

Dedicated to Marcia and Ruth

Gone from this earth, but forever with me.

Tale of contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Inspiration and Acknowledgments

Other Works

Whiskey

1st Edition January 2018

Copyright © 2018 by

Mareta L. Miller

Edited by Prima Editing & Proofreading

This is a work of fiction. All names, locations, and characters are fictitious and are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, address the publisher at: Mareta L. Miller PO Box 12573 Las Vegas, NV 89104

I run into the bar, nearly late for my shift, and hoping that I can sneak in without Jonas catching me. If I have to listen to his lecture about punctuality one more time, I may just puke. I've never been punctual a day in my life. I was late for my own birth and for almost everything since, so why start now? When I am on time, it's by the skin of my teeth, and contrary to the saying, your teeth don't have actual skin. Even with my best efforts, time just never seems to be on my side.

I slip in behind the bar, and fortunately, one of my regulars is sitting at the end. I grab a beer and a glass and head his way, acting as though nothing is amiss.

"How's it going, Jim?"

"Damn good, now that you're here. How's my favorite bar girl tonight?"

"Better, now that I'm still your favorite bar girl." Then I lean in to whisper, "Though your options are few." I give him a little wink and he laughs. "I'll be back in a minute." I turn around and crash into a wall, or at least it feels like a wall—the wall of Jonas.

"Cutting it close tonight."

"Jonas, don't start with me. I'm here aren't I? I caught every damn light possible. I can't control the lights." I throw my hands up as I back away to move around him. The truth is I left late. Late should be my middle name. It's actually only six lights, but he doesn't need to know that. I can walk here, I'm that close, but I don't get off until two and I'd prefer not to.

"Then leave earlier. You know you're a little new here to be so cocky. It's a good thing you're an awesome bartender."

"It's a good thing you think I'm an awesome bartender." I smile at him and wait for his stern bossy look to crack, as I know it will. When it does, the corners of his mouth curve up and his pearly whites shine through. He just can't help it and I know it.

"Get to work!" He tries to pass it off as an alpha male order and I allow him that courtesy.

"You got it, boss!" I walk through the door that connects the two bars and smile. I love Saturday nights. I move quickly to start stocking my bar with anything and everything that someone having a night out would think to ask for. I only have two hours to get ready, but if you ask me, it's the hardest I'll work all night.

You see, tonight is karaoke, which means I get to work my own somewhat private bar in the back room and I'll make a killing in tips. But the real fun is listening to the performers and watching them lose themselves in their songs. Some people, okay a lot of people, just like to get up there and make fools of themselves. Many are too drunk to even read the words, but there are a few that are really good and you can tell that they wait all week for their three minutes on stage. Truth be told, I'm one of those people.

If you had asked me before I started here to stand up in front of people and sing, you'd get a big fat no and I'd probably give you the bird too, but after a couple of months with this crowd, and getting caught singing along on multiple occasions, a bar-wide campaign was launched to get me up there. I would've never believed or understood how liberating one song could be, or how I'd crave the feeling again, but what I think makes it even better, is that these people spend weekend after weekend here with me, so they're not just my customers, they are my friends.

I look around, satisfied that I've covered everything, so there's only one thing left to do. I walk over and pick up the whiteboard sign. A permanent heading across the top reads, Your bartender for the night, but my writing from the week before is rubbed off and worn. I use the eraser to give myself a fresh, clean canvas, then grab the red marker. When I'm done, the space below, in flared red ink, says, Whiskey.

Whiskey, it's not a joke, a nickname, but no joke. My best friend gave me that name the first time we broke into my parents' liquor cabinet. She went for the schnapps that were sweet and pleasing, and I went for the Crown Royal. It was the bottle that drew me in. It was in a purple drawstring bag, which made it look expensive and like it was something important people drink. My father drank it and he was pretty important. Jackie cringed at the smell of it but it just made me want to taste it more. I poured it into a shot glass, and like a pro, I threw it back, enjoying the feel of its warmth as it slid down my throat and settled in my stomach. I didn't even make the face you see when people on television drink the amber liquid from a crystal decanter—wimps. From that night on, Jackie called me Whiskey, and it just stuck. As I saw it, it wasn't a name to be ashamed of. I even got it tattooed on the back of my neck after I turned eighteen, along with a crown on my wrist, to remind myself that I'm a whiskey drinking, take it straight, tough as nails bitch.

My real name is Morgan, but you'd only know that if you looked at my driver's license. I never go by that name because I have always hated it. You can't turn Morgan into something cute and I wasn't named after anyone important, so there's no legacy that came with it. Out of the gate, it just sounds like the name of someone who's always in trouble, which I kind of always was, but my parents couldn't have known that when I was born and bestowed the hideous name on me, or did they? Never the matter, they are the only people on earth that call me that name. To everyone else, I'm Whiskey.

Speaking of, they're starting to flood in now. I can hear their voices before I see who they are, but as soon as I see faces, I start getting their drinks ready. By the time they've all say their hellos and make their way over to me, I'm sliding glasses across the bar, and that, my friends, is one of the many reasons I'm an awesome bartender. Know your regulars and know what they drink. If you do that, there's no doubt that when they pay you, "Keep the change," will follow, and in this business, that phrase is like music to my ears.

The core crowd, as I call them, starts coming in at eight, though karaoke doesn't start until nine. People are claiming tables and moving chairs to accommodate their party, and most importantly, making sure they drink enough liquid courage to follow through. Mitch, the KJ, aka karaoke DJ, shows up to set up the show, and some of the stars quickly crowd around him, getting their names in line and recklessly flirting to be a favorite for the night. It's really funny to watch middle-aged women strutting what they've got to be karaoke queen of the night. God, I love my job.

Mitch comes up to the bar to get his usual bucket of waters. I lean in close. "So who's queen of the stage tonight?"

He turns and looks at the queens in the running, then turns back to me. "Done them all, but wouldn't mind seconds."

"You're a fucking pig! Get off my bar!"

He just laughs.

"I mean it. Go away, man whore!" I yell as he steps away.

Now there's a dick I'd never touch. It's been in nearly every hole in this bar, including the glory hole. But never in mine, though it's not for lack of trying. He's a nice guy and he'd have my back in an instant, but sex with him would be like buying underwear from a Goodwill store. Just—no.

Mitch starts his show and the place is packed. Old faces, new faces, young people, old people. I never knew how popular this scene was until I started here. Of course, here was the first place I have ever worked. I moved to Las Vegas from Portland, and was fresh out of bartending school. Some don't see the logic in that, but it's simple. I hated it in Portland and finally got to a point in my life when I was done making decisions to make other people happy and I didn't have to stay. Las Vegas was somewhere I'd always wanted to go and one day I made a snap decision. I packed up my car and I left. I drove two days, living on coffee and my radio volume turned up to fifty. And no matter how poor I've been or what I had to give up since then, I've never regretted a moment.

I sing along with the singers on stage as I sling bottles and pour shots, never missing a beat with either, until I feel a pair of eyes on me and turn to see him. He must have snuck in while I was busy, taking his usual seat at the end of the bar. This is the third night he's been here, always just appearing out of nowhere. He's never waiting for anyone; he shows up alone and leaves alone, and I've never seen him before that first night. I'd definitely remember if I did. You just don't see a face, or a body like his, and forget.

I move to the end of the bar and grab a napkin to place in front of him. "Whatcha drinking tonight, stranger?" He makes eye contact with me and it's like I'm held captive in those brown orbs. Never before have I seen eyes the color of molten chocolate and caramel and I can't help but lick my lips.

"A shot of Crown."

I knew that's what he would order; it's what he's ordered every night. Little does he know he's a man after my own fucking heart.

"You got it." I grab a shot glass and set it on the counter. Normally, I'd show off my flare and flip the bottle into a perfect pour, but not with the Crown. It receives my full respect and pour perfection from bottle to glass. I pick it up and place it in front of him. "Meeting someone or drinking alone tonight?"

"I'm not meeting anyone and I won't be drinking alone if you drink with me." He just hit the mark and right now I might do anything he asks me to. Is it possible to have a mini orgasm from a beautiful man asking you to drink with him? And is it normal or wrong that I am completely willing to throw every ounce of respect I have for myself out the window to have one night of raw and animalistic passion with this man?

"Well, what kind of bartender would I be if I declined a request like that?" I grab another glass and fill it, then hold it up to him. "To what should we toast?"

He lifts his glass. "What's your name?"

"Whiskey."

He narrows his eyes at me in a challenge.

"Really—look at the sign."

He looks around me to see my name on the whiteboard, then tips his head and meets my eyes. "Then we toast to whiskey, both the beauty and the drink."

I feel the temperature in the room rising and I haven't even taken my shot yet. "To whiskey." Our glasses meet each other's, and then we bring them up to our lips. Our eyes lock but our moment is broken when my name is yelled out from the other side of the room.

I turn to see who found it so important that they had to interrupt us and I see Jonas at the other end of the bar. Busted!

"I'll be back," I say, hoping that he'll stay a while tonight and not just disappear.

"I'll be here," he says and I can't stop the smile that takes over my face. Apparently, my poker face is out of order when it comes to him.

I turn and head over to where Jonas stands. "What's up?" I feign innocence.

"I'm on my way out. Johnny's here to close."

"Okay, cool. I'll see you Tuesday night then."

His smile is tired as he waves and turns to leave, but then he turns back around. "Whiskey?"

"Yeah?"

"Take it easy on the shots."

I know I am busted so I just give him the gun with my hand and wink, then wait for him to disappear. But when I turn to head back to where the beautiful whiskey drinking man with chocolate and caramel eyes was sitting, he's gone.

I don't know how I can be so upset with a man I just met, but I am. I don't even know his name, but he said he would stay, that he'd be right there, and he's gone. I turn back to the rest of the bar. People all around me are talking, and suddenly, I feel like I don't know what I'm doing here. I have to shake it off and pull it together. I don't know him so there's no way I can miss him or anything about him. I read too many damn romance novels.

Then I hear this voice singing, one I've never heard before. I look up and it's him, and I melt. The lyrics of the song "Lady in Red" flow from his lips, and I'm as mesmerized as everyone else is in the bar.

His voice is smooth and pulls me in, making everyone else in the room disappear, and making me wish that we were living out the lyrics. He's looking at me, singing to me, and I'm melting with every word. When he sings the last note and the music comes to an end, the place erupts in applause, but I just stand there in awe.

"Let's hear it for first time singer, Austin!" Mitch says to the crowd.

Austin. A perfect name for a perfectly beautiful man who enjoys a good shot of whiskey and has a voice that can touch the deepest place within you. He steps down from the stage and saunters back to the end of the bar. I look over at him but have no words. What do you say after that? One of the other patrons gives me a minute to figure it out by asking for drinks, but my mind is not on mixing, and I'm thankful that I can literally make the drinks in my sleep. My thoughts, every single solitary one of them, are about this man, who has rendered me speechless.

I pick up bottles and make my pours, not at all lost on the fact that he's watching me the entire time. In most instances, I'd write it off as being the drunk stare some get after too much booze, but his is not a drunk stare. He's watching intently, appreciating and memorizing my every move, and I suspect projecting some sort of magnetic field that has me wanting to go back to him. I set down the drinks, collect the money, and move toward him.

"Can I get you anything else?" I ask, trying to look anywhere but into those eyes, which is impossible, and I fail.

"I'm good," he says while the corner of his mouth turns up in a mischievous grin.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to know what he's thinking. "You did a good job up there," I say, motioning to the stage that is now inhabited by three women singing a song by Sir Mix-A-Lot. "Are you new around here? I'm sure I'd remember that face of yours."

He tries to hide a smile by rubbing his hand over his mouth. "I'm visiting and just checking out the area. How about you? How long have you lived here? My guess is you're from a big city, somewhere exciting."

"You're pretty good." I nod my head as I grab the bottle of Crown and fill a fresh glass for him. "Portland born and raised. What about you? Where are you from?"

"Kansas City."

"Wow! Well, Austin from Kansas City, you're a long way from home. Running from the law?"

He smiles and shakes his head.

"Escaping a psychotic ex?"

Again, he shakes his head. "Just looking for a change of scenery."

"And how's that going for you? Are you finding what you're looking for?" I ask, in no way expecting what I'm about to hear.

"I think I may have." He holds up his glass, winks, and tips his head back, emptying the shot, and then bringing his eyes back to mine.

Damn, I don't think I stand a chance here.

I look over to see one of my favorites take the stage, and as soon as I hear the music start, I yell out and start dancing and singing along.

Austin just sits there in that calm, cool, and collected way, observing everything. "Do you ever get up there?"

"Up there?" I point to the stage. "I've been known to if I have a couple of shots in me."

"Then by all means, allow me to buy you another."

I shake my head and laugh, then wave my finger at him and narrow my eyes in that knowing way. "You're a special kind of trouble, aren't ya, Austin from Kansas City? I should keep my eyes on you."

"I've been accused of worse."

I'm sure you have. I'd like to accuse you of worse.

"And yes, you probably should." He winks.

I grab the bottle and refill his glass and pour another one for me, once again holding mine out to him. "To trouble from Kansas City."

He holds his out and that wicked grin is back.

I fight back the desire to lean over the bar and kiss him. Everything inside me wants to be claimed by this man that I just met. It's like a scene out of a paranormal romance when the girl just knows she has met her mate—it's that instant. But the moment doesn't last when someone yells my name from across the bar.

"Whiskey!" I turn to see Karla, one of the regulars, waving at me. "Are you going to sing tonight?"

"I don't know, I'm pretty busy, babe," I yell back.

But Karla is in her prime for the night and will not let me off that easy. "Bullshit!" she yells back, and then proceeds to hoist herself up and onto her chair, giving one of those two-finger whistles to get everyone's attention. "Who here wants to hear Whiskey sing tonight?"

The whole bar goes up in a roar of hoots, whistles, and applause, causing me to turn seven shades of red. Any other night I wouldn't care but there's a set of eyes on me that I can feel above the others.

"See? Give the crowd what the crowd wants!"

Remind me to cut her off after this.

Karla proceeds to lead the bar in chanting my name. "Whiskey! Whiskey! Whiskey!"

"Okay, okay! I'll do it!" I throw my hands up in surrender and another roar breaks out. I'd never win anyway—the drunk-to-sober ratio is just too high and overpowering.

I throw down my towel and walk from behind the bar and up to the small stage. I can't lie, I love the way it feels up here. Years of choir had me believing that one day singing on a stage would be my life, but I didn't have the drive. I also didn't want every moment of my life planned for me. I prefer to be a free spirit. The big stars have money but they're puppets, always allowing someone else to dictate what they do and how they act.

I lean into Mitch to tell him what I'm going to sing and wait while he cues the track. Once the music starts, a few claps can be heard around the room and I take one last glance at Austin before I sing the first lyrics. I'd like to blame it on the shots, but I picked this song for a reason and I'll really be surprised if I go home alone tonight.

His eyes never leave mine as the seductive words of "What Would Happen" leave my lips, and I know that every word I'm singing has a meaning that is mutual. I—we—won't make it through this night without answering every question asked in the song I chose.

When my song is over, I return to the bar and walk over to the end where Austin sits. I refuse to blush while his eyes, that look hungrier with every moment that goes by, are completely focused on me.

"What time do you get off work?" he asks. It's a question driven by desire.

"Two, give or take."

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Yes."

"Was that song for me?"

I don't know how to answer his question. If I say no, I'm afraid he'll see right through me. If I say yes, what will I be getting myself into? "Austin from Kansas City ..." I shake my head and then bring my eyes to his.

"Just Austin," he cuts in, and the look on his face, in his eyes, threatens to take me to my knees.

My body is tingling with arousal and I struggle to get myself together for the sake of speaking. "Austin, if you had to ask, maybe it wasn't."

He nods and looks down at his empty glass. Not that I want to, in fact it kills me to, but I walk away. I don't make it ten steps away before he stops me. "Whiskey?"

I turn back and look at him.

"I didn't have to ask."

"Then why did you?"

"I wanted to hear you say it."

I walk back over to him and lean in until only inches separate us and I can smell all that is him. "Can I tell you a secret, Austin?"

He moves in closer, almost close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, close enough that just a little bit farther and I could touch him.

"In that case, it totally was."

I quickly back off and tend to my other customers, leaving him there to ponder my words. He wanted to know—now he does. Eventually the room starts to thin, most having left because they were partied out, in other words, they were hammered, and others because they just possess the discipline to quit. But Austin stays seated at the end of the bar and I can feel him watching me.

Finally, my shift is done. I take my tips from the jar and shove them into my bag. I grab the bottle and walk over to him. Without a word, I fill some glasses for us one last time. I know what I want to happen, and it is very unlike me to be so reckless, but maybe being reckless is okay every once in a while. I left home to escape a life of doing what was expected. "One for the road?"

He nods and picks it up, throwing it back before rising from his stool and walking around the bar to meet me at the end. There's an intensity between us that can't be mistaken for anything less than pure sexual attraction and my body is already aching for his touch.

"Good night!" I yell to Johnny, the closing manager, as I step out the door.

Not a second after I hear the click of the lock, Austin pushes me back against the wall and crashes his lips to mine. Any passerby might think that he's attacking me, but the truth is I've been waiting for this all night long. His tongue slips past my lips and the taste of the last shot he took still lingers there. He kisses me long and hard, satisfying a need that's been hanging in the air for hours.

He breaks from my lips and moves to my neck. His warm lips on my skin, sending volts of pleasure through me and making the ache inside me become painful.

"Where's your car?" I ask, ignoring the fact that neither of us should probably drive.

He looks at me with a fire in his eyes that threatens to set me ablaze. "I'm staying with a friend a couple of blocks over—I walked here."

I start laughing almost uncontrollably and he looks at me questioningly. "Come on, stranger, who wants a change of scenery, I know just the place." I grab his hand and drag him along until we stop at my Jeep. "You hungry?" I ask innocently, but his eyes answer the question with everything but innocence. I shake my head but give him a smirk so that he knows I hunger for the same thing, but it'll have to wait. Right now, I want real food. I hop in the Jeep and then yell out the top, "Well, are you getting in or what? Time's a-wastin'!"

