Incinerate

Chapter 18

Knox

I COULD literally strangle Megan right now. Okay, not literally, but I’m pretty fucking pissed that she showed up at my gym. I don’t even know how the hell she found me, but she ruined probably the best first kiss of my life. And now, three days later, things have been weird as hell with Charlie and me. I swear she’s avoiding me, and I don’t get it. That kiss was only the beginning of something between us and I’m anxious to find out where it’s going to lead. Until Megan showed up, I had planned on throwing her into Evelyn, taking her home, and trying my hardest to get to her into bed before pulling her shorts off and impaling her before we can even get inside.

Instead, Megan was there with an invitation to the annual Labor Day party at my parents’ place. Apparently, she’s even more delusional than I thought. I didn’t even know they still did that thing, and the thought that they actually want me there after no contact in so long baffles me. By the time I got her to leave, telling her that maybe I’d go, I had to go searching the gym for Charlie. The last place I looked was the sauna, and I found her there, sandwiched in between Jace and Kale, laughing her ass off at whatever it was they were saying.

Clearing my throat, I interrupted their cozy, little moment. She stood up quickly and sauntered towards me.

When she stopped right in front of me, my eyes traveled down the length of her body, hot, sweaty, and it took everything in me not to rip the towel off her and take her right there. If it weren’t for Jace and Kale, I probably would have.

“Everything good?” she asked.

“Perfect. That was nothing. Some stupid invitation from my parents,” I told her in a clipped tone, not wanting to talk about it. “Ready to go?”

After she changed, the ride on the way home was silent. I was still wondering why in the hell Megan—or my parents for that matter—would think that there’s any way I could possibly want to attend any sort of party they’re having. As much as I wanted to revisit that kiss, I was way too pre-occupied with the thoughts swirling around in my head, and I made a mental note to give Cohen a call later.

When I saw Megan, I felt absolutely nothing. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was pretty freaking pissed. Not because of her or what happened in the past, but because there she was again, fucking up my life. The moment should’ve been the perfect time for me to finally let Charlie know how much I want her, but now it’s tainted, and it irritates me to no end.

So here we are, three days later, with a weird tension in the air. I know she said she’s been busy due to students registering for classes and making sure that they’re getting all their benefits, but I feel like I’ve barely seen her.

This week she’s had frozen dinners every night, claiming to be too exhausted to cook, so I decided earlier that I’d have something ready on the table by the time she got home. Although I’m no gourmet chef, I know my way around the kitchen. It comes with the territory of bachelorhood.

Finishing up the final touches just as I hear her car pulling into the drive, I’m happy that my timing is perfect. She walks through the door, and I take a moment to admire her as she greets me before heading down the hallway. She’s wearing a sexy charcoal pencil skirt with a fitted red blouse tucked into it. The heels she’s wearing makes her legs look even longer, something I had no idea was possible. It’s almost painful that I know in less than sixty seconds she’s going to emerge in a different set of clothing.

I’m setting the table when she walks into the kitchen.

“What’s all this?” she asks, motioning towards the spread in front of her. It’s nothing fancy, but I make a pretty mean Drunken Spaghetti, and one of the local bakeries not far from me has the most amazing garlic bread. Paired with a tossed Italian salad and two glasses of Chianti, I’m pretty damn proud of this meal. I gesture for her to move towards the table, and she sits after I pull her chair out before moving to sit directly across from her.

“You’ve been crazy busy this week and haven’t had a decent meal. I thought I’d fix that for you,” I tell her, and I’m treated to the sweetest smile. All right. So far, so good.

Looking at her plate, she then looks back up at me. “Umm, Knox, I really appreciate the gesture, but why are these noodles purple?”

Ah, the question that always gets asked when I make this dish. I love to watch people’s initial reactions when I serve it. “It’s called Drunken Spaghetti. You boil the noodles with a red wine, water mixture. The meat is pancetta sautéed with butter, black pepper, and a little bit of the liquid. Once the spaghetti's finishing boiling, you add it to the pan with the pancetta and add ricotta cheese, mixing well. It's pretty damn delicious if I do say so myself.”

“You lost me at cooking with wine. I never understood how people could waste it when cooking. Or at least I’ve never had a dish so amazing that it made wasting the wine worth it. I don’t think I’d even get any in the pot before I drank it all.”

Shaking my head, I’m not surprised she has an issue with cooking with wine, knowing how much she loves the stuff. Lexi protested the same way when I made it for her and Jace. “Just try it, Charlie. Trust me.”

She shrugs and gathers a good amount on her fork before pushing it into her mouth. After placing the fork between her now closed lips, she pulls it out slowly, getting every single bit of flavor. She chews, swallows, and immediately goes for another bite.

