“Is forever,” she finishes for me.
I laugh once more.
“That’s not funny. It’s actually quite romantic,” Carina says, closing the thick book. Folding her hands in her lap, she fumbles with her tape recorder and scratches a few lines down in her notebook.
I scratch the side of my head. “Is it really that romantic, though?” I hand her the water with my question. I tap the linen cover of another album sitting on a side table. “These books don’t contain my love story. Not anymore.”
She unscrews the cap and takes a long sip, her almond eyes focused on my face. “When you put it that way, Iguess it’s tragic. I understand why she does it, but as a woman, I think deep down these photos are more for her. At this point, anyway.”
I grin. “You stole my thoughts. I humor her. She’s a beautiful, kind woman. I love her in a different way now. I respect her.”
“I can tell,” Carina says, tabling the water and leaning back into the sofa. It’s a light brown leather that Megan and I chose a few years back. I don’t like it any longer. “She’s a very lucky woman.”
I sit in a chair opposite her and lean back, folding my arms behind my head. “Some would argue that, but thank you.”
Her gaze draws to my forearms. That’s all it takes to get the conversation back on track.
Carina presses the record button. “Okay, Smith. Tell me why you joined the military. Make it good.”
I laugh, and it brings a beautiful smile to her face. She shakes her head as her gaze darts down to her hands. Her black eye is healed. Her olive complexion is even and smooth. The way it should always be. She has the type of skin that doesn’t blush, but it scars easily. That I’m sure of. “I was eighteen, and I wanted to kill Bin Laden,” I say.
Carina tilts her head shyly. “I think that’s why most our age got into the military.”
I sigh. “It is and it isn’t. I wanted to make a difference. In what way can a solitary man make a difference in thekind of world we live in? Truly, though. I went through many options when I was deciding how best my one human soul could affect the world the greatest. When I realized there’s no way for me to cure cancer in one lifetime or solve the world’s greatest problems in one lifetime, the answer was easy. Join the Navy. Become a Navy SEAL. Make a difference with my brothers beside me. Try to rid the world of bad, one bad guy at a time. It’s a daunting concept if you really think of it.”
Carina’s eyes are wide and enrapt. I smirk. She swallows. “Daunting how?” she asks, voice small.
“Trying to make a difference by chipping away at a huge stone with a toothpick. I know I won’t live to see the end of this conflict. Knowing that and having that knowledge is overwhelming. I wish I could do more.” I open my arms to the side and clasp my hands between my knees. “I want to save the world.”I want to save you.
“What a philanthropic heart you have, fine sir.” Carina crosses her legs at the ankle and shifts on the sofa. My gaze draws down, but I quickly look away.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. “It’s actually quite self-absorbed at the root of it. I want to die making a difference. A big difference, actually. I want to change something. Be someone worth remembering.”
“I like that,” Carina says. “That’s a fantastic tag line. I think you label it as self-absorption, but it’s not. Not really. You aren’t what I was expecting. Especially for a Navy SEAL.” She takes another sip of her water.
“I can’t help the stereotypes they place on us, and yes, I may subscribe to a few.”
She smiles widely. “You have the frog tattoo?” she asks, her voice more brazen.
I nod, eyes closed. “I do. You did your research?”
Carina laughs. “But you’re obviously not a womanizer,” she says.
I smirk. “Are you asking? Or is that an invitation?”
Carina’s mouth pops open. “No, of course not.”
I hold up a hand. “I was joking. Using some of that inappropriate humor we’re stereotyped for, you know?” I laugh. “I’m not a womanizer. I’ve only been with Megan. Or so I’ve been told.” I flash her a megawatt smile.
She shrinks back into herself a little more. “Noted.” My sexual non-promiscuity is a little embarrassing, but at least it’s an honest answer. Even now, with Megan, our sexual encounters are scripted and dull. I haven’t steeled enough nerve to ask if our sex life has always been this leaden or if it’s because she’s afraid to break me more.
“I was just lightening the mood a little. This is going to get heavy otherwise. Can I ask you something personal?” I want to start our one-for-one game again.
She hits the pause button on her recorder. “I can take a joke. I’m not used to your humor. That’s all. It depends on what that personal question is.” She runs a hand through her ponytail, and I watch as another photo albumcatches her eye.
Standing from my chair, I pick up the offender in question and open the album on the table in front of her. It’s a recent one from before I deployed and got blasted into smithereens.
“I’m giving you all of me here. I want to get to know you—the person who sells tall tales for a living, the person who hides behind a false name and big sunglasses. You have to know how intriguing you are to others.” I sit on the coffee table next to the album. I’m close enough to touch her, but I won’t. I’m thinking about sex with Megan and how lucky I am to have her.