The cool night air on my face works its wonder to calm the buzz I had just minutes ago. I'm not a lightweight when it comes to my liquor, having drunk my fair share of men under the table, but something about this man has given me a buzz in an entirely different way. How else can I explain why he's in my car at two in the morning and I'm about to take him to the perfect place to be murdered? My entire body is aware of his closeness. My eyes have traveled to his lips more times than I can count. And I've caught him glancing over at me as I maneuver us through the streets of Vegas at night.

I pull into a Jack in the Box, of all places, because it's open twenty-four hours, and order the largest fries and the largest Coke they have. I'm not the least bit worried about what Austin might think about what I'm planning to eat, but to be fair, I ask if he'd like anything.

"No, I'm fine." He's looking at me like I've lost my mind. Some may argue that I have.

"Very well then. If you change your mind, I might be willing to share." I wink and pull forward to the window, pay and pick up my bag, and away we go.

We drive through the dark and empty streets until the road runs out and we're officially four-wheeling the rest of the way to our destination. The moon and my headlights light the way as my intuition leads us. I found this place not long after moving here, and if a change of scenery is what you seek, you've never seen anything like what you'll see from here.

One last turn and I come to a stop. The seconds before I shut my lights off, you can see the dust all around us, swirling as it falls and settles to the ground. I leave the keys in the ignition so the radio remains on and turn the volume up just a little before I grab my food and hop out of the Jeep. I turn back to Austin.

"Come on, Austin from Kansas City—I mean, just Austin, we've got new scenery to see. And food to eat!"

I walk to the back of the Jeep, open the rear door, and hop up inside, sitting on the back like you would a tailgate. I took the top off and laid down the back seats a couple of weeks ago because the weather turned beautiful after a long hot summer. It's nice to have an unobstructed view of the stars and a panoramic view of the Las Vegas strip from the comfort of my Jeep. Sometimes home is just too lonely and I come up here and fall asleep staring at the sky.

I hear his footsteps as they come closer, but as he rounds the back of the Jeep, he stops and focuses on the city afar. The sight of him standing there so entranced reminds me of my first time here.

"I did the same thing the first I came up here," I say and he turns to look at me with that wonder in his eyes that I understand. "I dedicated an afternoon when I first got to Vegas to finding the perfect place to see the strip in its entirety. My thought was, the higher I got, the better, and I ended up here. I sat here all night, eventually falling asleep with the city and the moon as my night-light. I'm sure there are other places where the view is just as beautiful, but this is my place." I pop a fry in my mouth and he comes over to sit next to me. I hold out the box to him and I'm surprised when he takes one.

"And you're sharing it with me?"

"Yup, the view and my fries. I am the best tour guide in town, if I do say so myself." I hold my head up in a mockingly smug fashion and he laughs at me before snagging another fry.

"Where'd you live before here?"

"Portland. I miss it sometimes. I miss the green the most, the smell and the sight of grass and trees everywhere. Here it's dirt and palm trees, neither of which I'm very fond of."

"What brought you here?"

"Rebellion. I chose my own path instead of settling for the one that was chosen for me. Why are you here, Austin? I believe your change of scenery story, but why the change? Are you a rebel like me?"

"Hardly a rebel. I'm a soldier—a soldier who's seen some crazy shit. I just wanted to go somewhere for a while where I didn't know anyone, didn't expect anything from anyone, and no one expected anything from me."

"And your friend, the one you're staying with? I assume you know him?"

"He's a buddy from one of my tours. He's just giving me a place to crash, nothing more."

"I see. You know what? I know just what we need." I hop out of the truck and motion for him to do the same. Then I lift the panel in the trunk and pull out a bag, then drop the panel back down and hop back into my spot, patting the empty area next to me for him to sit. I reach into the bag and pull out a flask. I unscrew the top, take a sip, and hand it to him.

He tips his head back to take a sip and looks at me. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this." He raises the flask and moves it along the skyline of glowing hotels.

"Well, thank you for sharing it with me. I've never brought anyone here with me."

"It's amazing and just what I needed, however, the view, as beautiful as it is, can't compare to you."

And, I'm swooning. All of a sudden, I want to dance—I want to be in his arms and I want him to sing to me. I pull my phone from my pocket and connect it to the Jeep with the Bluetooth, then I select a song from my library, and hit play. I hope it's a song he knows as I step closer to him. "If you think all of this is amazing, I have one more for you. Though, I must say, you're quite easy to impress."

"Are you calling me easy?" Laughter thunders from him.

"It's not always a bad thing, you know? There's no sense in fighting what you really want."

"And what do you really want, Whiskey?" His voice is low and serious.

He's asked an honest question and I'll give him an honest answer. "I want to dance with you."

"If that's all you want, I think you're the one who's easy."

"Like I said, it's not always a bad thing."

He steps closer, placing his hand at the small of my back, and I melt into him. I breathe in his scent, which is a mix of stale smoke and a cologne that couldn't be more perfect for him. We sway to Kenny Chesney's voice, and then I hear Austin's voice creating the perfect duet of "You Had Me From Hello," and if possible, I melt even more.

I have no idea who this guy is or what he does. He says he's a soldier, so I assume he's in the military, but beyond that, a name and knowing he's from Kansas City are all I know. What I also know, is that if he kissed me again right now, I'd let him, in fact, I want him to.

"Whiskey, can I ask you a question?"

I look up at him, finding his eyes and gazing into them as if they were the stars in the sky. "Sure."

"The song you sang tonight—you were singing it to me."

It wasn't a question but I nod anyway.

"You wanted to know what would happen if we kissed?" he asks in a raspy and almost breathless tone.

I may be completely crazy, but the answer is yes. "Yes."

"It's a damn good thing, because all I can think about since kissing you the first time is kissing you again." He leans in and touches his lips to mine ever so gently, and I'm not wondering what will happen anymore, because it's happening now. He opens his mouth and I open mine, wanting to taste him again. This kiss is not hasty like the last one was, there's no rush, and though there is hunger, we're no longer starving for that first taste. It's sweet and passionate, and nothing like I have ever imagined kissing such a strong and powerful man would be.

The next song on my playlist starts, and I pull back in laughter as Meghan Trainor's voice fills the air.

"You have quite a diverse collection of music," Austin says, just as Meghan hits the chorus line of "All About That Bass."

"Yeah, well, I get bored easily. Just wait, you're bound to hear some 38 Special and MC Hammer soon," I say, while a yawn slips out. I look down at my watch and see that it's just after three.

"You're tired. We should go so you can get some sleep."

More swooning happening. "Do you like camping, Austin?"

He quirks an eye at me, obviously oblivious as to why I'm asking him this question. "I guess, yeah."

"Okay, wait right there." I go to the rear passenger door and open it to reach under the seat. I pull out a pillow and blanket, then go to the other side and pull out another set. I lay out one of the blankets, toss the pillows just behind the front seats, and with the other blanket in my arms, I walk around to the back. I motion with my hand to the bed I just made. "It's better than sleeping on the ground. And the best part is," I say as I climb in and lie down, pointing up through the empty roof, "you get to fall asleep looking at a sky full of stars."

He climbs in and lies down next to me and we lie there in silence for a few minutes, our breath and the music the only sounds. He turns his head to look at me, and feeling his eyes, I turn to look at him. He moves his hand between us until he finds mine and softly takes hold of it. I give him a squeeze and a tired smile. I can see he's tired too, and that soon we'll both be asleep. I turn to my side, never letting go of his hand, and lean into him, leaving a soft kiss on his lips.

"It was a pleasure to have met you tonight, Austin."

"Whiskey, the pleasure was all mine."

And we give in to sleep.

The only problem with sleeping in the back of my Jeep is the sun. Whether I'm ready or not, it's going to rise and serve as the most effective alarm clock ever. I reach for the blanket to cover my eyes, but instead of my hand coming in contact with the softness of my acrylic blanket, it meets the hard warmth of a man. I open one eye to find that sometime during the night, Austin's chest became my pillow, and that makes me realize that the blanket is at our feet and it's his arm that's been keeping me warm.

"Good morning," he whispers and something inside me turns to mush. I've never brought a man up here, and I've got no explanation for why I did last night, but hearing his voice, even after only maybe three hours of sleep, makes it a good choice. Maybe one of the best I've ever made.

"Good morning, though I'm not sure I'm ready for it. What time is it anyway?"

"It's just after seven. I take it you're not much of a morning person."

"I'm a bartender. My day ends only hours before most people's days begin."

"Does that mean that breakfast and coffee are out of the question?"

I reluctantly lift my head from the comfort of his chest and look up at him, hoping that my mascara isn't a total mess. "Coffee was the magic word, and not out of the question at all."

Austin folds up our bedding from last night while I check myself out in my side-view mirror. My hair is the worst of it, so I throw my waist-length blonde hair up into a messy bun; a little spit on my fingertip fixes my eyes where my mascara smeared, and some lip gloss from the center console makes me look almost human. I hop in the driver's seat as Austin rounds the passenger side and we're off.

"Where to?" I ask as I make the turn back onto the main road.

"I'll leave that up to you. I've been here less than a week, and I have no clue what's good."

"You may live to regret that," I sing as I change gears and lay heavy on the gas pedal.

We end up at this hole-in-the-wall café that I stumbled across a few months after moving here. It was the name of the place that drew me in, Irma's. Irma is Jackie's mom's name and she was like a second mom to me growing up. She was the cooler mom, much less conservative than my own. While my mom pushed her idea of what my future should be, Irma told me to follow my heart because it was my future, not my mom's. It was that piece of advice that ultimately gave me the push I needed to do just that, make the future that I wanted.

"So, what's good?"

"The coffee, biscuits and gravy, and bacon."

He looks at me like I'm crazy.

"I really don't do breakfast food, so it's all I've ever ordered. But I can tell you, they're the best." I shrug my shoulders as if to say, I've got nothing else to say, which gets a laugh out of him before he goes back to the menu.

The waitress comes to the table, thank goodness, because I'm about to die from lack of caffeine.

"Good morning!" she says, much too bubbly for me, but who am I to judge? "What can I get started for you?"

"I'll take a coffee, and biscuits and gravy, with a double side of bacon, cooked crispy but not burnt, thank you." I hand her the menu as she looks at Austin.

"I think I'll have the same, thank you."

"You got it," she says as she takes his menu. "I'll get those coffees right out for ya." And she walks away.

"I'm going to go use the restroom real quick." I stand and take a couple of steps before I hear his voice and turn back.

"You're not making a getaway, are you?" he asks jokingly.

"No, but I'm giving you the opportunity to make yours." I wink and walk away, but look over my shoulder once more to verify what I think I already know. Yup, he's totally looking at my ass.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Bellies full, and my inhibitions over him watching me eat gone, he's now giving me directions to where he's staying. Part of me is not ready for our time together to end, and thoughts driven by the fact that he's just blowing through town and tomorrow isn't a given, are taking over my tired mind.

I pull into a spot in front of an apartment complex, which is not far from where the bar is. I cut the engine and try to find the wit that I know lives within me to make saying goodbye easier. I turn to him and open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.

"Whiskey, I want to see you again."

Did I just hear him correctly? Did he just say he wanted to see me again? "Really?" I feel like a teenage girl, all giddy inside, and smile at him shyly.

"Yes, really. Do you work tonight?"

"Sunday and Monday are my nights off," I answer, hopeful that I may be spending them with him.

"Well, I'd like to take you to dinner," he says, giving me that shy boyish smile, the kind that you can just tell there's a little devil hiding behind, "and whatever else you'd like to do."

"Dinner sounds good," I say, trying to stay cool when really, I'm bursting inside. "I'd love to go to dinner with you."

He lets out a breath that I don't think he realized he was holding, and his smile touches his eyes. "I think we both need naps and I need to research where I'm going to take you."

"I'm pretty easy to please."

"Well, that doesn't mean I'm not going to try to impress you."

"Fine, have it your way," I say, mockingly admitting defeat.

"Hand me your phone."

I unlock it and hand it over without question. He taps at the screen and hands it back.

"Send me your address, I'll pick you up at seven."

"I'll be ready."

He leans in and delivers a kiss meant to hold me over until the evening and gets out of the Jeep. I watch as he walks into the complex and is lost from my sight at the first turn.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Meow," my cat Raven growls as outfit after outfit hits the bed labeled a reject. I finally plop down on the bed in defeat, having no idea what I'm going to wear. I'm a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. I don't dress up and I'm not trying to impress, but a nudging in the back of my mind tells me that tonight might be the night that I'd want to.

I like Austin and I enjoyed our time together last night. It's been a long time since I've been out with a guy who wasn't just out to get laid. I'm sure if it had gone in that direction last night, he wouldn't have protested, but it didn't, and he didn't even try. On the one hand, that could lead me to think that he doesn't want me like that, but then his words echo in my mind. All I can think about since kissing you the first time is kissing you again. If that didn't make it loud and clear, there's no hope for me at all.

I check my watch and see it's only five, and make a snap decision. Enough sitting here hating my wardrobe, I'm going shopping. I pull on jeans, a T-shirt, and my flip-flops, and running out the door, I swipe my keys and wallet off the counter.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

At a quarter to seven, I've finished applying my lipstick and sit down with the new pair of heels I bought to go with the dress I found at Charlotte Russe. It's a little, actually a lot, dressier than I'm used to, but I feel like if ever there was a night to go all out, it's tonight. I'm actually a little nervous. He wants to impress me. I wasn't lying when I told him that wasn't hard to do. What's hard is for me to let him—to convince myself that I'm worth the trouble.

There's a knock at the door and my heart speeds up. He's here.

"Coming!" I yell as I fight with the teeny tiny buckle on my left shoe. Finally, I get it and stand, taking a second to test my balance. I think the last time I wore heels was at my high school graduation. I take a couple of steps and I'm feeling okay, but then I look at my bed to see all the stuff I threw on it earlier while trying to find an outfit for tonight. "Just a minute!" I yell again as I scoop up the clothes and throw them in the closet, then push the door closed with both hands. Okay, I think I'm finally ready.

I walk over to the door and open it to see a bouquet of red and white roses, and peeking out from behind them are the eyes that remind me of chocolates. I smile a shy smile, a little giddy that he went to such trouble, and remember how it's supposed to feel to be on a date.

"They're beautiful, thank you." He hands them to me and leans in to kiss me. I like this. I like this a lot.

"Not as beautiful as you."

I feel my cheeks turning pink and bring the flowers to my nose to hide them. They smell so good. "Come in. I'll just put these in water and then we can go." It dawns on me that I don't have a vase and I start scrambling for something to put the flowers in. Think, Whiskey, think. Ah ha! I reach in the cabinet and pull out this glass pitcher that I got as a free gift from one of the casinos. Perfect! I fill it with water and set the roses inside. I see Austin walking toward the bed to an expectant Raven. She's such an attention whore.

"That's Raven." He leans down to pet her and she leans into his hand. I can practically hear her purring from across the room. I walk closer. "Raven, meet Austin."

"My older sister had a black cat growing up. I used to tease her and call her a witch." He laughs and I smack him on the arm.

"How mean!"

He playfully winces. "What I actually wanted to call her was a bitch, but I couldn't get away with that. Which was the best I could do."

"Ah, I know what it's like to be the youngest. My older brother Jacob and I are barely a year apart. He always hated me tagging along. He also hated that all his friends always wanted to date me. I hated that he blackballed any of them from dating me, but I eventually understood. He was just watching out for me."

"Is he still back in Portland?"

"Yes, and he's engaged to my best friend, Jackie" I tilt my head as if to say, ain't that some shit? "But they're happy. They didn't start dating until college, so by then it was different. He's going to make one of my dreams come true by making my best friend my sister. I'm really happy for them."

"So no behind the back romances for you?" he asks with a protective look in his eyes.

I answer seriously and honestly, or I try to, anyway. "No. I realized my brother's friends were all idiots. I only wanted to date them to piss him off." I start giggling at the truth that I've never spoken and he relaxes. Was that a hint of jealousy I just saw?

"Are you ready for dinner?"

"Yes, I am. I'm starving!"

"Well then, we should go." He gives Raven one more scratch on the head and turns to me.

When we get outside, he leads me to a Hellcat convertible. It's not quite what I pictured him driving, but I'm not going to say it doesn't turn me on. "Wow! This is a pretty sexy set of wheels you've got here," I say as I lightly run my fingers down its side.

"It's my friend's—just on loan for the night."

"Your friend must really trust you," I say teasingly.

"Soldiers have a special bond and put a lot of trust in each other. When you've trusted one with your life, a car is nothing."

"I guess I never thought of it that way. I've never had anyone I trusted that much."

"Not yet, but one day you will. May I?" He opens my door and waits for me to step in, then gives me a smile that threatens to melt my heart before closing the door.

He refuses to tell me where we're going, and is relying on the navigation system to get us to wherever it is. I admire the effort he's put into making it a surprise for me. I can't recall anyone ever going out of their way for me. It's nice to be spoiled for a change.

We make small talk about how much fun last night was and how hard we crashed when we got home. I admit that I had to go shopping two hours before he showed up because I had no date-worthy clothes in my closet. He admits that he spent at least fifteen minutes looking at flowers before choosing the ones he thought were the most perfect.

When it's clear to me that we're heading downtown, like old-school Vegas, I get more curious as to where he's taking me. To be honest, other than checking out Fremont Street and the freaks that work there Friday and Saturday nights, I haven't really checked it out.

We pull into the valet parking at the Four Queens, and as soon as we stop, my door is being opened for me. I step out as Austin is coming around the corner of the car to meet me and holds out his arm like a true gentleman. I loop my arm through his and we walk into the casino.

I've only been in Vegas a couple of years, so I still don't know my way around too well. I have no idea what's here and I'm getting more excited with every step.

"It was hard to find a nice place without having to go into a casino, but I've been told that this is one of the best in town."

"I still have no clue where we're going."

"Good," he says and winks at me.

Finally, we come to two small sets of stairs, one going up and one going down. The sign over the one going down says Hugo's Cellar, and that's where he leads me. We walk up to the host stand and he gives his name, Austin Walker. The host takes a rose from a vase and hands it to me, then grabs two menus and asks us to follow him.