Mouth still full, she places her hand across the table and grips my wrist. “Oh my god, I take it back. This is so freaking good, Knox!” Or at least that’s what it sounds like, but I’m distracted by the moan that follows.

“Told you,” I grin at her and get a balled-up napkin thrown at my face. Yes, this is definitely going as planned.

She starts telling me about her day, and even though she’s been so busy, I can tell how much she loves her job. I love the way she’s so passionate about it—just like she is with her volunteering gig.

“How’s being back at work?” she asks, knowing that this is my first week back full time, which is probably another part of the reason we haven’t been able to spend much time together.

“It’s not too bad. I’ve mostly been playing catch-up with computer-based training and it’s boring as hell. CBTs for the win,” I say sarcastically. “I’ll be riding the desk for a while, but hopefully I’ll be back to my regular job in no time. I can’t wait to get back out into the field and do training exercises.”

“I feel your pain. I sit at a desk all day and am stir crazy by lunchtime. If it weren’t for the revolving door of students, I’d be bored out of my mind. Do you like it? Working with explosives, I mean,” she asks, and I realize we’ve never really talked about my usual job.”

“I love it. It’s what I was classed into when I graduated Boot Camp, and it’s all I’ve ever known. Sure, it can get scary as shit, but knowing that every single time I defuse a bomb means that lives are being saved makes it all worth it.”

“Are you anxious to get back? After the explosion and everything?” Charlie asks, and I take a moment to consider my response.

“I am. It’s what I know. What I love. I guess I could spend my time dwelling on what could’ve happened during the explosion, but instead I like to be thankful that I got out of there alive. I’m fortunate that I don’t remember all the details, so I don’t have the nightmares, the memories. But I’d still go out on that mission in a heartbeat, because at the end of the day, I’m a soldier, and I answer when duty calls.”

“That’s really admirable, Knox,” Charlie says, smiling softly. I’m beginning to think that we can get things back on track tonight.

I try to play it off as we finish the meal, making small talk, but once she starts to get up to clear the table, I stop her.

“So are we going to talk about this?” I ask, jumping right in. She freezes and then slides back into her chair.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she says, looking down, not at me.

“I’m talking about what happened at the gym.” I have no idea why she’s avoiding the question, acting like she has no clue what I’m saying.

Looking up at me, she shakes her head. “What’s there to talk about, Knox? You did me a favor with Drew, so I was repaying it. No harm, no foul. I mean, sure, the kiss might have been a little much, but she definitely got a show out of it.”

Umm, what the fuck? She thinks that was all for show? I honestly have no idea what to say. I lean back in my chair, staring at her, wondering why she’d think I’d benefit from lying to Megan about who she is. She was there. There’s no way I was the only one who felt our chemistry the whole time we were in the ring, even before the kiss.

“Charlie, I wasn’t trying to put on a show,” I tell her, but she waves me off.

“No, seriously, Knox, it’s fine. I really didn’t mind, especially since Drew hasn’t bothered me after that night. It was extremely beneficial. I’m totally cool with it.”

“Char—” I start to protest, but she cuts me off.

“And hey, I’ll extend the same offer to you. Any time you need a pretend significant other, I’m your girl. Next time, keep your tongue to yourself,” she teases, rising from the table and gathering dishes while I sit here, mute, trying to wrap my mind around what she just said. Pretend? I don’t want it to be fucking pretend, and I thought that kiss proved that she didn’t either. As I guy who defuses bombs for a living, I’m wondering how in the hell I got my wires crossed.

Charlie

I’M TRYING to give him an easy out, but when he says it wasn’t a show, I want to believe it. It’s just that I’ve spent the last three days telling myself over and over again that we’re friends, only that, both with shitty exes. And I’m not about to play second fiddle to Megan—or even the memory of her. He’s apparently got too much pent-up anger and emotional baggage when it comes to her, and if she’s still in the picture, I know I can’t go there.

He’s watching me as I take the dishes to the sink. I’m wearing pajama shorts and a tiny camisole, and the way he’s looking at me makes me want to forget my decision to just keep it friendly. It’s an expression of confusion, mixed with what looks like desire, and it’s something I’m struggling not to notice.

After coming home from work, I expected just to plop down on the sofa and veg, never expecting to be greeted by Knox. The fact that he’s paid enough attention to notice my eating habits and then cook me a meal to make sure that I fully satisfied is probably the sweetest thing he’s done for me—and that’s not Knox. He doesn’t do sweet, so he says, and he doesn’t do relationships. Unfortunately for me, just like I told Kale, I don’t do casual. So it’s better to stay friends and live with the memory of that amazing kiss. Some Knox is better than no Knox, right? I’ll try to keep telling myself that.

