. I mean, I’m not running around the office distracting Tim or anything. But there seems to be an emphasis with this colonel guy on family values. And apparently my values aren’t stacking up.” Maybe that was just her own negativity talking.

“What the fuck does he know? My best friend has unquestionable values and morals. You’re one of the most selfless, amazing people I know, Skye. And if you let some dickweed with shiny medals tell you otherwise, I’ll personally come down there and beat you for it.”

“Thanks.” It helped to hear it. Tasha, for all her jokes and sarcasm, was a mama bear when it came to defending her friends.

“Please tell me Tim hasn’t said anything about your values or morals. He doesn’t agree with this guy, right? ’Cause I can just add him to my list of ‘People Tasha’s Beating Today.’”

“No. I don’t think he ever would. But he could still resent me. If I was hurting his chances for promotion, or making things harder for him at work, why would he want to stay married to me? It’s not because he loves me.” Why did that truth hurt so much? She could honestly say she didn’t love him. Not yet. But she also feared that her love might come much faster than Tim’s ever would, if at all.

“So get out. It’s not worth it if you’re unhappy.”

“Just for a little while. I’m learning.”

“Learning what?”

“How to fit in.”

“How to be one of a million? Skye, come on. That’s not your thing. You’re you, and you are pretty freaking awesome. If Tim doesn’t want that amazing package—”

“We don’t know that,” she interjected, standing up for her husband.

“If. If he doesn’t want what you have to offer, then you’re better off.”

“Why is it that everyone always tells the dumpee they’re better off? Is that standard breakup procedure?”