The lighting is dim—each table has a candle on it and candelabras hang on the walls. The host walks us through, and the deeper we get, the more like a cellar it looks. It's very intimate, very romantic. The host pulls out my chair and Austin takes the seat next to me. Then the host takes my rose and places it in a small vase on the table, hands us our menus, gives us the name of our waiter, and leaves us.

"This is amazing," I whisper, feeling like I should keep my voice low.

"It doesn't compare to last night, but I thought you'd like it."

"Like it? I've never been anywhere like this—ever."

"Good, then you'll never forget it."

We look over the menus and the sticker shock must register on my face. Austin tells me not to even look at the numbers, to just order what I want, that I'm worth every penny. Austin orders us a bottle of wine and the sommelier opens it at our table, testing it before pouring it for us. If one of the people at the bar asked me to do that, I'd laugh at them.

We order our food and talk while we drink our wine. I finally have the courage to ask some of the questions that have been burning inside. "So, tell me about your work. What branch are you in, what is it that you do?"

"I'm in the Army and I work Special Forces. You'll hate this, but it's not really something I can talk about freely."

"I get it. What made you join the Army?" I take a sip of wine, intrigued to know how a boy from Kansas turns into an American badass.

"It started off as my ticket out of Kansas. I grew up in a farm town and didn't want to get stuck farming like my father and his father before him. Don't get me wrong, I respect what they do, but it wasn't what I wanted to do. So, I enlisted. But even that wasn't enough. I wanted to push my limits. I wanted to be the best of the best. I wanted to be an American hero." He pauses and takes a sip of his wine.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making that choice. For caring enough about our country and everyone in it that you'd lay your life on the line for it. That alone makes you a hero."

He smiles, but it doesn't touch his eyes. It's as if he loves and hates the path he's chosen equally. Like with living that life, he's missing the other things he may have wanted, or has come to want. "What about you, what brought you to Las Vegas?"

"Sin. My mother wanted me to be a lawyer. I wanted to sling bottles and make drinks. My name isn't Whiskey for nothing." I give him a million-dollar smile. "Las Vegas seemed like the only place where what I wanted seemed normal. I signed up for bartending school and the rest is history. Now I live in a studio apartment with my cat, and I couldn't be happier with my decision."

"And your parents? I'm sure they weren't happy."

"My mother was furious, but that too, has waned. Now, she's just a little mad at me." I hold up my fingers to illustrate a little. "She'll get over it one day. We're a lot alike, you and I. I know that comparing being a farmer to a lawyer is like comparing apples to basketballs, but it looks like we both took our futures into our own hands. You are a rebel after all, Austin Walker, just like me."

"Maybe you're right." He holds his wine glass up. "To rebels like us, and to finding each other."

I raise my glass to meet his, and the ding the glasses make when they hit sounds just like in the movies, and I giggle.

"Do you think it would be frowned upon if I kissed you right now? You know, being that we're in such a fancy establishment?"

"Let them throw us out." I lean in and meet his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. And of course, that's when the waiter shows up with the salad cart.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

We both stare at the last strawberry on the dessert plate and it's like an old western gun fight going down. One, two, three, draw. Austin beats me to it and bursts into laughter as I pout, but he brings it to my lips anyway. I attempt to take the sexiest bite ever, and start off well, until a piece of the chocolate breaks off and falls right down the top of my dress and into my cleavage. Now, by this time, I'm half a bottle of wine down, which affects me so much differently than how whiskey does.

I lose it and start laughing so hard that everyone in the restaurant looks at us, and Austin starts laughing too. It's a good thing that our waiter has already taken the check because we are looking for a quick getaway. Austin picks up my rose, grabs my hand, and we head out.

We hit the bathroom first so that I can fish the now melted chocolate from my boobs. Austin offers to help, and I don't decline, but I don't accept either. I blow him a kiss and leave him to wait for me. When I return, he's standing there, hands in his pockets, looking sexier than hell. And when he spots me, the smile that lights up his face only manages to make him sexier. I'm in so much trouble.

"What now?" Not that this night could get any better.

"Let's go walking. I heard music outside."

I nod my head in agreement and take his hand as he leads me out onto Fremont Street.

There's a stage set up with a band covering eighties songs and I start dancing. Austin follows, placing his hands on my hips and moving, quite well I must say. He takes my hand and twirls me, which makes me feel like Baby in Dirty Dancing. Then he pulls me close and we spin around together.

That song ends and the next one starts, this one slower. He pulls me close and we sway together. His mouth is close to my ear and I can hear him singing along to the lyrics of "Is This Love" by Whitesnake.

It's just a song. It's just a song. I keep repeating it to myself because admitting that I'm falling for a guy I've only known for twenty-four hours sounds ridiculous, and it's even more ridiculous to think that he'd be falling for me. When the song ends, he leans in and kisses me like it's been days since the last time, and for some reason, I love how that feels. I'm afraid that I'm crumbling, and that holding back from what is obviously what we both want, is impossible.

We stay a while longer, dancing and showing a more than acceptable amount of PDA, judging by the looks we get, but when you're caught in the moment, you go for it. Screw everyone else. I refuse to let one moment pass me by.

We barely make it through the door of my apartment before my hands are pushing up under his shirt and come in contact with the hard contour of his chest. His skin is warm and smooth. He doesn't resist as I pull his shirt over his head and bring my lips to his skin. I inhale his scent, a mixture of sweetness and musk, and I hum in delight. It's an aphrodisiac, the smell of a beautiful man, a man who has been undressing me with his eyes all night and is only moments from making it real.

His hands slide down to cup my ass and he lifts me. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as my mouth reconnects with his and he moves us through my studio apartment and to my bed in the corner. Without warning he throws me backwards and I land on the bed. He looks down at me with hungry eyes. He runs his hands up my thighs and under my dress. It's not long before he learns that the only piece of clothing under my dress is a pair of white lace panties and that they're already damp with arousal. I raise my hands, allowing him to pull my dress up over my head, and watch as he takes in my naked form.

I have never needed anything so much—not even the air I breathe seems superior to the need I have inside me for this man. It's clear that he wants me, his eyes are the deepest brown I've ever seen and full of desire as he inches those pretty white lace panties down my legs until they fall to the floor.

I watch impatiently as he pulls a foil packet from his pocket and takes it between his teeth while he pushes his pants to the floor. He tears the packet and puts on the condom, the need inside of me growing with every aching second until he finally crawls over me and takes my lips in a deep and passionate kiss. There's no need for foreplay, not now. The entire evening has led us to this point and I don't think either of us could be more ready. He moves between my legs until I can feel him at my entrance, and rocks gently against me, teasing me. I'm pushing against him, needing him to fill me, to turn this ache I feel into the ecstasy I know it will become. But he doesn't rush, until with one slow but powerful move, he's inside me, and he and I become one.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

There's light, then it's gone, then it's back again. I put up blackout curtains months ago when I decided that the sun was not my friend until at least one o'clock in the afternoon. So, there is only one way it would be allowed in. I lift my head from Austin's chest and turn to see that Raven has decided to be a jerk this morning by batting at the curtains just enough to make them sway back and forth, alternately letting the light in. What time is it anyway? My clock says ten, which is too damn early. I lay my head back down on his chest and let the rise of it as he breathes lull me back to sleep.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Coffee. The smell of it fills the small place that is my home. My pillow is no longer a strong and smooth chest, it's an actual pillow, but since it would appear that my man pillow is making coffee, I decide to overlook the substitution.

"Good morning, beautiful." I hear his voice from across the room and move so that I can see him standing at the kitchen counter. "My guess is that you take your coffee with raw sugar?" His morning, or afternoon, smile is the greatest thing to wake up to.

"Ha, ha, brainiac. Is that because the only two consumable items on my kitchen counter are coffee and raw sugar?"

"You caught me."

I can't help but smile. Just the thought of any coffee being delivered to me at all by a sexy topless man in worn blue jeans, who I just realized is covered in tattoos, is a wet dream come true.

"Actually, one of the three consumables—you'll find in my fridge is almond milk. If you put a splash of that in there, it'll be perfect."

He opens the fridge and pulls out the carton and pours a little bit of it in one of the two cups on the counter. Then after placing it back in the fridge, he grabs both cups and returns to the bed. "You deserve nothing less than perfect."

I sit up, holding the sheet to my chest, and smile up at him as I take my cup. He sits down in front of me and watches as I blow the top of it and bring it to my lips. It's just the way I like it and I hum in delight.

"Whiskey, I want you to know that what happened last night ..."

Here it comes, the it was fun, but that's all it was speech. I lower my head, looking down at my cup to avoid his eyes, but he must register the change in me because he brings his hand to my cheek, and though I feel bad news coming, I can't help but to lean into him.

"Hey, last night was the best night of my life, every single moment of it. I don't regret one second of it or who I spent it with."

I bring my eyes back to his and can see his honesty. Is this crazy? Does this shit really happen? I've read so many stories that make you believe it can, but can it, really? This guy is on my list of too good to be true. "Neither do I."

"That's all I need to hear." He kisses me and every speck of doubt disappears. "But ..."

See? I knew there'd be a but.

"I have to get going. I have to get the car back."

Disappointment sets in. I don't want him to go. "When will I see you again?"

"When do you want to see me?"

"Tonight? Pizza and movies—a quiet night in?" Which means the pizza and movies are actually options, not requirements.

"You'll have to come get me. I'm sure Boyd already wants to kill me for not bringing his car back last night, let alone keeping it half the day today."

"I can do that. All you have to do is say when."

"You're making it so hard for me to leave." He eyes me sitting here covered by nothing more than a thin grey sheet.

"Good," I say and take another sip of my coffee.

I stay seated on my bed, unable to take my eyes off of him as he searches for the rest of his clothes, and to my dismay, finds them and puts them on. Then he walks back over to me and leans in to kiss me, and all I can think of is how I can make him stay, because later, whether it will be in five minutes or five hours, seems so far away. In one last attempt to change his mind, I lift my arms around his neck, allowing the sheet to fall and I pull him in closer. "Do you really have to go?" I ask into his mouth.

He hums back something more like a growl than words, then pulls back, creating just enough distance to speak. "I really have to go. But, maybe you should follow me over, you know, so I don't get lost, and maybe you should bring me back with you."

"I love that idea!" I press one more kiss to his lips before I let go and bounce out of bed. "Give me five minutes," I say as I walk into the bathroom feeling victorious.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

We have pizza and we watch at least half of the movie, before Austin decides it's time to tickle me. I've never been very ticklish, but he knows just how and where to touch me to get the reaction he wants. It inevitably ends with us in bed, and breathless.

Now, I look down at my hand in his as it rests across his chest. I'm a little scared at how comfortable I am with him—someone I met just two nights ago. Shouldn't I be wary that he could turn out to be a monster in sheep's clothing at any moment? Yes, I should, but I'm not. There's just something about him, and it feels like he's someone I've always needed but only just found. The funny thing is that both of us are hundreds, if not thousands, of miles from where our journey started, but it's where we had to be, to be here together.

He tells me more about Kansas and the hell he raised as a teenager. He was quite the hellion and lucky he made it into the Army instead of jail. He's been around the world but not for pleasure's sake, and it took going everywhere he went and seeing everything he saw to realize that there really was no place like home.

Unfortunately, when he returned, home wasn't even home anymore. While he was off being a soldier, his mother had become sick and had passed away. He didn't even find out until weeks later and wasn't able to come home for her funeral. Shortly after, his father lost his mind and nearly everything else with it. Thankfully, his sister never left their hometown of Newton, so she was close enough to take care of their dad. He may have wanted to call her a witch and bitch as a kid, but now, he calls her a saint.

Before, I was fine to remain oblivious, but now so many questions weigh on my mind. I try to push them away and convince myself that two days with this man can't possibly mean anything, but to admit that I'm spending precious moments of my life with someone who means nothing makes no sense at all. Truth is, the more I learn about him, the more I want to know, and the more I know, the more attached I feel myself getting. It's time to ask the hard questions, to know what the future may, or may not hold.

"How long do you think you'll be here?" It's the question that's been burning the most and the one I'm most afraid to hear the answer to.

"To be honest, I don't know." His voice is low and sad, as if he's not any happier with his answer than I am. "But you know what I do know?"

"What's that?"

He releases my hand and brings his to my chin, raising it so I'm looking up at him. "I want to spend as many of the moments that I am here with you."

These words are all I need to stretch up to meet his lips and reignite the fire that clearly burns between us. I will make every moment I have count and hope that if he does have to leave, it's me he dreams about coming back to.

For the last four nights, Austin drops me off at work, then takes my Jeep and returns to meet me before the end of my shift to take me home. Handing over the keys to my baby is not something I've ever done, nobody drives my Jeep, but Austin's not just anybody. I trust him completely—with my body, my heart, my cat, and my wheels.

Our days are filled with sightseeing and drives to see the small wonders that lie in, around, and just on the outskirts of Vegas. He insists on going grocery shopping, which seems almost foreign to me, but he's made me love cooking meals together and I like sitting down with him to eat dinner before my shift. I say he's wasting his talent in the Army, and that he should open a restaurant one day. My fridge has never seen this much food since I moved in, but in some funny way, a full fridge makes my tiny studio apartment feel like a home.

Our nights, or early mornings rather, are filled with raw passion and sharing our deepest secrets. I share my dream of opening a bar and finally showing my mother that the path I chose was never a waste, it just wasn't hers. He tells me about things he's seen, guilt he's felt about friends lost, and of the nightmares that plague him still.

I wish I could take it all away—absorb it all and make it disappear. I'd easily sacrifice a part of me to take away his suffering, if I could, which could only mean one thing. If there was any question of whether or not I was falling for this guy, it's been answered more times than I can count. I am falling unapologetically in love with him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

It's been two weeks since the night we first spoke, but it feels like I've known him for years. He's the man of my dreams come to life, the man any woman could easily fall for and never want to let go. I honestly have no idea how I'm going to deal with it when he leaves, whenever that may be. Every day that goes by feels more borrowed than the one before, and I'm afraid that any day he'll be taken away. But it's only time we'll lose, my feelings won't change. I'll be right here when he returns, waiting proudly for my soldier to come home. Just the sound of that—my soldier—makes me melt.

After helping me carry cases of beer to the back bar, he takes his seat at the end of the bar, the same place he sat at the first night we met. I prep my bar, while he watches on. He's excited about karaoke and says that he has a surprise for me. I assume that means he plans on singing a song for me. I have no idea what song it could be, but I'm excited to find out.

It's almost showtime and the regulars are rolling in. Drinks and shots are flying over the bar nonstop tonight. One of the ladies is having a birthday, which has accounted for twenty extra people in the room, making it a busy night. As I take care of the patrons, I'm aware that his eyes are constantly on me. Frequently, I look over at him while I'm pouring drinks. I give him a wink or blow him a kiss and watch as the hunger fills those eyes I love so much.

Singers get up on stage and show their stuff, and the birthday girl gets called up so that the whole bar can sing to her. I take that moment, while everyone is distracted, to visit with my guy.

"How are you doing over here? Can I get you anything?"

"Whiskey—and I don't mean the drink." He eats me alive with the look he gives me.

"That's a great line. If it wasn't you saying it, I'd lose my shit laughing." I grab a bottle and fill his glass.

"I thought you'd like it," he says with a smirk. "It's busy in here tonight."

"Yup, making them tips. What do you want to do this weekend?"

"Whatever you want, beautiful. What did you have in mind?"

I tap my finger against my lips, thinking. He did say whatever I wanted. "I want to take a road trip."

"I'm listening," he says as he brings his glass to his mouth.

"I see sand, water, and a sunset more beautiful than anything you've ever seen."

"Impossible. I've seen you. Nothing can be more beautiful."

I blush because I'll never get used to how he sees me. I lean in close to his ear and whisper. "I was talking about the beach." I move back to see his face. "Two days of relaxing, me in a bikini, toes in the sand, and drinks in our hands."

"You've got my attention."

I knew I'd get him with the mention of a bikini. "San Diego or LA? That's the only choice you have to make."

I turn at hearing my name from the other end of the bar and wink as I leave him to ponder his decision.

About a half hour later I'm making my way back to him and I can see he's looking at his phone. "So, what's it going to be?"

He looks up, smiling and then holds up his phone. A picture of a sunset over the ocean shows on his screen. Then he swipes through pictures of a cute little house, finally displaying a view from the front door that can't be more than a hundred feet from the sand. "I say with the push of a button, this is where we could spend our time off at the beach for the next two days."

"Really? I was shooting for a Motel 6, but this looks so much cozier."

"Motel 6 it is."

"No, no, no! I love it!"

He flashes that devilish grin. "Good, I pushed the buy button five minutes ago."

I drop my jaw and bat at him across the counter.

"I didn't think you were going to resist."

"You are what I can't seem to resist." I hop up and lean across the counter to give him a quick kiss, just because it's been too long since the last and I need to feel him. Sure enough, that's the moment Mitch calls Austin's name.

Of course, everyone remembers who he is and all eyes turn in our direction, catching us in a lip-lock. The room fills with oohs and whistles, and a couple of get it, girls that make Austin smile against my mouth.

"I think it's my turn."

"Yeah, I think so."

He gets up from his stool and walks over to the tiny stage. He steps up and takes his place in the center, behind the microphone. Claps sound from around the room. Everyone has come to know him either as a hottie or a talented singer, or both. And every woman has either flirted with him or eye-fucked him, or both. He definitely catches the eye, but what I love is how he responds to them. He's friendly in his denial and there's never a moment that I worry. It may sound egotistical, but he really does only have eyes for me.

The music starts and it's more upbeat than he usually sings, but whistles start at knowing what's coming. He closes his eyes just before the lyrics begin, but then he comes to life.

A few couples get up to dance, and others do so in their chairs while singing along. I stay behind the bar, swaying to the music and unable to wipe the grin from my face as I hope what he's singing about becomes reality. We have three days and two nights near the beach to try. He hits the last chorus of "Nothing On But the Radio" and I'm so ready to go.