When I finish the dishes, I realize he’s no longer in the kitchen. Checking the living room, I see he’s not there either. It’s not long before I find him on the back deck, wine in hand, feet up on a wooden post, looking completely relaxed, without a care in the world. Taking a moment to watch him, I’m wishing things could be different.

I grab my glass from the island. Right as I’m about to join him, I spot his guitar resting on the wall at the beginning of the hall. Taking it with me, I go out on to the deck and sit next to him.

“I never did get that serenade you promised me, you know?” I tell him, wanting more than anything to finally hear him play. After that night on the river, he never did end up playing for me, and it hasn’t come up again. I’ve heard him practicing over the last month and decide it’s finally time I get him to play for me.

Chuckling, he sets his glass down and grabs the guitar from my hands. “I was kind of hoping you’d forgotten that.”

“Nope. I’ve just been biding my time, letting you perfect your skills. I decided that I can’t wait any longer though.”

“You know, I played when I was younger, but I stopped once I joined the Army. I’m not sure why. I thought it’d be hard, but I picked it back up pretty easily. Remind me to thank your dad next time I see him. I’ve been having a lot of fun getting reacquainted with it.”

“I’ll let him know. Now stop stalling and play me something,” I tell him as I lean back in my chair, placing my own feet up on the wooden post as well. Closing my eyes, I wait for him to start.

The sound of slow chords begins to fill the air, and I’m unfamiliar with the notes. After an instrumental intro, I’m shocked when he starts to sing. His voice is beautiful, but as he continues, I’m completely floored. It’s an incredibly sad song about giving up on someone but wanting them to stop you, and the way he’s singing is…beyond words. It’s haunting, and emotional, and I can’t help but open my eyes to watch him.

His are closed as his long fingers strum the guitar, and he’s no longer leaning back in his chair. Instead, he’s sitting up straight, completely rigid, not moving save for his fingers and mouth. I’m completely entranced, and when he opens his eyes, ours lock and I can’t look away. It’s like he’s singing right to me, but the words don’t make sense. His voice slightly falters on the next line, and he finally looks away. Replaying the words, I can only imagine who they’re for, who he’s saying he loves, and to whom he’s saying goodbye.

Repeating the chorus two more times, he finishes the song, and I’m breathless. Why did he choose that song? Did Megan’s appearance really affect him that much? Or am I reading too much into it?

“Well?” he asks me, breaking my train of thought. He’s watching me intently, and I have to calm my racing heart before I can even begin to think of responding. Not knowing what to say, I down half my wine in one big gulp.

“That…that was incredible. I had no idea you could sing. Or even play like that,” I tell him, being more than honest.

Grinning sheepishly, he shrugs. “Not many people do.”

“What song was that? I’ve never heard it before and it was beautiful.”

“It’s called “Say Something” by Great Big World. My cousin’s a music blogger and always sent me the up-and-coming music when I was in Afghanistan. Something about that song stuck with me and I just really wanted to learn how to play it,” he says, apparently trying to downplay the meaning behind it.

“I’ll have to check it out on iTunes. I loved it.” I can’t wait to get to my room now to hear the original version, although I’m kicking myself for not stealthily recording Knox’s performance.

“Want to hear something else?” he asks, and I nod.

I have to laugh when he launches into Kip Moore’s “Beer Money”, and the mood completely changes. We spend the next hour or so jamming out—well, he does—and he even takes requests. Cracking me up with his rendition of Boy Named Sue, I can’t help but smile at the fact he remembers that I love that song. Once he finishes, he grins at me before standing up.

“Refill?” he asks, pointing to my wine glass.

“Only if you promise to keep serenading me, Rugged.” He grins at the use of his nickname, something I’ve decided to embrace after Jace spilled the beans. “And I want more new country, even if you claim not to like it!”

Shaking his head, he goes back inside. A few moments later, he comes back out, and I grin when I spot the cowboy hat on his head.

He hands me my wine glass and sets a fresh bottle down in between us. “I figured if I’m going to be singing country I’d better get in character.”

“Oh, I definitely dig it. Now you’re not just Rugged Man, but you’re Rugged Cowboy,” I tease, loving the look on him.

He plays for a while, and I’m dying when he starts singing “Country Girl.” I hope he’ll get up and shake it for me. Not disappointing me, he gets up from his chair, standing in front of me. As soon as he gets to the chorus, he slowly turns around so his ass is practically in my face. He starts moving his hips back and forth, doing some weird sort of gyrating motion, but it honestly just looks like he’s dry humping the air. Poor guy does not know how to shake it without a warm body right in front of him. He stops when I fall into a fit of giggles, doubling over with laughter.

“What?! Isn’t that why you ladies love that Luke Bryan guy? He’s always shaking his ass on those awards shows.”

