Darla batted the straw out of her hand. “Stop fidgeting. That’s my thing.”

“Ouch.” She scowled at her friend. “What’s my thing then?”

“Brooding. You’re nailing it, by the way.” Darla heaved a sigh and returned her attention to the crowd. “You know, this is a big enough sausage festival even I could get laid. Your impression of a gargoyle is foiling any chance I have of male interaction.”

Kenna massaged her forehead. “I’m sorry. I dragged you out on a school night and I’m being a twat.”

“Yes, you are, but I know how you can atone.”

She quirked an eyebrow. Go on.

Darla dipped a finger into her cranberry juice and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me what happened with the virgin.”

“What?” Her spine snapped straight. “Don’t call him that. What?”

Darla snorted. “Your reaction is not telling whatsoever.” She shifted in the cracked leather booth to face Kenna. “Come on. Unburden yourself. It’ll be like, I don’t know, losing your virginity or something.”

“You’re the twat.”

“I’ll own that.” Darla stacked her hands beneath her chin and stared. “Wait-ing.”

Kenna set her bourbon down with a thunk. “He…spent the night.”

Her friend did a double take. “Uh, the whole night?”

She nodded.

“Like, sleeping until dawn, pass the milk, borrow your toothbrush—”

“Yeah, there was neither milk passing nor toothbrush borrowing, but it was dawn when he left.”

Darla was silent a moment. “You sent him packing.”

“Understatement.” Her stomach rebelled at the memory of Beck’s face after what she’d said. The lies she’d told to make him leave. Because what was the other option? Have him stay and do what? Eat pancakes? No. That wasn’t her. Okay, she might have developed some murky feelings for the major, but they couldn’t be more opposite. He was a relationship guy. She’d rather hear “Sweet Home Alabama” a fourth time. Sending Beck packing had done him a favor. Come Thursday morning, he could board the plane to Georgia with a clear conscience and some handy sexual experience. If she gave him any more encouragement, he might do something stupid. Like stay at Black Rock. For her. Which would make things much harder when he finally left. Because it would only be a matter of time.

No one stuck around forever.

“Can we drop it now?”

Darla lowered her glasses. “I haven’t said anything in ten minutes.”

“Huh.” Kenna reached for her glass, but her hand froze in midair when Beck walked in. On cue, her thighs felt hot, her breasts heavy. The oxygen in her lungs seeped out like air from a tire. In faded jeans and a fitted navy blue T-shirt, he was the male equivalent of a triple fudge sundae with a cherry on top. Every man in the bar stood at least half a foot shorter, save the dark-haired man at his side who was also pretty tall, but still quite didn’t reach Beck’s height. Shit, she was staring at him like a certified goober. He hadn’t seen her yet, thank Christ. She scooted into the shadows and ducked her head down. “He’s here. He’s here. Is there a back entrance?”

“Now there’s a question a virgin would ask,” Darla murmured. “He must have rubbed off on you.”

“Save the comedy act. We’re in full-on crisis mode.”

Darla calmly sipped her drink. “Point him out to me before we steal into the night. I earned that by putting up with your twattage. I want to see the first man who managed to breach your apartment door.”

Kenna dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Blue T-shirt at the bar. You can’t miss him, he’s huge.”

Her gaze scanned the crowd and stopped, mouth falling open. “How did that stay a virgin?”

“Long story involving a preacher’s daughter and self-imposed abstinence.” Jealousy over the two-timing Mary bubbled in the region of her midsection and she ground her teeth. “Can we go?”

“You’re not going to introduce me?”

“Darla.”

“Okay, fine.” Darla scooted off the booth and stood. “You stay here lurking in the dark and I’ll scout alternative exits.”

She sent her friend a grateful look before hunkering down to wait.

* * *

The day was fast becoming the worst of Beck’s life. And when you’ve lived through sandstorms and had tiny pieces of shrapnel removed in the field, that was definitely saying something. On the barstool next to him sat his best friend, Cullen Flanagan. They’d gone through boot camp together, side by side. Prior to shipping out, he’d asked Cullen to watch out for his sister, Huntley, while he was gone. Cullen had agreed without question. Beck’s end of the bargain had been to look out for Xander Gibbons, one of Cullen’s recruits and mentees. Beck had failed in that endeavor.

After Cullen had recruited Xander right out of Arizona State, the younger man had surprised no one when he’d followed in Cullen’s impressive footsteps and chosen to specialize in EOD. Cullen had even submitted a request for Xander to train under him at Black Rock after he completed his basic training. The two really had been like brothers, hanging out after hours, too. Unfortunately, the fact that it had been Cullen to teach Xander how to properly disarm a bomb was the reason this conversation was so damn hard.

For six months Xander lived in Cullen’s shadow, learning everything he could, but it hadn’t been enough. As hard as this was on his friend, Beck knew it was only about to get harder.

“You’ve been back for two days?” Cullen tipped his bottle of Heineken back, his expression surly, which wasn’t exactly breaking news. They didn’t call him “Sullen Cullen” for nothing. Finishing his beer, he signaled for another. “You don’t even stop by the warehouse to say hey? What have you been doing with yourself?”

Avoiding this painful conversation. Getting lost in a beautiful, fascinating girl who couldn’t get enough or him one minute, and turned pricklier than a cactus the next.

Astute as usual, Cullen tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You meet someone, man?”

He started to say no, since he had no concrete answers when it came to Kenna, only shifting sand beneath his feet, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity. Cullen would know of her, being that she was Sutton’s daughter. Might be able to tell him something useful. Hell, maybe another part of him wanted to delay the world of hurt he was about to put Cullen in. “Yeah. I met someone.” He shuffled the coaster between his hands on the bar. “Kenna Sutton.”

Cullen choked on his beer. “Say again?”

“I’m guessing you know her,” Beck said, trying to keep his voice even. Cullen was known for his reputation with women. If he’d spent time with Kenna, Beck didn’t know how he’d react. Definitely not well. “If you’ve dated her, you best tell me now and get it out in the open, but I’m seeing her again, regardless, so watch what you say.”

“Have I dated her?” Cullen laughed under his breath. “Are you serious?”

Beck’s neck heated, right hand curling into a fist at what he deemed confirmation that Cullen and Kenna had been involved. Breathe. “Do I look serious?”

Cullen gave a rare smile. “Relax, man. They call her No Men-na Kenna. She’s sealed up tighter than a nunnery at midnight.” When Beck narrowed his gaze, Cullen signaled for shots. “Not that I’ve made any attempts to scale the nunnery walls. Tempting though she is.”

Beck’s body relaxed in degrees, temper cooling like he’d been doused in ice water. She’d lied to him? In an attempt to push him away, no doubt. Too bad it hadn’t worked. Her past made no difference to him as long as he was in her present. Add to what he knew now—that Kenna’s behavior toward him had been out of the ordinary—and his bone-deep feeling had been proven correct. This gravity he felt when they were together wasn’t imaginary. She felt it too, dammit.

The wound in Beck’s side demanded he shift positions. Cullen eyed him curiously as the shots were poured before them, but didn’t comment. Beck left his shot untouched, but didn’t object when Cullen motioned for anther round. This was it. A little fortification wouldn’t hurt, and alcohol might help numb Cullen to the blow Beck was about to deliver.