Watching him step down from the stage and head straight to me to take me in a kiss while everyone in the bar watches on, just confirms everything I feel for this guy. Within days of meeting him I was falling, but right now in this moment, there's no doubt that I've fallen so completely in love with him.

I want to tell him. I want to whisper it into his ear and feel his reaction. I want him to know that no matter where his work takes him or how long he's gone, he has someone to come home to. I want him to want to come home to me. I pull back and look into his eyes that are so intensely looking at me. I almost feel like he already knows, but I want to—I need to say it.

"Austin, I—"

"Whiskey! It's your turn, girl! Get on up here!" Mitch calls from the stage.

What timing he has. My eyes never leave Austin's eyes, but I wave to let Mitch know I heard him and I'm on my way.

"What, baby?" Austin asks, knowing I was about to say something.

Baby, he called me baby. "Nothing. I just want you to really listen to this song, okay?"

"Anything for you."

Does he suspect what I'm about to tell him? If he does, he's not running away.

I walk up to the stage and give Mitch my song, waiting while he cues the track. I'm a little nervous because once it's said, there's no turning back, not that I want to. I've never been one to fall at all, let alone fast. I have to trust what I feel and trust that I'm not alone.

The light intro starts, followed by the strums of the guitar. I close my eyes as the words flow out, knowing that by the fifth or sixth line into the song I'll be saying the words that I wanted him to listen for. And here it is. I open my eyes and make sure they, like the planets, are perfectly aligned with his.

But I do love you.

My heart is beating so fast by the time I say the words, I think I spoke them instead of sang them. I have three seconds before the next lyrics and they seem like the longest three seconds of my life while I wait for his reaction. But when it finally comes, it's everything, if not more than I could ever hope for. His lips turn up in that sexy smile that's intoxicating to me and he brings his finger to point at his chest, then brings his hand to cover his heart, and finally he points at me. He loves me too.

I don't know how I make it through the rest of the song, but I do, and when I am done, I run off the stage and right into his arms. The room goes crazy with cheering so loud all other sound is lost, but I don't hear anything. All I need is to kiss the man who took my heart and made it his own.

On the way home, a small and short-lived argument about whether to leave for California now or after we've gotten a few hours of sleep commences. Austin ends the fight by sliding his hand down between my legs while I am driving and proving that going to bed for a while is a much better idea, not that much sleeping will happen. He never said another word about what was confessed tonight. Though the words weren't actually confessed, I think we both got what the other meant to say. There's something so special and poetic about not saying the words, but knowing they're understood.

Sleep doesn't happen until after four and our plan is to be up by nine and on the road. Coffee and conversation will just have to get us through. Once we make it to our destination, we'll go from there.

I hear a phone ringing but it's not mine and I wish to hell it would stop, but it doesn't. It keeps going, making it impossible to ignore and Austin stirs, hopefully on a mission to make it stop.

"Hello," he answers, his voice rough with lack of sleep. I stay in place, lying on his chest and count the seconds until he hangs up and silence can fall on us once again. I have no idea what time it is, but nine it is not.

"Yes, sir."

Sir—it's an awful formal greeting. I give up on sleep and consciously listen to this one side of the conversation, knowing but hoping it's not what I think it is.

"Yes, sir, I understand. I'll be there. Thank you, sir." Then he hangs up.

He throws the phone to the ground and tightens his arm around me. I can hear his breathing deepen and his heart that's under my ear speeds up. He doesn't have to say anything, I already know what the call was about.

"When are you leaving?" I ask, using the anger I feel to keep the tears at bay.

"I have to report tomorrow morning. I have to be at Nellis to catch a transport at fifteen hundred hours. Whiskey ..."

"Don't. I always knew that our time was borrowed and you'd be called away. I just hoped you'd be here a little longer." My anger is waning and I feel the tears coming. "Just a few more days to make memories that would get us both through—that's all I wanted."

"I wanted it too, but you know what? I don't need it. You've already given me enough to get me through. You have already given me a reason to come home."

I believe him but it doesn't make letting him go any easier. Instead of hitting the road for our weekend getaway we stay in bed, soaking up as much of each other as we can with hopes that it'll be enough until we're together again, though I don't think it's possible. In two weeks, just fourteen days, I fell in love with this man and can't imagine my days without him. I take in his scent, his taste, and the feel of his touch, committing each one to memory so I can call on it when he's gone.

Time goes by too fast and I find us standing in front of my complex waiting for his friend Boyd, whose first name I finally learned is Cameron, to pick him up to take him to the base. I don't want to let go and I clench to his arm for dear life. For all the strength I project, it turns out that I've found my weakness. It came wrapped in a man now dressed in Army fatigues and a name patch that reads WALKER.

Boyd pulls up and Austin steps away to put his bag in the same car that he borrowed to take me on our first date. It's a bittersweet moment with this car being part of one the best and worst moments in our journey together. When he steps back over to me, I want to be strong, to push back the tears, and to not make this any harder on him than it has to be. He didn't ask for this any more than I did. It's just a hurdle we must overcome. But the tears do come—I'm just not strong enough.

"Baby, it's okay. Just remember what I told you."

I look up at him through tears and I do remember.

"You're my reason to come home. I'll be back. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that, and I'll be here." He smiles that smile, the one that melts me from the inside out. There's one more thing I need to say. Something I need him to hear me say, to know that it's true. "I love you. I need you to know that and keep that with you."

"I love you too. Keep that with you."

"I want you to have one more picture of us." I hold out my phone to take a selfie, and then look at it. "It's perfect. I'm texting it to you now. One more reminder of the girl you have waiting for you back home."

"Walker, we have to go," Boyd yells from the car and Austin waves him off.

"I guess this is it."

"For today, but not forever." He leans down and kisses me so tenderly, but with so much passion, that I can still feel him after he steps away.

"I'm not going to say goodbye, just so you know," I say as he gets in the car.

"Me neither. I'll see you when I get home, baby." He pulls the door closed and blows me a kiss out the window.

"I'll see you when you get home, baby." I catch his kiss and blow one back.

The car pulls away and I fight the urge to chase it, but it'll only make it harder and it's hard enough already. It turns the corner and it's out of sight. He's gone. I walk back to my apartment, throw myself on my bed, and let all the tears I held in go. Then I hear my phone chime from wherever it landed on the bed. I search for it, and when I find it, I see it's a text from Austin.

Austin: It seems I should already know this, since I love you and all, but just in case I want to write you a letter, what's your real name?

I start laughing. He's been gone five minutes and he's already trying to make me laugh.

Me: Morgan Pearce. I can't wait for the first one to come. I miss you already and I love you too.

A couple of hours later I get one more text.

Austin: About to leave but wanted to send one more kiss.

I smile when I see it's complete with a kissy-face emoji.

Me: As long as it's not the last, lol. Just do what needs to be done and come home. I want a real kiss.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

For the last week, I've punished myself daily by flipping through the pictures of us on my phone. My favorites are one of us lying in bed when he was taking the picture and turned to kiss me just as it snapped, and the other is the one I took just before he left. You can see the redness in my eyes, but Austin looks as beautiful as always.

I haven't received any more texts from Austin and my mailbox hasn't rendered any letters as of yet, but it's only been a week. I'm sure his mind is on his work, as it should be, because distractions, like me, could get him and others killed. I miss him so much, but remind myself that I'm not the only one. There were wives and children that had to send their husbands and dads off that same day, mothers and siblings out there who long for the same thing that I do, they just want their soldier home. Women do this every day, watch as their husbands, boyfriends, lovers, brothers leave, never knowing when or if they'll see them again. I never realized what a sacrifice they made, what an impact it has. While our heroes are out there doing what needs to be done, their saints sit back home in waiting.

I walk out to the mailboxes nervously, just as I have done every day since Austin left. More than three weeks have come and gone, but nothing from Austin has appeared in my mailbox. I run through the reasons why I haven't gotten a letter. Does he have my address? Yes, I sent it to him and he drove over here the night of our first date. Besides that, he practically lived here with me for a week and a half. Lacking an address is not it, but it is one of the most innocent reasons I can come up with.

Maybe he's never going to write. Maybe he never intended to in the first place and his job provides the perfect love them and leave them scenario. No, that's not it. I am like a human lie detector and I'm not one of those girls who falls in love easily. I would've known if he was playing me. Everything between us was real, practically fairy tale material with booze and sex included—a very adult fairy tale.

Now, more realistically thinking, maybe he's just been busy doing his job, which I don't know exactly what that is. He's maybe, actually probably, in another country and it takes a while for mail to make it to the States. And my last thought, the one I resisted until I faced the reality of him being a soldier, maybe he's hurt or even worse ...

My eyes start to fill but I push away the thought immediately. That's not it. I refuse to let that thought consume me. I close my mailbox, silently telling it that tomorrow I expect to see something more than the electric bill, and walk back to my apartment.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

I consider calling in sick but that would be stupid. I already feel like shit, and losing a day of pay won't help, but being around familiar faces and a couple of shots might—maybe a little anyway. Karaoke night hasn't been the same since he left. Everyone else is still there but there's one voice I long to hear. Working does little to keep my mind off of him. I often look to the end of the bar where he used to sit and I don't know which is worse, it being empty or someone else sitting there. It used to be my favorite night, even before he came along, now it's just another night.

It's time to pull myself out of this but I'm at a loss. I just don't know how—I've never experienced anything like this. I didn't ask to fall for him. I always knew he'd have to go but always hoped we'd have more time. I never received a manual for how to be a soldier's girlfriend, hell at this point, I'm not even sure I am a soldier's girlfriend. We had two weeks, two wonderful weeks, and I guess I should be glad to have had that, but I wanted more. I scratch Raven's head then stand up from the bed. I grab my keys and my wallet and head out the door. It's time for work.

I think to stop by the mailbox, then turn toward my car. What's the point, I'm bound to be disappointed again, right? I get to the Jeep and open the door, but as I'm about to step in, I stop and turn, and slam the door shut. I look at my watch and take off running to the mailbox, hoping that today will be my lucky day. I'm probably going to be late anyway and an extra minute isn't exactly one I can afford. Being in a hurry, I fidget with the key and once I've got the damn thing open, I peer inside to see one envelope.

I reach inside and pull it out and look at it. I run my fingers over his name, A. Walker, written in the corner, and in its center, it's addressed to Morgan "Whiskey" Pearce. It's like every moment of waiting has finally proved itself necessary. There's no doubt I'm going to be late to work now and I don't care. Jonas can stuff it.

I walk back to the Jeep, hop in my seat, and take one more look at the envelope before I open it. It looks like it did some traveling, went through a lot of places, and was touched by a lot of hands on its way to me. His return address is undecipherable to me, number and letter combinations that don't make any sense. I flip it over and peel back the seal.

I slowly pull out the contents and realize there are two different folded bundles of paper. The one on top says read first, so I set the other in my lap and do as I've been told. His handwriting is immaculate for a man, and when I look at the date at the top, I realize he wrote this the day he left and I know I'm about to lose it. But if I can't have him, at least now I have his words.

Whiskey,

I'm actually writing this while I'm on the transport plane. I asked Boyd to make a quick stop on the way to the base so that I could get paper and envelopes, supplies I've never packed before. I made a promise to write my girl and nothing was going to stop me.

I want you to know how different it was leaving this time. Except for the day I left Kansas, I've never had anyone to see me off. I've never really felt as if I was leaving anyone behind, until you. I may have seemed strong, but that's because I knew showing any weakness would make it harder on you to watch me go. Believe me when I say it was killing me to see the sadness on your face and the tears in your eyes because of me, but it also made me love you even more.

The last few weeks were amazing, and I don't know if it seems as unreal for you as it does for me sometimes, but I fell completely in love with you. It was fast and seemingly impossible, but it happened. On previous tours, some of the men would talk about how they missed their wives, children, and girlfriends, but I wasn't one of those men. I didn't have that drive to get me through those rough days, but now I do. It makes this tour feel different.

I'll write you as often as I can, but don't be disappointed if it may be weeks before one of my letters shows up, mail from where I'm going isn't always the fastest thing. Just know that I'm always thinking of you and doing all I have to do to get back home, to my girl.

Send me your email and Skype handle. I can't guarantee how often, but I may be able to keep in touch with you that way too, maybe even see your beautiful face every now and then. My address is on the envelope, wherever I am, your letters will find me, and believe me, I'm looking forward to them.

I have a long journey, and it's not the easiest thing to do, but I should get some rest. I love you and I'll be home as soon as I can.

Love,

Austin

Now I just feel like shit for ever thinking that he wasn't going to write or that I was just this fling he had. I hold the letter to my chest. He wrote me before he was even really gone. His tough guy exterior was just show so that I wouldn't fall completely apart. And the words that hit me the hardest—I've never really felt as if I was leaving anyone behind, until you. I'm smiling and crying at the same time, touched by what he's admitted, but missing him even more than before.

My phone dings with a message, and as I lift it to see who it is, I notice the time. Shit! I was never going to make it on time, but now—just shit. I read the message.

Jonas: Any time now Whiskey

I'm not even going to entertain him with a response. Sadly, my other letter from Austin will have to wait. But, what was starting out to be a shitty night just got better. I throw the Jeep in reverse and hall ass to work. It's karaoke night!

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The pick-me-up that having his letter shoved in my back pocket has given me is ridiculous. He's not back, and I have no idea when he will be, but I have part of him with me, and proof that what I feared was never true. He wasn't gone more than a few hours before he wrote me, meaning he never stopped thinking about me. That's good, because I never stopped thinking about him.

I feel more like myself tonight, actually just in the last few hours, than the cavity of the insecure girlfriend left behind. Insecure, now there's a word I never thought I'd use to describe myself. My mother used to tell me that from the moment I learned how to do anything, I insisted I do it by myself. Whether my plan succeeded or failed I wanted to own it. I never relied on anyone. That hasn't changed completely, but when Austin left, I felt for the first time like something had been ripped away, like I'd finally had someone I wanted to rely on.

Jonas has been up my ass but I guess I gave him reason to be. But I'm not apologizing. Because I was late reading my letter, I'm not being a total bitch. A few of the girls, especially Karla, notice the change in my behavior to how I've been lately. If they only knew it didn't even take getting laid to do it. Actually, it was even better than getting laid, it was knowing that this guy that I fell hopelessly in love with, in a matter of weeks, never forgot about me.

The night goes by quickly and finally comes to an end. It wasn't that busy tonight and cleanup goes fast. Next thing I know, I'm saying good night to Johnny and heading out to my Jeep. The drive home takes too long with the envelope burning in my pocket. I just want to get home, fall into my bed, and read his words. I want to feel them melt through me and imagine that he is whispering them into my ear. I also need to set up a Skype account so that I can see him. It's already been too long.

Raven meows at me as soon as I open the door. I think she misses him too. He used to spend time with her while I was at work and they formed quite a bond. Truth be told, I was a little jealous finding her curled up on his side of the bed and not mine, but I completely understand. I lean in to scratch her head and she leans into me.

"We got letters from Austin today, Raven. I couldn't wait to read the first one, but I have one more. You want to hear it?" She meows her response. "Well then, let's go."

I pour myself a glass of wine and go over to the bed. I pull the envelope from my back pocket, which now looks even more worn than it did when I pulled it from the mailbox a few hours ago. This letter is dated about two weeks ago. That's not too long ago and gives me an idea of how long his letters take to travel from wherever on this earth he is. I settle in and start to read it out loud.

Whiskey,

I made it to camp, my home for the next while. I can't tell you much about where I am or what I'm here to do, actually wouldn't want to even if I could, but let's say it's not what I'd gotten used to back in Vegas. There's no lookout over a beautifully lit city, there's no karaoke stage for me to sing provocative songs to the sexy bartender from, and there's definitely no sexy bartender. I'm sure you're sighing in relief, but there's one sexy bartender I'd really love to be with right now. I'll give you one guess to who that is.

Living out here is a lot like camping. Tents and cots, and dirt everywhere. It's an adjustment but I was trained for this life. Regardless, it makes me long for home, for cuddling close with you. In fact, imagining that is what gets me to sleep some nights.

I look at your picture at least a dozen times a day. I've been caught a few times, not that I tried to hide it at all, and you've been declared "hottest girl back home" by half of my platoon. But I'm not one of those guys who doesn't know what I left behind, I'd be a fool if I didn't. Regardless, I issued a stern hands-off order just in case I don't one of these guys thinks they're going to make a run for you when we get back.

How's work? I miss Saturday nights almost as much as I miss you. But I do sing here, anything that the boys play, I sing. They've nicknamed me the Singing Soldier, and I don't mind a bit. Out here it's hard to find distraction and if my singing can offer it, I'll sing all day long.

I don't have much else to tell, not much going on. I look forward to your letters and to coming home. It's getting late and morning comes quick. Know that I miss you and love you, and that you're my absolute favorite shot of whiskey.

I'll write again soon,

Love,

Austin

I'd like to say he has no idea how much I miss him but I believe he does. And while I have all the familiar things in my life surrounding me, he's in the middle of who knows where, waiting for who knows what. I hate that he can't tell me but I think it's better that I don't know. My imagination is dangerous enough without having an outline.

It's not lost on me what he almost wrote. He started to say in case he doesn't come home. My eyes start to water. If he thinks that way, what am I left to think? How dangerous is what he's doing and where's he at? Is it really possible that he won't come back? I can't think that way. I have to do whatever I can to keep him positive, to keep myself positive.

I get up and walk over to the shelf by the window to grab a notebook and search for a pen. I'm driven by the need to write him back, to reassure him that I'm here and that I'm not going anywhere. Our attraction may have been instant, our love quicker than most, but we never had the time to build and strengthen all those other areas that go with being in a relationship. But being on separate parts of the world doesn't mean that we can't.

I can't recall the last time I wrote a letter. Everything's so electronic these days, but there's something about writing a letter, about writing your feelings on the page that feels nostalgic. Touching the same paper that the writer touched, being able to trace their handwriting, and having something to hold on to after it's read, or to keep in your pocket in my case.

I put the pen to the paper and realize I have no idea what to write. Then I realize that it doesn't matter, he just needs to know that I'm here.