Trying to contain myself, I stand up beside him. “Yes, Knox, that’s definitely part of the Luke Bryan appeal, but he’s a hip-gyrating professional. That…whatever that was you were just doing…looked more like you were trying to have sex with some invisible person and it was not pretty.”

“Hey, give me some credit. I only use my hips in that way when there’s a hot chick in front of or beneath me.”

“You’re such a perv,” I tell him, smacking him on the arm as I take the guitar out of his hands. Moving around so that I’m behind him, I place my hands on his hips. “Roll,” I order, and he begins moving his hips as if he’s using a hula hoop.

This clearly isn’t going to work, so I move to the front of him, my back to his chest. Taking his hands, I place them on my waist.

“Follow my movements with your hands, okay?” He nods, and I start to move.

Pushing my hip first out to the right and then to left, I slowly gain momentum, rolling my ass and simultaneously circling my hips. It’s no different than if we were dirty dancing at a club, but I’m forcing him to feel the rhythm in my movements.

His fingers are digging into my skin, and I try my hardest not to brush up against his groin and make this something it’s not. But god, I fucking want to, and that part of me wins out.

Pushing back ever so slightly, I barely allow my ass to graze him as I continue to move, but apparently he has a different idea. The hands on my waist pull me into him, and I almost gasp when I feel the hard erection nestle against the thin cotton of my pajama shorts.

He leans in and I feel his lips against my ear. “Show me again, sweetheart. I think I’m a slow learner and definitely need another demonstration.”

Shaking my head, I give in. “Pay attention this time, cowboy.”

His lips are still there, and I can feel the smile that spreads over them. “Don’t you mean Rugged Cowboy?”

I ignore him as I place my hands over his once again and begin to show him just how to shake it. It must be easier for women since we’re always in front anyways. We spend the next few minutes in complete silence, and I’m so glad that the sun has set so his neighbors aren’t getting a show. His hands flex and grip with the various movements I make, and when I try to move away from him, he holds me still, forcing me to grind against him as he tries to follow my movements.

I finally have to pull away from him because if I don’t, I’m going to be begging him to take me right here on the deck. Turning around, I look up at him, fully prepared to make him show me what he’s learned. Instead, I’m quick enough to catch him adjusting himself in his shorts, and I can’t help the small cheer I feel inside me at knowing that I made him hard.

When he catches me watching him, he shrugs and grins at me sheepishly. “Hey, there was a hot ass rubbing up against him. What do you expect?”

Not responding, I sit back down in my chair and pick up my wine glass. Twirling my finger, I motion for him to stand in front of me. “All right, cowboy, show me what you learned.”

Placing his hands on his hips, he first moves to the left then to the right. His movements are so jerky, not fluid or flowing at all, and it’s almost painful to watch. He’s definitely hot, but this guy cannot shake his hips for anything. Knowing how good he felt when he was behind me, I realize that he can only dance well if he has a partner. When he was holding my hips, he was moving his own smoothly, rolling with mine in perfect unison. Now? He just looks like a robot trying to do the hula hoop and it’s not working for him. When he catches me grinning into my wine glass, he stops.

“Laugh it up, sweetheart. Hell, I’m fucking glad I can’t shake it like a male stripper. I’d much rather have a pretty little thing in my arms than twerk it on stage.”

I nearly spit out my wine at his comment. “Did you seriously just say ‘twerk it’? Who are you, Hannah Montana? Please never use that term again in my presence.”

“Billy Ray’s kid? Is that her thing? Okay, scratch that from the record. Seriously, pretend I never said the word twerk.”

“Well, I guess we can take hip-gyrating country singer off your list of potential careers, but still, I’m amazed at your voice, Knox.”

Grinning at me, he picks his guitar back up and strums a few notes. “Thanks, sweetheart. Glad you enjoyed the performance. Any time you want an encore, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, and I’m going to hold him to it.

I can’t help the yawn that surfaces. Even though I’ve been having a great time with him, I’m truly exhausted after the longest week at work. Following me when I head inside, he puts the guitar back where I found it.

“I’m going to head to bed, but thanks for the show, Knox,” I tell him as I rinse my wine glass out.

He comes over to the sink and sets his glass down on the counter. Leaning down, he places a chaste kiss on my cheek.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

With that, he backs away, walking out of the room and leaving me alone. I grab my wine glass and decide to refill it, taking it back to my room. I immediately get on my computer and search for “Say Something.” When I hear the original version played with only the piano, I’m hooked. I immediately buy it on iTunes and put it on my phone.

Crawling into bed, I can’t help but put the song on repeat. It’s that beautiful. Drifting off to sleep, I hear nothing but Knox’s voice. A tear rolls down my face as I hear him singing these haunting words, wondering who, exactly, he was singing to and why it’s bothering me so much.