Austin,

I can't lie, the last few weeks have been hard on me. We were together for such a short time before you were called away, and I wasn't prepared for the havoc your leaving would play on my heart. But I'm better now thanks to your letters. I can't begin to tell you how much I needed them.

Things have been okay around here, but if you ask me, it's too quiet and too lonely. I miss the smell of your cologne, your cooking, your kisses, and most of all, the warmth of your body lying next to mine. The truth is, I can't wait for you to come home. I'm not saying any of this to upset you, though I'm sure it's equally as hard as it is comforting to hear. Fact is, my life will never be the same as it was before you walked into it, and I don't want it to be.

I'm thinking about signing up for some classes while you're away, just something to pass the time. Maybe cooking so that you won't be the only one skilled in the kitchen. I've also been thinking about the future, maybe opening my own bar one day. It's a pipe dream right now, but maybe one day it can be a reality. Maybe it can be something we can do together. We'll see.

Whatever happens or how long it takes, I just want it to be clear about one thing. I am yours and I'll wait as long as we have to, to be together again. I feel like you were brought to me and I'd be a fool to let you go. Whenever times get tough, just remember you have me and that I love you.

Love always,

Whiskey

The days continue to go by, and before I know it, weeks and months have passed. Austin has been gone six months and I shake my head in denial of the time that we've lost. It just doesn't seem fair. His letters come, sometimes many at a time, because the mail from where he's at isn't regular and they're usually dated two to four weeks ago, but I don't care as long as they keep coming. In between them, I sometimes get an email, but I like the letters best. I keep them all in a chest I found at an antique store I spent a morning browsing through. I call it my treasure chest because it's full of my treasures, his words to me, which are all I have to hold onto until he returns.

We've also gotten to Skype a few times the last several months. Our hours are basically flipped with him being a little more than twelve hours ahead. My schedule makes that difficult because I'm at work during his mornings and still sleeping when it's his night. And he doesn't really have a schedule at all, sometimes going for days without a break. But the few times I've been able to talk to him, to see him, it takes all I've got to keep the tears at bay. Whether they are happy or sad tears, he doesn't need the weight of them on his mind.

I've busied myself taking the cooking classes I mentioned and can't wait to surprise him with what I've learned. Besides cooking alongside him, I never knew how much I'd enjoy it. My fridge now stays stocked and I experiment a lot on my own. I'll be damned if I'm not turning into Holly freaking Homemaker.

I've also done a lot of research on what it would take to open my own bar. I wasn't prepared for all the red tape involved with opening a place in Las Vegas. I'm actually considering somewhere else to start our lives and business together when Austin gets home. He loves the idea of opening a bar together and has mentioned discharging at the end of his enlistment. That's a big decision for him, but at least I'd escape his leaving on the drop of a dime and never knowing when he'll be home. Call me selfish, but I'd rather he be here with me.

I'm in the middle of baking some cookies and have just put them in the oven. I'm setting the timer for ten minutes when I notice the time. Mail should be here! I slip on my shoes and grab my mailbox key, figuring I'll go check it while the cookies bake. I run down the stairs, trying not to fall and kill myself and around the two corners between my building and the mailboxes. I open the box and smile, all giddy when I see a letter from him. I close the box and quickly run back to my apartment, charging in with five minutes to spare.

I kick off my shoes and bounce down on the couch I bought a couple of weeks ago in an effort to make my tiny apartment look more like a tiny home, and tear at the back of the envelope. I pull out the letter and notice it's a single page, lately they've been a least two. Maybe this was just a quick line between missions.

I open up the letter and the first thing I notice is his handwriting—it's different than all the letters before. I mean, I can tell it's his, but it's off. The next things I notice are the date, three weeks ago, making it the most current, and who he wrote it to. It's addressed to me, but not the me it always has been. Something is so very wrong here, and to find out I have to read his words.

Morgan,

It's finally hit me that I've done something terribly wrong. I blame it on my own selfishness and need you to know that this is on me, one hundred percent. I wanted to think that you were mine, that I could keep you to myself even while I was gone, but how could I ask that of you? I'm thousands of miles away unable to be the man you need and deserve and I made you feel like you had to wait for me to come home, when the reality is that I don't know when that will be or if it will ever be. Things are bad where I'm at and lately I've felt like my days are borrowed. But those are my days, not your days.

What I'm trying to say is that I can't hold you back anymore. I can't ask you to accept a relationship where you get nothing more than letters and the occasional email. You deserve a man who is there with you, enjoying you and cherishing you every single day. You deserve a man better than me.

I know you're shaking your head in disbelief but you have to see that what I'm saying is true. I love you, but I can't give you the love you deserve, and because I love you, I have to let you go.

I can't read anymore and I drop the letter on my lap. What happened to make him do this, to decide this? If he wasn't a million miles away, I'd go to him, shake him, try to change his mind. I'm in shock, I'm heartbroken, and I can't breathe. I shake my head, wanting to believe that the words I just read weren't really there, but they were. I should've known when I saw my name, Morgan—he's never called me that.

Is this real? The timer for the cookies goes off, acting as the proverbial pinch to assure me that none of this is a dream. I stand up, letting the letter fall to the floor, and rush to the kitchen to pull the cookies from the oven. I set them on the stove and look around, hardly remembering how I even got here. Then I look to where the letter lies on the floor.

Tears start to fill my eyes, but I convince myself I'm wrong, I read it wrong. I walk over to it, and through blurred eyes, read it again, but even through the filter of my tears, it says the same thing. I don't know how, but I push through to read the last few words that I hadn't read before.

This decision doesn't come easy and I'm asking you not to fight me. I'm doing what I should have done the day I left you. Finally, I'm doing what's best for you, not what's best for me.

Always,

Austin

I ball up the letter and throw it across the room as anger and tears take over me. He's nothing but a coward and I hate him for what he's done. He has no idea what's best for me, because if he did, he wouldn't have just ripped my heart out from a million miles away.

A little more than two years later ...

I roll over in bed and slam my hand down on the alarm clock. Why can't I just be one of those people that can wake up to the pleasant sounds of music? Music just blends in with whatever I'm dreaming about and causes me to never want to wake up. No, I require an alarm so ridiculously loud and frightening that it wakes me by scaring the living shit out of me. And my daily response is to nearly beat the shit out of the contraption, which has already cost me two new alarm clocks this year.

I thought by now that I'd be used to this schedule, but being the night owl that I am, it just isn't getting easier. I'm taking on half of a second shift at the bar, four days a week, and doing private gigs when I can on my days off to make some extra money. They don't mind paying me overtime, and come two in the morning, if I'm already there, I might as well stay. The only drawback to the entire plan is that waking up at one in the afternoon is a complete and utter waste of the day, but when you didn't end yesterday until six this morning, you're living the perfect upside-down day. But I'm doing what I love and working toward my dream, so I find it impossible to regret a moment of it.

According to my mother, regret is exactly what I should be feeling right now. Dropping out of college my junior year to go to bartending school, in Vegas of all places, was a completely unacceptable and irresponsible decision. All coming from a woman who went to college herself but has never used her degree a day in her life, except to throw it in my face. She's perfectly comfortable being the woman behind the man that is her fourth husband now. My mother marries for the love of money, not necessarily the man. That's not my style.

My father, on the other hand, only ever wanted me to do what would make me happy and knew that decision was up to me. He said, "Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life." I do love what I do, but I still feel like I'm working. Working, saving, hoping that one day it'll be my bar that all of Las Vegas will want to hang out at. And in a way, by proclamation of my regulars, by being the most awesome bartender in this city, I have quite the following and that dream may actually come true.

I could ask my father for the money and he'd gladly make a generous investment, but I want to do this myself. I want to prove to my mother that she was wrong about me, that I can, and will, make it on my own without a rich man, or four. I don't need a man, let alone a rich one, to have my perfect life.

I flip back my covers and hear a growl. I look over to see my covers moving and hear another frustrated and muffled meow from underneath them. I giggle and poke the blanket and receive another deep meow, which is clearly a feline fuck you from my adorable cat Raven. When she finally makes her way out, she stares at me with her glowing green eyes. I know she's casting some kitty spell on me right now, which is exactly what made me choose her among the others the day I brought her home. She cast a spell on me and I just knew she was one of the many missing pieces of my life's puzzle. She and I have been through a lot together the last couple of years or so, and her unconditional love has been priceless. I reach over to scratch her head and she instinctively leans into me and cocks her head to lick my palm. I think I'm forgiven.

It's time to get up though. I have things to do and a shift at the bar tonight, which I'm thankful is only a single. It's Saturday and that means it's karaoke night. Karaoke still brings in a good crowd, good tips, and I get to unleash my hidden passion for singing. There's just something about being up there on that stage, singing the songs that bare what I feel and tell the stories of my life, without anyone having to know it was actually my life. I only sing one song most nights, but it's part of the therapy I need to make it through the next six days of the week until I repeat the cycle all over again. But there's also another type of therapy I'm in need of about now. It comes in a handsome package and a good shot.

It's been a while since one's come along, but I have a feeling about tonight. I have needs, needs that require a man, and it's been way too long. There's never a shortage of men at my bar, but now we're talking quantity versus quality. For quality purposes, I've made my own set of rules, rules for love and rules for life. I established them after my careless decision to let down my fences and fall in love nearly gutted me. I rerouted my energy to focus on my goals, and my goals require money not love. I may have given up many dreams the day his letter acted as a knife to my heart, but one stayed and became my entire life—opening my bar and doing it on my own.

So, as this set of rules goes, Whiskey's Rules for Bartending and Life are few and simple. Always play hard to get with the guys, most of them are a glutton for punishment and they'll tip you all night trying to crack you. When it comes to couples, don't flirt with husbands, flirt with their wives. The husbands will end up fantasizing about his wife and another woman, namely you, and will tip more, hoping to end the night in a ménage à trois. In the end, he'll go home broke and blue-balled, but that's not your problem.

Whiskey's Rules for Love, there's only one—don't do it. I've sailed that ship and sunk it, and I'm not in any hurry to do it again. But if a hot guy offers to buy me a good shot of whiskey, and I'm talking top-shelf, I may give him a chance and myself a pass to have a good time, at least for the night. And with that are more rules. He can't be a douche. He can't ask me what I drink, he has to just know, and he has to drink the same thing. It's only one night, no repeats, and no relationship. Safe but not completely sane. I think I'm in need of one of those nights, the kind that makes me forget about life, and about him.

I shake away the pain and the thought of him like I do every day and stand up from my bed, stretching as I go, and humming along my way to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. It's literally twenty feet away in my small and inexpensive studio apartment that will just have to do for a while longer, but I wish I had special powers so I could turn it on from my bed, but no such luck in the special powers department.

Raven follows closely behind, expecting a fresh can of food and treats now that I'm on my feet. Since she's the only living thing I have to take care of beside myself, she's a pretty spoiled pussy, which in my opinion is never a bad thing. I definitely take better care of her than I do myself. I set her food on the floor while my coffee is brewing and open up the fridge to find the only thing in it is a slice of pizza from last week, a bowl of I don't remember that's growing into I don't know what, and an almost empty carton of almond milk. A quick shake tells me there's just enough milk for my coffee, but it looks like grocery shopping just got added to the things-to-do list.

It's pretty sad really. I remember all the months I spent learning to cook, thinking that I'd have someone other than myself to cook for when he came home. But when it became clear to me that was not happening, cooking too became insignificant. I wanted to do it for him, for us, but that idea died the second the words written on a piece of spiral notebook paper ruined my life. Now I'm reduced to last week's pizza, one coffee serving of almond milk, and a science experiment. It's clear that I've reverted back to my old ways and a life before him.

With my java in hand, I dance-walk back to the other side of the room and into the bathroom, again humming and thinking about what song I'm going to sing tonight. Lately, I'm a sucker for a good country song and find that they're what I feel most comfortable singing, but I only like the songs that really tell it. Whether it be how much I love you or how I'm going to make your life a living hell, I like the songs that give it to you real. But it's been a long time since I sang a song about love, my lovebug having been squashed more than a year ago.

I tap at my phone's screen until music pours from the Bluetooth speaker in my shower, then set it on the counter. I start the shower, and while the water heats up, I undress and grab my towel to throw it over the shower door. When I can see the steam start to rise above the door, I open it and step under the spray. If tonight is the night for some hot sex with a hot stranger, I have some shaving to do.

I sing along with the music, testing my voice with each song and hoping that tonight's song will just come to me. I'm in a spitfire mood and want that to show through what I sing. When I hear the intro, I know this is the one. The lyrics don't really apply to me, which is okay, but the anger it speaks of does. I bob my head and tap my foot and when the song ends, I hit the arrow button to play it again. Five times later and with just enough warm water to rinse the conditioner out of my hair, I step out, ready to rock and burn the bar down tonight.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

There are some faces I've never seen in the bar tonight. Some sitting with regulars and some sitting awkwardly at tables or alone at the bar. Those are the dangerous ones and the ones you can't ignore, no matter how much you try—they're just there. One in particular has caught my eye tonight.

"Hey! Hey, bartender!" That is until he opened his mouth.

"Hey yourself! This bartender has a name, you know?"

"And what would that be?" he asks, changing his tone to be more flirtatious.

I refrain from rolling my eyes, because douche bag or not, he's a paying, tipping customer. "Whiskey."

"I don't touch the stuff." Strike two and three.

"I wasn't offering you a shot, that's my name, Whiskey."

"Then I'd like to change my mind. A shot of you sounds like just what I want."

Oh, brother. "Sorry, Charlie, no do-overs. So, what can I get you?" I ask, slapping a napkin down in front of him. Since you're obviously a pussy who sucks at pickup lines.

"Vodka and cran."

"Coming right up." Yeah, you would want something with juice in it. I hate it when a guy is nice on the eyes but hard on the ears.

I walk to the other side of the bar, where my best friend Karla is hanging out, to make his drink, because doing it right in front of him will make him think he should keep talking and I just don't know if I can handle that. "Okay, girl, here's the deal."

She leans in.

"See the guy in the white jacket?"

She glances over undetected; this girl is good. She nods.

"As soon as I drop his drink off, call me back over here."

"Why? He's cute."

"Do you see what he's drinking? Straight vodka may have been acceptable, but juice? That may be acceptable for a fifty-year-old family man at home, but not a thirty-something hot guy in a bar." I shake my head. "Just—no."

"You and your whiskey men," she says, rolling her eyes. "Your standards are just too high since—"

I cut her off. "Don't you dare. It has nothing to do with him," I snap, and she holds her hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry," she says, and I know she is. She's been coming to this bar every week since I started here, and we became friends while I was falling apart. She offered her ear and a shoulder when I needed it most, which also means she knows way too much.

"I know, it's okay." I wink and turn to deliver Mr. Juice's drink.

"That'll be four bucks," I say as I set it down on the napkin I set out earlier. He pulls out his wallet and hands me a five.

"Keep the change," he says with a wink.

"Thanks. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Oh, I will." He smiles and I hold back a gag.

"Whiskey!" Karla yells, coming to my rescue and holding up an empty glass to make it look legitimate. I head in her direction, leaving juice boy behind. I manage to keep myself busy with orders while Mr. Juice sips on his drink and checks out the scene. Thankfully, when he finishes his drink, he doesn't flag me down for another and decides this isn't the place he'll score tonight and disappears.

My night goes on, slinging bottles, topping beers, and singing along. Despite the chill outside with fall quickly fading into winter, it's hot as hell in this room. Finally, Mitch calls me up to the stage. Get ready everybody, it's about to get hotter.

The guitar intro starts, and after a few seconds, the tambourine and drums join in. From the first beat, my foot is tapping and my body is moving with the beat of the drum. I feel every element of the song coming together and building inside me, so that when the lyrics start, it's like an explosion.

I belt out the words to "Kerosene" in an almost staccato fashion, and finally, the line that describes how I feel about all this love business comes, and I belt it out with conviction. This song could've been written about me. After all, I'm a woman who's given up on love, because love gave up on her.

All around the room, heads are bobbing to the beat and a few claps can be heard, but there's one man sitting at one of the tables that catches my attention. He watches me intently, and it's not obvious whether he's enjoying my performance or not. I look away from him but continue to feel his eyes on me, never faltering. I haven't felt so vulnerable under the gaze of a man in a long time, and I'm caught between running straight for it and far away from it, and from him.

When the song is over, applause fill the room. I take a bow and step from the stage, heading back to the safety and sanctuary of my bar. But as I pass him, I find it impossible not to look at him and find that he's not clapping, not smiling, not frowning, but his stare remains locked on me. Usually I'd be freaked out by such behavior, but there's something intriguing about his stare, like he sees me and all I'm trying to hide.

I slip back behind the bar and grab the few glasses and bottles that were set on the edge during the brief minutes I was on stage, and replace them with new drinks. A few of those sitting at the bar praise me on my performance, and I thank them, but bat away the attention. I love that others get enjoyment out of my songs, but, truth be told, I don't do it for them, I do it for myself. Each song unleashes something I struggle with or feel.

I work my way around my bar, serving, cleaning, and listening to the performers. I've just loaded the washer full of glasses and turned it on, when I feel that familiar sensation of eyes on me. I turn slowly to be met by two seas of blue and for a second, I forget to breathe.

I don't know what his aversion to smiling is, but just like earlier, as he watched me sing, his lips are pressed together and void of emotion. I'm struggling for the words to break him from his trance—to make him smile, frown, show me anything to prove he's human. While I search for them, the staring match continues.

"Cat got your tongue, handsome? What can I get for you?" I can see him processing my words, and then it's like a light goes on and he realizes he's been standing there like a mannequin.

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "A Budweiser and a shot of Crown."

Now, you've got my attention. "Which is chasing which?" There is a right and wrong answer to this question, though right now, I'm not sure I care.

"Oh, the beer is for my friend." He turns and points to the table where he was sitting. I look over to see, then look back at him as he turns back to face me.

"So, the Crown is for you?"

"Yeah."

Right answer, handsome. You'll be moving on to the next round.

The approval must register on my face, because he cracks a smile and shakes his head as if clearing a fog. "I'm sorry, I must seem like a creep. Truth is, I was sent over as the wingman. My friend thinks your beautiful and—"

"So, he sent you over to what, ask for my number, if I was single, if I was interested?" I tease.

"All of the above, but he screwed up."

"How is that?" I furrow my brows with curiosity.

"Because, now I want all those answers for myself."

I think I may have swallowed some of that kerosene I sang about earlier, because I think a fire just ignited inside me. "Well, now that you're asking for yourself, we'll talk about numbers later, and yes, I'm single and interested. I'm Whiskey, bartender extraordinaire."

"I'm Dawson, Dawson Shepard."

He extends his hand and I take it, my eyes never leaving his. His hands are calloused but smooth, and all of a sudden, I swear I can feel them roaming over other parts of my body. "I'm sorry."

He looks at me quizzically.

"You're going to have to tell your friend that you're a horrible wingman." I pull a beer from the cooler, pop the cap off, and set it on the bar, then turn to grab the Crown off the top shelf behind me. I set two glasses on the bar top between us, filling them both, and setting the bottle to the side. I push his toward him and pick up the second one, holding it out between us. "To bad wingmen."

He smirks, and it's the sexiest thing I've seen in months. "To bad wingmen. May I never regret it." He winks.

I wink back as I bring the shot to my mouth. God, I hope I don't either.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

My shift ends, and Dawson waits at the front bar. I clock out and take a seat beside him, to find a shot glass waiting for me as well. "Is this for me?"

"Unless you don't want it."

"Oh, well let's not get carried away, now. I'm not the kind of girl who lets a good shot of whiskey go to waste." I pick up the shot and bring it to my lips, all while he watches me.

"I must admit, I'm at a loss. I didn't expect to meet anyone tonight, let alone be chosen over Trent. I'm more of the strong, silent type. He's the ladies' man."

"Trent underestimated you. Sometimes, strong and silent is just what a girl wants."

"Is that what you want?"

I roll my eyes to the side so that I appear to be thinking, then look back over to him. "You want to know what I want to do? I want to swing." I hop off the bar stool, grab his hand, and pull him through the door behind me. I lead him to my Jeep and hit the key to unlock it. Without prompting, he climbs in the passenger side as I take my seat behind the wheel.

A few blocks away, I pull into the parking lot of a park and cut the engine. I look over at Dawson who doesn't have the faintest idea why we're here, but he has excitement in his eyes. I smile as I get out of the Jeep and start walking, stepping over the curb and onto the grass. His door shuts and he comes to stand next to me. I smile and grab his hand, leading us to the swing set.

"You weren't kidding?" he asks, both surprised and relieved.

"What did you think I meant?" It dawns on me that he thought the kind of swinging I meant was a bit freakier in nature. "Oh, Dawson! And to think I kind of liked you," I tease as I sit down on one of the swings.

"What? I don't even need fingers to count the number of times a grown woman told me she wanted to swing and meant on a swing set in a park."

"And how many fingers do you need to count the number of times a girl wanted to swing with you and they meant swing, as in freaky sex?" I look at him pointedly and wait for his answer.

He walks over and sits down in the swing beside me. "None, but a guy can dream, can't he?"

I start laughing and it comes from deep inside me. I push back as far as I can reach and let go to get my swing in motion, then work to get it to go higher. His head goes back and forth watching as I move.

"I love swinging. It makes me feel like I'm flying. Sometimes, I miss being a kid—life was so easy." I love how my hair floats as I move forward and then crashes against me as I fly back.

Dawson still sits idly, just watching me.

I slow down, finally coming to a stop and look at him. "What's wrong? Don't you know how?"

"I do, but I enjoy watching you more. I can't say I expected this." He gestures to the park. "You're full of surprises."

"That I am. I even surprise myself sometimes."

"How's that?"

"Being here with you. I've known you only for a few hours but you've managed to make me feel like my old self again," I say, looking into blue seas that are barely lit by the streetlights and the moon.

"Is that a good thing? Sometimes an old self is what people try to avoid," he asks.

"I don't know yet, but I think it might be. What do you expect out of this night, Dawson?"

"Nothing. I just want to get to know you, spend some time with you, and maybe end the night with a kiss. I have no expectations. I'll take whatever you're willing to give."

I move in a little closer, my eyes floating from his eyes to his mouth and back. "If I promise we'll get to the rest, the getting to know me, the spending time with me, can we skip to the kiss?"

"I don't think that's too much to ask."

He leans in and touches his lips to mine and it's everything and nothing I expected. It's just me and Dawson under the moonlight, and I wonder just how much better this night can get. He brings his hand to my cheek and follows it to my neck, where I can feel his fingers in my hair at the nape of it. I started out this night perfectly happy with the idea of a one-night stand, but now, I'm not sure I can go through with it. I'm not one-hundred-percent sure that I could wake up next to this man and want him to leave.

I pull back from him with my eyes closed and savor the feel of his lips that lingers on mine. Can I do this again? Can I trust my heart with someone I've just met? I open my eyes and see all the answers I need staring back at me. I don't know if this will become anything beyond tonight, but tonight, I don't think I want to let go.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

I wake up slowly to the sound of keys jingling and a door closing, and I know Dawson has just made his escape. I thought I knew myself well enough to know that the way he made me feel last night meant that maybe I was getting another chance at a connection with someone instead of just another one-night stand. But apparently, I'm a fucking idiot. I roll onto my back and bring my arm to my face. I try hard not to let it, but a tear escapes. How did I become so entirely broken?

I swipe at my face, erasing the pain that tear carries with it, and when I open my eyes I jump almost ten feet in the air. Dawson stands there, a cup of coffee from 7-Eleven in his hand. He jumps back instinctively, causing some of the coffee to slosh out of the cup and onto his white T-shirt. I feel horrible, but what the fuck? "I thought you left!"

He just stares down at me, at my chest, actually, and I notice that I'm bare to my waist and scurry to pull the sheet up. "I went for coffee. I thought I'd be back before you woke up."

I start to laugh feeling like an idiot and he chuckles, setting the cup on my nightstand and then sitting on the bed next to me.

"You think that's funny, huh?" He starts tickling me, and then I couldn't care less if my tits are hanging out or not, because I know this will lead to an encore performance of earlier this morning.

Tickling leads to kissing, which leads to ridding him of his coffee stained shirt, which leads to reaching for a condom out of the nightstand drawer. I've had lots of sex in my life, some really good and some that left me unsated. Dawson doesn't fall into either of those categories. He's an expert of the female body; he knows what every spot he touches will render, and executes each touch perfectly. My body aches for more, but not because it's not satisfied. It wants more because it can never get enough of how he makes it feel.

He grazes my skin with his fingers, his teeth, and his tongue. He sucks and nibbles on my nipples until I ache with need. He slips his fingers between my thighs and deep inside me until I'm at his whim, begging for him to fill me. Only once in my life has my body felt so completely owned, but the past is in the past and has no place here in my present.

That first night together wasn't our last night together. In fact, it's crazy to think that our first night was more than a month ago. I've been taking it slow, for obvious reasons, but feel like if there's anyone I could move forward with, it's him. But, sometimes I feel like Dawson and I are on different sides of the earth when it comes to time. He works in construction, which starts at the break of dawn, and coincidently that's when my day is usually coming to an end. It's a challenge, but somehow, over the last few weeks, we're making it work.

I roll over and cuddle in close to him, and instinctively, he releases a moan and pulls me to him. I kiss his chest and tease his nipple with my fingertip.

"You are insatiable," he says, sleep still heavy on his voice.

"Not true. You satisfy me completely, I just always want more."

"Like I said, insatiable."

"It's just that the weekends always seem to go by too fast. I need enough of you to last me the whole week to come."

He takes my hand into his and brings it to his mouth, kissing each fingertip, and then shifts so that we're lying face-to-face, looking at each other. "Actually, I've been thinking a lot about that." His voice is gruff, full of sexy, but there's a hint of serious.

"Yeah?" I whisper.

"Yeah. And I think I may have come up with an idea to solve this time issue we seem to have."

"And what's that?"

"Move in with me."

I think my heart just stopped. "Move in with you?" I ask, more to confirm that those are the words I heard than anything.

"That's what I said. Whiskey, I want to see you every afternoon, and every morning, and stop the weekends from feeling like visitation time, always on a clock and knowing it will eventually end. Even if it's only a few more hours a day, it's worth every extra minute that I can have with you."

"Are you sure we're ready for this?" I'm not entirely sure if this question is for me or for him to answer.

This wonderful, beautiful man is offering me the beginning of everything I've ever wanted, and I'm asking him if he's sure because I'm scared to take it. I'm falling for this guy. I can see a life with him, a life that I gave up on the day it seemed life and love gave up on me, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid that it won't last, that he'll decide he was wrong and give me some bullshit, it's me, not you speech before he leaves me to pick up the pieces of my heart and start all over again. Then it hits me—what I'm really doing is letting the past paralyze my future, making myself and Dawson suffer for what Austin did.

"I'm sure. Look, I've never met anyone like you and I knew the minute I saw you singing on that stage that my life would never be the same. I want every minute I can get. I'm not asking for forever, not yet, but I want more."

In his eyes lies honesty and sincerity, and though the words haven't been said yet, I see love. It's time to let that past go and embrace what and who I have right in front of me. "I want more too."

His lips curl into a smile and he rolls me over in one smooth, fluent motion. He brings his mouth to mine and I open for him, feeling for the first time that I am completely and utterly his.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

We've been living together for almost two months now and I'm still adjusting to it all. He told me I have free rein to do whatever I want—decorate, rearrange; he wants me to feel like this home is mine, but I've yet to change anything. I lived so simply on my own, I don't feel the need to mark anything or hypothetically piss all over the place to make it mine. The only request he made that I've conceded to, is cutting back on the overtime at work. I insisted on paying a share of the bills though Dawson argued that, with or without me here, the monthly expenses are the same. I don't care what he does with the money, I just have to maintain some level of independence and my contribution allows me that.

Today were having Trent and Karla over for a barbecue and to shoot some games of pool. Surprisingly, things with Trent never got weird. Of course, the night Dawson and I met, Dawson was supposed to be checking me out for Trent, and subsequently, lost his wingman wings forever. But Trent admits that Dawson and I were meant to be, and that it's a loss he's willing to take. It's easy to understand why he and Dawson are such good friends.

"Babe, can you bring me the burgers?" Dawson calls from the patio.

"Do you want the dogs too?" I yell back.

"Sure!" he responds and I reach into the fridge and grab the trays of meat to deliver to my grill master.

"Karla, can you give me a hand me please?" I look over to my friend and smile. I don't think either of us ever thought that we'd be here, having a barbecue at the house that Dawson and I refer to as our home.

"I got you, girl."

We step outside and place the trays on the table near the grill. The guys are into an animated conversation about baseball. Dawson, who is forever a Mariners' fan, is pleading the teams case for next year, but still he pauses to give me a wink and send an air kiss. It's the little things like these that give me the feels for this guy. Every day, I find myself falling more in love with him, and maybe one day soon, I'll actually be able to say the words.

Karla and I go back into the house, leaving the men to grill while us ladies pull out the sides and set the table. She starts asking me questions about Trent, all the while trying to hide the fact that she's interested. To be honest, I don't know much. Although things aren't weird between us, I haven't invested too much time into getting to know him. All I can tell her is that he works with Dawson, he seems like a great guy, and that he's single.

Throughout dinner, and for the rest of the night, she focuses on him intently, like a lioness chasing after a lion. She stands a little closer than a stranger would, laughs at all his jokes, and after about ten games of pool, suggests ending the night with a friendly game of strip poker. Yup, that's my friend.

Unfortunately, people who play bad poker shouldn't suggest such games where losing clothes is a possibility. But on the bright side, and I don't mean mine, because I managed only to lose my socks and shirt, Trent either sucks too, or was on a mission to end up just as naked as Karla.

Dawson and I excuse ourselves to bed before it gets too crazy, but I'm sure to tell them both where the spare room is, with hopes that anything else that might happen between them won't be on the sofa or walked in on in the morning.

"Think they're going to sleep together tonight?" Dawson jokes as we hear giggling from down the hall.

"If neither of them passes out first, definitely."

"And am I going to get lucky tonight too?" He walks toward me, with hunger in his eyes and I can almost feel him undressing me.

"Define lucky."

He stands in front of me and reaches out and slips his hand under the bottom of my shirt, the warmth of his fingers making my skin tingle. "It starts with a kiss here." He leans in and places a soft kiss on my lips. "Then a kiss here." He pulls my shirt over my head and dips down, placing his mouth at my breast, and kisses it over the sheer fabric of my bra.

I think I'm starting to get the picture, but wonder exactly which of us is getting luckier here.

Then he unbuttons my jeans, and as he pushes them down my legs and to the ground, he lowers himself so that he's eye level with my panties. "Then a kiss here." He touches his lips to that spot where the heat of his breath on my skin is like a match to gasoline.

I throw my head back and sigh and he takes that as my consent. Without knowing or caring how I got there, I find myself on the bed. No more fabric between his lips and my skin, no more soft kisses, no more gentle man, because he's been taken over by lust and primal instinct. If he considers what's happening here lucky for him, I think I'm experiencing a damn miracle.

There's no denying he knows my body, and the proof is in the orgasm that racks through it as he purposely and expertly moves his fingers to the spot that is like the secret button to my undoing. I say his name as I arch my back and let my body do as it will. I feel the change of his weight on me as he replaces his hand with himself, filling me, and prompting the orgasm to continue. He kisses me hard, and I grind against him, finding myself at the brink of another quake. He knows this, and he lets himself go, taking us both to the very end together.

He's sleeping now, his head on my chest while I softly rake my fingers through his hair. The words are at my lips and I think to say them while I know he can't hear, but that would be pointless and he deserves more than that. He is so amazing and we're amazing together, but I can't help but fear that if I open that last part of my heart to him, everything amazing about us will disappear. It took me a long time to recover the last time, hell, sometimes I'm not completely sure that I have recovered still, but I am sure that I can't do it again. So somehow, by avoiding any declarations of love and the future, by not acting on instinct, I keep everything perfect as it is, full of bliss and absent of expectation.

The bar is covered in Christmas décor—snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, garland dangling from the walls, a tree in the corner that's garnished with dollar store ornaments, and my contribution, stockings with all the employees' names hanging from bottles behind the bar. The holidays are quickly approaching and that holiday feeling is filling the air, and to some degree emptying my bar.

It always slows down around this time of year. People with families are trying to save up some last-minute cash for gifts and traveling. I have a few regulars that I can depend on to keep me busy, but Mitch usually shuts down karaoke for a couple of weeks and makes a big comeback for New Year's Eve. In fact, tonight's his last night.

I'm prepping the bar while humming along to the filler music station, which has been set to play Christmas tunes between now and the New Year. Karla comes in early, as usual, to talk girl talk before everyone else arrives, especially to boast, and sometimes bitch, about our men. See, our little barbecue served its purpose for being a crazy night that included too many shots and strip poker. It may have also resulted in a one-night stand that has lasted much longer than one night for Karla and Trent. It would appear that Trent never needed a wingman to begin with; he just needed to be going after the right girl.

"Is Dawson coming tonight?" Karla asks, knowing that come Saturday, the man is like my second skin.

"I'm not sure. He's not feeling well. What about Trent?"

Just the mention of his name makes her smile like a Cheshire cat. "He'll be here in a bit," she says then pauses before she goes on. "Whiskey, I like him, I like him a lot."

"That's awesome. I'm so happy for you. Do you think he feels the same?"

"I think so. Has Dawson said anything? I know guys talk."

"Dawson hasn't mentioned anything, but maybe he was asked not to because we're best friends," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"You're probably right. So, what about you and Dawson, any big holiday plans? Meeting the family or any cliché other new-couple stuff?"

"Not that I know of. I'm sure as hell not dragging him to Portland. Wait, you don't think he's going to want me to meet his family, do you?" It hadn't dawned on me that was even a possibility until now, but it seems a natural next step.

"You guys have been together a few months now, some would say it's about time."

"Well, I'll worry about it if it comes up. I'm not going to make myself crazy over it. Maybe it is time, maybe that is our next step."

"I think you love him." She drags out the word love in a teasing way and I know I'm blushing. "Good for you. I wasn't sure you'd ever let yourself go there again after, well you know."

"I think I just finally got honest with myself and realized that I needed to move on. Just because he didn't want me doesn't mean that no one does. Dawson loves me. I can feel it in everything he does, everything he says."

Karla chooses this moment to give me her two cents' worth. "But he's not Austin."

I glare at her, anger growing inside me until I feel like I'm going to burst. "No, he's not Austin! Austin took my heart with him half way around the world and then sent it back to me with a forty-seven-cent stamp on it and some bullshit about how he was selfish and doing me a damn favor. Dawson is ten times the man Austin is, and he would never do to me what Austin did." I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders and my heart. The anger I've been carrying inside me has been freed after more than two years, and I feel like I'm suddenly able to see clearly, to love and appreciate who I have right in front of me. "I do love Dawson and I'm going to tell him I do before it's too late."

"There you go, girl. There's the Whiskey I know and love," Karla says with a sneaky smile on her face and I give her a knowing look. "You needed to get all those feelings out before you could move on. You've been carrying them with you for too long, it's time to let them and him go. A New Year is coming and I think you need to move forward with your new life."

There's no point in arguing with her because she's right. I've swept the deadweight from my heart, and I already feel like all the feelings I've been holding back from the man who is here and loves me, can finally be spoken.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"I just got off the phone with my mom and everything is set," Dawson says as he sits down on the couch next to me. I've been watching him and listening to one side of the conversation for about half an hour now and wonder who's more excited about this trip we're taking, him or his mom. Cliché as it may be, he's taking me home, which is Spokane, for Christmas. "She's so excited to meet you, she practically offered to roll out the red carpet." He places his hand on my leg and heat rolls through me.

"It can't possibly be that big of a deal. No doubt you've brought girlfriends home before."

"Not since high school. I moved out here for work only a few months after I graduated tech school because construction in Vegas is never completely dead."

I turn a little to face him. "So, you're telling me I'll be the first girl in your adult life that you've ever taken home to meet your parents?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

I lean in a little closer and run my hand up his thigh, stopping just before I hit his growing erection. Then in my most awkwardly seductive voice say, "Well, I'll be setting the bar for all that may come after me." I wink and lick my lips.

"The only one coming after you, is me."

Oh, I love how he flipped my words into a language both my mind and body can understand. "Speaking of coming, are we going to be able to stay in the same room at your mother's? Or is she old-fashioned about that stuff?" I move my hand up to unbutton his shirt and slip my hand in, letting the warmth of his skin move through me while I move closer and bring my leg to rest on top of his. I'm going in for the kill, bringing my lips to his neck, and leaving a kiss in just the right spot.

"Oh, I think we'll be okay," he barely chokes out. "She wouldn't dare separate me from the woman I love."

I leave his neck to look up at him and bring my eyes to meet his. He's searching for something to tell him that his words weren't wrong or a victim of bad timing, because he doesn't know that I already knew how he felt. And though he didn't say I love you, he did say I'm the woman he loves. "Good, because I don't want to be separated from the man that I love."

His eyes are shining, and I love that simply telling him how I feel could do that. I also love that he opened the door so that I could tell him and finally feel free.

He moves in, slowly at first, bringing his lips to mine and kissing me softly. Then in one quick sweep, he lifts me off of the couch and starts for our room. I watch him intently until our bed comes into view and he walks over to it, laying me down softly. His eyes scan over my body that feels so bare, though it's clothed, and there's love and lust vibrating between his eyes and my skin, I can literally feel it.

He touches my stomach where my shirt shows just a little of my skin and my belly button, and fire spreads through me at his touch and I want more. I grab hold of his hand and try to move it farther up toward my breasts that want so badly to be touched, to feel his heat, and he doesn't deny me. He pushes them under my sweater and when his fingertips meet my nipples, I can't help the moan that breaks free and I arch my back to meet them greedily.

His mouth is on my stomach, trailing kisses upward until his mouth meets his hands and takes their place. I'm about to burst with all the desire I feel. I just want him inside me now. I want to feel him. I want us to be one body. I want to take our words to each other and do what a man and woman who just declared their love for each other do. I want to make love to this man, my man. The man who made me see light again, who would never break my heart, and who has no idea just how amazing he is.

The bar is dead the week before Christmas, it always is, which is how I got the time off to go with Dawson to Spokane. The back bar is closed so I'm at the front bar tonight taking care of my two patrons. Karla, who is so over Christmas already because she works in retail, has come to keep me company for a while. The guys, our guys, are out together somewhere, either drinking together or doing the guy thing of last-minute shopping—or both, who knows.

"So, when are you guys leaving again?"

"Thursday, and we'll be gone for a week."

"I think I'm more jealous than sad that you're leaving. Spokane—are you excited?"

"Absolutely! I've never been there before, but to hear Dawson talk about it, it's a lot like Portland. But it's our first Christmas together, I just want it to be special, and hopefully white." I squeeze my shoulders in and give her a cheesy grin. "I miss the snow."

"That would be awesome. Growing up in the desert I've only seen snow twice, maybe three times in my life without driving up to Mt. Charleston." She rolls her eyes as though a place with no snow is just absurd. "Are you nervous?"

She just had to ask the most obvious question to which I will give her the most obvious answer. "I totally am. Dawson has never taken a woman home to meet his parents. It really could go either way, but I'm hoping to make a good impression. I may even behave myself."

"Well, of course you're nervous about meeting the parents, but are you nervous about what Dawson is getting you for Christmas?"

Don't get me wrong, I love this woman but sometimes I think she just misses the point. "I couldn't care less what he gets me. Just being able to share it with him is enough." Wow! I totally sound like a woman in love.

"What if he proposes, or something like that? Would that make you nervous?"

Propose? Where the hell is she getting this from? "What's going on? What do you know?"

"I don't know anything for sure, but Trent seems to think a ring and a fancy speech that ends in a life changing question is coming soon," she says, giving me a wink. "He says Dawson is completely head over heels for you."

I can't help but smile at that, but then my brain catches up with what she just said. Trent thinks that Dawson is going to propose, and he wouldn't think that unless Dawson said something. Oh. My. God.

"Are you nervous now?" she asks again mockingly.

"Actually, I don't know. Maybe a little." If I wasn't nervous at all, I'd worry. "We've only been together a few months, but time doesn't matter. I love him, so why wouldn't this be the next step? And if he's planning to ask me, it's obvious he feels the same way."

"So, you're not freaking out? No matter how much I love the guy, if I was told that he planned to propose, I'd be freaking out."

The fact that I am so settled is kind of scary. Getting married is a big deal. It's the biggest step anyone can take toward a future with another person. Does being too freaked out or not being freaked out enough, confirm that I'm not ready? "There's no sense in getting all crazy, since he hasn't asked yet. Maybe he won't at all." I shrug my shoulders. "If and when the time comes, I'll follow my heart."

"Wow! I don't know if I want to be like you when I grow up or not, Ms. Shaken But Never Stirred. Just promise me that if a question is popped and your answer is yes, I get to be a bridesmaid." She gives me one of those hopefully suggestive smiles that I just can't say no to.

"If," I say, winking at her to make it look like I'm cool, but the idea is starting to sink in and I'm starting to freak out. I love Dawson but am I ready to say I do?

"Well, I'm out of here, chickie." She picks up her glass to take the last sip, then walks to the opening at the end of the bar to give me a hug. "If I don't see you before you leave, have fun, and if any new ring makes its way to your finger, I better get a call."

I give her a squeeze and let her go. "I'll text you. I love you, girl," I say as she walks toward the door.

Now the bar is empty except for Jim, who sits at the end where the television is, drinking beer and hoping to hit a royal on the poker machine. I look at my watch and see that I still have four hours of my shift left and conclude that they may be the longest four hours of my life. Looking for something to do, I decide to drain and restock the beer. That should kill at least an hour.

"Jim, I'm going in the back room for a minute. Holler if you need me," I call as I use my back to push the storeroom door open.

"You got it, Whiskey," he calls back.

I move the boxes from the cooler into a stack in the middle of the room so I can keep track of what I've got and what I need. Every time a thought of my conversation with Karla tries to surface, I shake it off and count the boxes again, but that only works for so long, and I've counted these damn boxes four times now. The thoughts come back and then the questions start presenting themselves like wobbled text on a screensaver, bouncing around at different angles. Am I ready to give up, or at least put on hold, my dream of opening a bar for marriage and a family life? Am I ready for a family life? Is Dawson the man I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with? I don't know.

I hear the bell ring out front indicating that someone has walked in. "I'll be right out!" I yell, but when I move to set down the box in my hands, it slips and falls to the ground. Shit! The amber liquid and foam running from under it is all I need to tell me that at least one of the bottles is broken. I pick up the box and put it in the sink, then grab the mop and set it where the puddle is and push through the door, leaving the mess behind for now.

"Sorry about that. What can I get ya?" I ask while washing my hands and then grabbing the towel to dry them. Just before I turn around, he answers.

"A shot of Crown and I'd like to buy a shot for you too. I don't like to drink alone."

My heart stops and when it starts again it's like a racing bass drum. I know who I'm going to see when I turn around. I could never forget that voice. So many memories push their way to the forefront of my mind while I struggle to find the strength to turn around. I take a deep breath in, but it's jagged and only manages to make my heart beat faster.

Finally, I muster the courage to turn and see a man I don't recognize who bears the voice of a man I'll never forget.

His eyes I recognize, but everything I remember about his face is hidden beneath a beard. I see scars on the side of his face where the hair doesn't quite cover them and they run down his neck. It's obvious now that he suffered injuries while he was away. It doesn't change how attractive he is in the least, but it serves to prove that he's not the same man that left nearly three years ago. I grab the bottle off the shelf and walk toward him as if nothing's amiss, all the while, there's a war going on inside me and I'm still not sure which side will win.

I grab one shot glass and set it down in front of him, then fill it and set the bottle down. I should walk away, after all, that's what he did to me, but I stand there waiting to see what he'll say, if anything. He knew he'd find me here, this isn't a by chance visit, so I'm inclined to think that there's a reason for this visit, and we'll sit at a stalemate until he makes that clear—I won't be the one to speak first.

He stares down at his drink for what feels like hours before he looks up at me again and locks his eyes with mine. I see sadness and regret in those caramel eyes, all feelings I know too well because I felt them all when I read his last letter. But I never regretted him or a moment I spent with him—I regretted the fact that I was so easy for him to dismiss. I regretted that he obviously didn't know just how much I loved him or he never would have thought that my waiting for him was an act of selfishness on his part.

He opens his mouth to speak but stops, staring back down at his glass again before looking up, and that's when I see the tears in his eyes. I want to go to him, to comfort him, but another part of me wants to witness him feeling something that resembles the pain he made me feel, though the difference is that watching him is breaking my heart all over again.

"Whiskey ..."

I forgot what is was like to hear my name on his lips, and hearing it makes me forget all I've gone through and what or who I have now. I'm transported back to the last time I heard it.

"I'm so sorry and I don't expect your forgiveness."

They may be the words I've wanted to hear for so long, the words that never should've needed to be said, but now they unleash all of what I felt the day he made it necessary to say them. "Good, because I don't know if I'll ever have it to give you."

"I deserve that." He finally raises the shot to his lips and tips his head back. "But trust me, I did what was best for you at the time."

"And how would you know what was best for me? That wasn't your decision to make, and breaking up with me in a Dear John letter proved that your tact was as poor as your decision-making skills. You fucking wrecked me, Austin. You tore my heart out. Is that what you thought was best for me? Was that your plan?"

I didn't want to give in to his request of buying me a shot, but damn if I don't need it now. I pull a glass from the stack and fill it, then waste no time swallowing it down. The burn is welcomed and immediately serves to calm my nerves. What Austin and I had is over and I've moved on. I can't allow all those feelings to resurface and erase all the strives I've made at rewriting my life since we were us.

"I wish I could say that I never meant to hurt you. That wasn't my goal but I knew it was inevitable. All I can say now is sorry and hope that you will accept it and understand. Your heart wasn't the only one that got broken. It was like cutting my own out to do what I did, but I knew that I'd never come back the same man you said goodbye to and I couldn't ask you deal with that."

"If you loved me as much as you said, you would have let me make that choice for myself." I look away to keep the tears from coming.

"I did love you that much, I still do."

There's the knife, slicing my heart and bleeding it dry. I shake my head and look anywhere but at his face, because if I do, I might see that he means what he says and it's too late for that. "Austin, don't. You're not allowed to come in here after all these years and tell me you still love me. You can't have back what you threw away. I've moved on—I had to—because crying over you was killing me and it wasn't bringing you back. I finally decided that you didn't deserve my tears anymore."

"I never deserved them. You were never meant to be mine and I had nothing to offer you. I'm glad you're happy again, glad you found someone to make you smile again."

"I was yours and all I wanted was your love. I never wanted or needed anything else. You were a fool to not see that my needs were so simple. And I did find someone who respects and values me like I should be. I found myself again after you."

He nods and stares down at his empty glass. I want to mention the man in my life who helped me love again, but I don't. I can see he's suffered and I feel no need to make him suffer more, though at one point I wanted nothing more than to make him feel as awful as he made me feel.

"I shouldn't have come here," he says, shaking his head and wiping his hands over his face. "I just needed to apologize. I'm glad you're well." He fiddles with something under the bar, then turns off the stool. As he walks away, I notice that he's limping and there's a cane in his left hand.

My hand goes to my mouth and I run from behind the bar. "Austin!"

He stops and turns to me, a look of bewilderment on his face as I approach him.

"What did they do to you?" I whisper once I'm standing in front of him. His comment about coming back a different man than the one who left makes more sense now.

"There was an explosion at our camp, a surprise attack in the middle of the night. Our men on watch never saw it coming. I was one of the lucky ones."

I bring my hand to the side of his face where I see the scars and softly rub my fingers over them. I expect him to flinch at my touch but he doesn't, he just watches me. I move my eyes over him and notice that the scars stop at his beard but resume below his jaw and follow the slope down his neck disappearing again beneath his shirt. "The beard?" I ask as my fingers come in contact with it.

"Hides the worst of them."

I suck in a breath and will the tears not to come. "The cane?"

"Helps me use my new leg."

And no matter how strong my will, the tears break free.

"Baby, don't cry." He brings his hand to my face and his touch takes me back almost three years.

"Was this why you sent the letter?"

"At one point, I wasn't sure I would live or if I even wanted to. I needed you to let go so that no matter what happened, you weren't left waiting for me. I knew I wasn't the man you loved anymore and selfishly, I wanted to be able to say goodbye to you before you said it to me, or in case I never saw you again."

"Austin, none of these scars matter to me. They don't change who you are to me. I didn't love you for your face or for your legs. I loved you for you."

"Loved." It's not a question.

I shy away, afraid to look him in the eyes, and when I come back to them, I hate what I see because it mirrors what I saw in my own eyes all those years ago. "You gave me no choice, Austin. You said goodbye and even after that, I waited. I hoped you'd change your mind and come back, but you didn't. How long was I supposed to wait?"

"You weren't." He sighs. "I just hope he deserves you—I know I didn't."

"Yes, you did—and yes, he does."

"That's all I ever wanted for you." He backs away from me as though he needs to escape, and my heart breaks. "I need to go," he says and he turns and starts walking toward the door.

Watching the distance between us grow, I feel everything I felt the day he left come rushing back to me, and I can't stop myself from running after him. "Austin!" Before I know it, I'm in his arms and kissing him like I'm making up for all the time we lost.

His cane hits the floor but neither of our attention is detoured because we're lost in time and in each other. He tastes the same, smells the same, kisses the same as I remember. His arms still feel like the safest place on earth, and in them is where I want to be, where I always wanted to be. I'm taking from this kiss all that I've missed and all that was taken from me. I never want this moment to end, but it does as he pulls back, breaking our kiss but our foreheads remain pressed together.

"I've missed you every second. Writing that letter was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Harder than leaving you that day, harder than war. It was worse than losing my leg. I'd give them both for you. But I'm not the man I was when I left and I couldn't stand the thought that you'd want that man back, not the one I'd become."

"Are you still the same inside here?" I move my hand to cover his heart.

"When it comes to how I feel about you, yes."

"That's all you ever had to worry about."

The door opens and awareness hits me that I'm standing in the arms of someone who is not my boyfriend, and that at any minute, my boyfriend could walk in. I jump back from Austin to look at who just walked in and breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll be right with you," I say to the couple that walked in and bring my attention back to Austin.

"You thought it was him?"

I answer with a nod.

"He's a lucky man." Contrary to what I'd expect, his words hold no sarcasm or hostility.

"I thought I'd never see you again. He's sweet and kind, and he loves me."

"Do you love him?"

"I do, but maybe not as much as I should in this moment."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That I'm not sure I can let you walk out that door and not feel like I'm losing you all over again. That if I really loved him, I wouldn't feel that way." So many emotions are hitting me and I'm losing focus of who I've become since he left me. I find myself wanting to be the girl I was with him again.

He reaches into his pocket, and after shuffling through receipts and cards, he hands me one. "This is where I'm staying, room 336. I'll be here until Thursday, if you want to talk."

"Miss, we're ready to order!" the man who just walked in calls.

"Okay," I answer without even looking their way. "I have to go." I point behind me where the couple is sitting.

"I know." He starts to walk away when we both realize his cane is still on the floor and I rush over to pick it up and hand it to him. "I hope to hear from you, Whiskey," he says, and he walks out the door and out of my life again, but this time it's completely up to me whether it's goodbye forever.

"You okay, babe? You've seemed off the last few days," Dawson asks while I'm packing my bag and completely unable to focus on what I'm doing because I have other things, and other people, on my mind.

"I'm fine," I lie. "Just overwhelmed and a little nervous. I don't know, maybe I'm coming down with something." It's the truth, within a lie.

He comes up behind me, encircling me in his arms, and kissing my neck, a maneuver that would usually drive me crazy. "You have nothing to be nervous about. They're going to love you."

I turn in his arms so that I'm looking him in his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because I love you."

I smile and place a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you too." I'm not lying when I say this. I do love him, for so many reasons, but I'm wondering if any of those reasons constitute a lifetime. Karla's mention of a proposal echoes in my mind. If he proposes, it could be in front of his family and friends, eyes all around the room. What if I can't say yes?

I haven't contacted Austin, though I've taken the card out of my pocket and looked at it a hundred times. But I know all these feelings of doubt I have weren't this strong before he showed up the other night. They were there, but I knew I could work through them. I knew that being with Dawson, taking the next step, was something I wanted, I just needed to figure out how to carry out my dream while living another.

Since Austin showed up, I've been full of doubt, questioning whether or not I can ever really be happy if I choose this path I'm headed down. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to come back just as this new life that I was forced to make without him was moving forward as it should? Why did he have to tell me he still loves me? I need answers to these questions.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

I find myself standing at his door and have raised my hand to knock three times with no success. I could leave now, get on the plane in the morning, and never again know where he is, but I need the closure he stole from me before. I raise my hand again, and this time, make contact with the door.

"Coming!" he calls from the other side of the door. I wait and after a minute I'm greeted by Austin, shirtless and leaning on a crutch, the prosthetic he was likely wearing when I last saw him, gone—a piece of him missing.

"We need to talk." He pushes the door open farther so that I may enter and I walk past him into the room. Once the door is shut behind him, I drop my purse on the bed and begin my assault. "I'm leaving tomorrow with my boyfriend, who very well may be my fiancé before I return."

He looks like he's been hit in the chest by my words, but I continue anyway.

"Before you came back, I was good. I'd finally healed, I'd moved on, and I found love again. I faced the fact that you were gone, that you didn't want me, and I got over you. Then you show up, telling me you still love me—why? What were you hoping for? Did you think telling me that would make me forgive you for every tear that fell, for every day that living was excruciating? And now that I know what happened, for making me wonder why you couldn't trust me to try to understand what you were going through and keep loving you anyway?" I'm trying to stay strong, but I break, and the tears I swore I wouldn't shed, fall.

He comes over to me and pulls me to him. I melt into his body, and for a second, it's as if he was always here. "I didn't come back to hurt you. I didn't send that letter to hurt you either, though I knew it would. I was trying to save you from the hell I was in and the devil it made me. That letter was the last positive thing I did. Letting you go was the last positive thing I did for anyone but myself, and my doing anything positive for myself is disputable." He pulls back so that he can see my face and brings his hand to my cheek to wipe a tear away.

"I came to apologize, to tell you that giving you up was the hardest thing I ever did, but that the thought of winning you back one day is what got me through. I had no idea where you were in your life, but I'm happy that I didn't ruin it completely. You deserved so much more than the selfish and pitiful man I was for so many months. Everything I am today, that I worked so hard for, was all for you."

The question on my mind now is not one I came here to ask him, because it's the one only I can answer. It's not how do I forgive him—it's how don't I forgive him?

He leans in, and I should move away, but I don't. I want him to kiss me. I want him to take me back to when it was just us and our plans for the future. I want to remember what it was like to love someone almost immediately and without effort.

I fall into him, opening for him, and once again, feeling a connection that was so natural it almost didn't seem possible. But then I remember the man who's at home waiting for me and who I'm going away with tomorrow. The man I lied to, telling him I was going shopping for last-minute essentials, just to end up in another man's arms.

I'm overridden with guilt. No matter the reasons, if either one of these men deserves my rejection, it's the one whose arms I'm in. He's gone through things I could never imagine, but he pushed me away first. All he had to do was let me be there for him. I can forgive him, but I don't know how to punish another man when he was the man I needed. I push back from him, recreating the distance I should've kept in the first place. This is twice now that I've kissed him, that I wanted to kiss him, when there's only one man I should be kissing—Dawson. "I have to go. I accept your apology and forgive you, but I can't stay."

"I understand." He's defeated but is trying not to show it. He's trying to respect my decision and not make this any harder than it already is.

I step toward him and lean in to leave a kiss on his cheek, then step back. "Take care, Austin."

And then I do the absolute hardest thing I've ever done—I walk out the door.

"Our Uber is here, babe!" Dawson yells from the front door.

I throw the last couple of things in my backpack, and check once more to make sure I have my wallet with my ID. I'm good and head toward the door. Dawson is already loading our luggage, so I pick up Raven to give her a kiss and a scratch, along with a promise that Karla will be by to visit in a day or two. I grab my keys, pull the door shut behind me, locking it, then go to where Dawson holds the car door open for me.

We get our baggage checked, make it through security, and now sit at our gate, waiting for our boarding call. Dawson is telling me about the places he plans to take me, and I'm trying to look like I'm paying attention, but the truth is, my mind is miles away. I fidget a little, checking my bag, checking my phone, picking at my fingernails, until finally I excuse myself to the bathroom. Dawson thinks nothing of it and surprisingly says nothing of my odd behavior.

As I'm crossing the walkway to the ladies' room, I see a guy walking toward me wearing a Kansas City jersey and I spin to follow him, not believing my eyes. Then, by fault of my own, someone bumps into me, almost knocking me over. I right myself and look up to see camouflage, and while I'm lost in it, and who it brings to mind, I hear voices around me.

"Miss, I'm so sorry," and "Austin, watch where you're going."

My head is spinning, so I just smile to let them know I'm okay and rush for the ladies' room, quickly closing myself in a stall, leaning against the wall, and taking several deep breaths. It's just a coincidence, it means nothing. I'm where I'm supposed to be, with whom I'm supposed to be with, and I'm moving on with my life. I tell myself this again and again until I can breathe again and think I might finally make myself believe it.

I emerge from the stall and go straight to the sink, fussing with the motion activated faucet and am finally able to get my hands wet. I fill them with water and bring them to my face, relishing in the coolness of the water and allowing it to calm me. I blindly grab a paper towel to dry my face, and when I look at my reflection, I question if the choice I've made is right.

I love Dawson, but do I love him like I loved Austin—like I still love Austin? Has he made me feel in all the time we've been together like Austin can in one second? Am I in love with him?

Then, as if fate is slapping me in the face and begging me to wake up and read the signs, I hear a familiar song playing over the bathroom speaker. I close my eyes and remember when Austin sang it to me the first night we met, and it's the last of many signs that have been sent to tell me what I need to do—to make me acknowledge what and who my heart wants.

I hear the voice over the speaker announce boarding for our flight and realize that my time is running out. I exit the restroom and maneuver my way back to where Dawson waits for me. He stands, concern written all over his face as I approach him.

"Are you okay, babe? They just made the call for us to board."

"Yeah, I heard it from the bathroom."

"Are you ready?"

I'm about to break his heart, but if I don't just say it, I'm afraid I won't be able to. "Dawson, I can't go with you."

"What do you mean, you can't go with me?"

"You are a wonderful man and I love you, but I'm not in love with you. I ..." I see the pain my words are causing him, it's written all over his face, and it's my fault. My eyes fill with tears because I hate what I'm doing, but I have to do it. I have to set him free to find someone who will give him the love he deserves. That someone is not me.

"And you just realized this now? Dammit, Whiskey! I'm taking you home to meet my parents. They're expecting us to walk off that plane!" He wipes his hand over his face. "I was going to ... I was going to ask you ..." He breaks off and looks away for a long moment. "Is there someone else?" There was no way this conversation was going to happen without that question coming up and I owe him nothing less than the truth.

"Someone from a long time ago, who I tried to stop loving, but never did. I didn't ... I never ..." The tears break free and he surprises me by pulling me to him, hugging me for a long moment, then kissing the side of my head and stepping back so he can see my face. He wipes away the tears from my cheek while a single drop falls down his own.

"I've tried to deny it, but I knew you were never really mine. I just hoped I'd be lucky enough to keep you."

The last boarding call is made, and Dawson steps back, handing me my bag and pulls his boarding pass from his pocket. Then he turns, and without any more words spoken, walks over and hands it to the person manning the gate, then disappears down the Jetway.

Though I made this choice, I'm saddened knowing that I hurt him. True, I chose someone else, but he is someone very special to me, and I have so much to be thankful to him for. Ironically, leaving him for the one who's held my heart for so long, is one. Without his love, I may have never had the strength to give love another try at all.

I look down at my watch and see it's just after ten and that I may already be too late to catch the one who I just broke Dawson's heart for. I grab my bag and take off running through the terminal, just now realizing how damn big McCarran Airport is. I skid to a stop at the curb and thank fate again for the empty taxi line, since I didn't exactly have time to stop and set up an Uber. I hop in the back of the car and give him the name of the hotel and we're off.

Minutes seem like hours and blocks like miles as my cabbie navigates the streets. I must admit that I am one of the biggest critics when it comes to cab driving, but right now his ridiculous driving is getting us there in half the time I predicted—remind me to give this guy a big tip.

He pulls up in front of the hotel and I hop out, throwing forty dollars at him as I close the door. He rolls down the window, clearly confused, and asks if I want him to wait. I tell him there's no need and thank him and he smiles, wishing me a Merry Christmas and drives away.

I walk into the hotel knowing exactly where I'm going and finally find myself standing in front of his door. I raise my hand to knock, then lower it—my anxiety taking over. What if I'm too late? What if when I left the other night he cut his loss and moved on like I'd convinced him I had? I guess I won't know anything for sure unless I knock on the damn door.

"Here goes everything—or nothing," I whisper to myself.

I knock on the door and take a half step back and wait, and wait, and wait. He doesn't answer and I don't hear any ruffling on the other side. My heart beats faster as I knock again and wait. Still nothing. Tears fill my eyes as I knock once more, my hand shaking as is the rest of my body. Nothing.

I'm too late—he's gone. I've lost him all over again.

I sit down in front of his door, or what was his door, and let the tears flow. I can't believe I didn't see what was happening sooner. His coming back was a second chance to finish what we started so long ago. It doesn't matter now why he did it, he thought he was saving me, but he didn't realize that all I needed was him to be saved. This time it was me though, I'm the one who walked away. What we could've been, but will never be, is on me. I'm completely to blame.

A couple of people walk by and look at me like I'm some pathetic girl who got locked out of her room. If they only knew how much I wished that was true, that my sitting here bawling was simply the result of a lovers' spat. But this time, I have no one else to blame. I can't be mad at Austin. I was very clear when I left here last night. Hell, I basically told him that by the time this week was over, I'd have a fiancé, though I wasn't even sure I could say yes if I was actually proposed to. But I guess I deserve this, to end up alone, crying in a hotel hallway.

I've done nothing but lie to myself over the last few months, though my intentions were never malicious. I let things with Dawson go too far because I was so desperate to be able to move on, and if there was anyone who I could've been happy with, it was him. But though I loved him, my love would've never been enough, because he never would've had it all. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him and I hope he knows that.

But now none of that matters. I set Dawson free and still lost Austin. I burned my candle at both ends just long enough to get burned myself. I can't sit here all day long. I have far too much to do. I have to find a new place to live, move my stuff, buy every bucket of butter pecan ice cream I can find, and drown myself in my sorrows. Then pick myself up and figure out how to move on—again, this time, taking care not to take others down with me. Maybe it's time for a new city and a fresh start.

I wipe my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater and stand, taking one last look at the door when I hear the voice I thought I'd never hear again.

"Whiskey?" I turn to see Austin, cane in one hand and holding a cup of coffee in the other. The tears I thought I could hold until I was gone are back, but hold a completely different meaning. "I thought you were leaving?"

"I couldn't go," I whisper.

"Why?" He swallows hard and stares at me hopeful.

"Because he wanted my heart, but it's not mine to give him. It hasn't been for a long time."

A tear falls from his eye. My soldier, who's been to hell and back, isn't indestructible and immune to emotional devastation. He's human. He's a man. He's the only man I truly love.

I rush to him and imitate the move he's made on me more than once since that night so long ago. I bring my hands to his face, and with the pad of my thumb, wipe that one lonely tear away, then I kiss his lips.

Other than going to pick up my cat in order to smuggle her into the hotel, I know exactly how I'm going to spend my—I mean how we're going to spend our Christmas. Let's put it this way, there will be a lot more going on under the mistletoe than kissing. In fact, mistletoe isn't even necessary.

Six months later ...

I walk out to the patio of our little bungalow and take a seat on the gliding chair with my coffee in hand. I want to see the sunrise and the tide of the ocean one last time in the same screen so I can take a mental picture to keep forever. My love still sleeps inside, having been completely ravished by his wife more than once in the night. We finally made it to the beach, though a little differently than how we had once planned. We said our vows to each other, with only our families present and our toes in the sand on the absolutely stunning island of Maui. Austin worked his ass off in therapy so that he could do it without the cane and now gets around as though he was never broken. He did it all so I'd have the wedding of my dreams.

Austin asked me to marry him on New Year's Eve. Well actually, he didn't ask. While everyone around us was kissing, screaming, hugging the stranger nearest them or their date for the night, Austin and I toasted with a shot of Crown, the royalty that brought us together. He said that he'd wasted enough time and lost too many years with me already, that he wasn't willing to miss anymore. He pulled my hand from around my glass and slipped the ring on my finger, then he admired it while I was still searching for my words. He looked at me and I looked at him, tears threatening to spill down my face, and all he had to say was, "It fits," as a smile bright as a million stars lit his face. Nope, he didn't really ask and I didn't really answer, it just was. We were engaged and were never going to miss another moment with each other ever again.

As the colors start to change on the horizon, like fire on the water, I recap my path to this place and this moment, in my mind. There was a time when I never thought I'd feel again, that I'd never thought I'd be able to love again, but I was wrong. I did feel again, but realized that just feeling wasn't enough. And I was able to love again, but again found that just loving wasn't enough. I needed to feel the fire that falling in love with the right person ignites. I needed those two elements to come together in a way that can only be done with your soul mate. With him by my side, I can see, I can feel, and I can love in a way that I can only with him.

"Whatcha doing, babe?" Warm arms encircle me from behind and his lips find that spot on my neck that drives me crazy.

"Watching the waves and the sunrise. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Not as beautiful as you, but yes, it is beautiful."

"I can't believe it's our last day. I love this little bubble we've been in. I'm not sure I want to go back to real life. Can't we stay?"

He comes to sit on the ottoman in front of me and takes my hands in his. He straightens the stone of my ring with his thumb and takes a deep breath. "You'd never be happy here. You need a view of the strip from the mountain. You need Raven's meow to wake you up in the early afternoon. You need bottles to flip and karaoke on Saturday nights."

I stop him. "All I really need is you. All I've ever needed was you." I look back out at the sea. "The rest is trivial, well, all but Raven." I smirk.

"Well, trivial or not, we have to go home."

I huff and he smiles at my childish gesture.

"I have one more surprise for you, a wedding gift, but it's in Vegas. So, if you want to know what it is, we have to leave, unless you don't want it,"

"Fine, you win!" I concede. His surprises are usually worth it. "But promise me we'll come back someday, back to our perfect little bubble, on our perfect beach, where you said the most perfect vows, and became my perfect husband."

"We'll come back, I promise." And he seals that promise with a perfect kiss.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Austin settles with the cab driver while I go open the front door of our home. We're renting for now but have plans to buy a house eventually. Austin yells for my attention as I'm about to walk through the door.

"Don't you dare!" he almost shouts.

"Dare what? Did the flight make you crazy or something?"

He walks up to me and drops his bags on the porch, then scoops me up. "Whether I'm crazy or not isn't a fair question coming from you." He widens his eyes as if to call me out on my words. I'll give him this one. "I want to carry my bride across the threshold. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes, it's okay with me." I kiss him on the nose and he continues on with the gesture, carrying me through the doorway and depositing me on the floor just inside, then kissing me silly. "My chivalric gentleman. How ever did I get so lucky?" And then his phone goes off and he looks at the screen.

"Hold that question, it's Boyd."

"Boyd? We've been home all of five minutes! Does Boyd have you on a tracker?" Boyd and Austin started a security business together just after the New Year. With both of them having tactical military backgrounds, it makes them feel like they're still serving and protecting, which satisfies their souls. It also works out well because Austin fits his schedule to mine and we create our own perfectly abnormally normal day.

"I have to go check a site, babe."

"Can't Boyd do it? We just got home." Yes, I just whined.

Austin pulls me close. "He can't, but it'll only take a minute. I'll tell you what, come with me and we'll stop by that place you like and get pad Thai on the way home."

Wow, he so knows how to play me. "Fine, but I want spring rolls too." I bargain, knowing he'll give me whatever I want.

"Deal." He kisses my nose and grabs the Jeep keys.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

We pull into the parking lot of what looks to be an old bar, but that's just a guess. It's in a pretty nice area and appears to be undergoing construction. Austin stops the Jeep right in front of the door and cuts the engine.

"Come in with me. I don't want you sitting out here all alone," he says.

"Okay, you just added some crab rangoons to my order though."

He laughs as though I'm joking but knows I'm not. Believe me, I'm not. Crab rangoons are serious business.

I stand by as he unlocks the door and opens it for me to enter. It's almost pitch-black inside and I can't see a thing. I grab for his arm but realize that he's no longer right beside me. "Austin? Where did you go? I can't see a thing in here."

"I'm getting the lights, babe. There's a switch over here somewhere. Found it!"

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a light comes on, but not the lights, there's just this red and white glow illuminating the room and a chorus of people shouting, "Surprise!" I'm so confused, I have no idea what's happening. I look at everyone and see all my friends and regulars from the bar. What are they doing here? What kind of surprise is this?

Then Austin comes back to my side and whispers in my ear. "Read the sign, babe." He points to the sign hung on the far wall over a bar and I finally look at it. I bring my hand to my mouth, stunned by what I'm seeing. The sign says Whiskey's, written in almost exactly the same way that I write it on my sign at the beginning of my shifts. Then the lights behind the bar come on, and etched in the mirror on the wall is a crown, the crown I know and love, framed with glass shelves housing bottles of my all-time favorite whiskey, Crown Royal.

I can't believe what I'm seeing, what the man who promised me everything I ever dreamed of, has made a reality. I want to ask him how he did it, but now is not the time. He did it, that's all that matters. He did it for me—he did it for us.

"Welcome to your new perfect bubble, babe." It seems the wrong time for tears, but I guess that depends on the tears themselves, so I don't hold them back.

Because of this man, I've cried so many tears. I've cried them when he broke my heart, and again, when he put all the pieces of it back together. I cried when I thought I'd lost him again, and then again, when I found him. I cried when I pushed him away, thinking it was the right thing to do, and again, when the words I do made us one, forever. I'm sure I'll cry a million more, and as long as they're because of moments like this, when he's reminding me that he is, and why he is, the love of my life, my soldier, my hero, my everything, I'll never hold them back.

I kiss his lips as all of our friends cheer, and then their cheers turn into a chant. Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey!

I look to all of them and hold my hands up to quiet the room, and once everyone has settled, I start to speak. "You're all assholes for keeping this from me!" Everyone laughs as I continue. "But I love every single one of you. This, and sharing it with all of you, is a dream come true, thanks to the most amazing husband in the world. So, I suggest you get ready for the best bar in Vegas, where all the best people will be, the best karaoke will be sung, and the best whiskey will be served!" Everyone cheers and I hug Austin closer to me. "Who's ready for a shot of whiskey?" I ask, and the room erupts again.

I look at Austin, stare into his eyes, and we connect in that way I've only ever been able to with him. "What about you? Are you ready for a shot of whiskey?" Right away I know that he knows I'm not talking about the amber liquid that leaves a burn in your chest. I'm talking about the girl who needs a view of the strip, the girl who loves to sling bottles and sing karaoke on Saturday nights—the girl whose heart he holds in his chest along with his own.

"You are the only whiskey I'll ever need and I'm ready for a lifetime of getting drunk on you."

"To a lifetime of getting drunk on each other, with each other, and every once in a while, on a shot of Crown."

And like every couple in love should seal a promise made, he brings his lips to mine and kisses me, getting me drunker than the most exceptional shot of whiskey ever known to man, or in my case woman, ever could.

Inspiration and Acknowledgments

The idea for this book was born coming home from a book signing in Phoenix last September. My daughter was playing radio commando and looking for country music on XM radio. I heard five words of the song, which coincidentally was part of the chorus, and the rest just came. The song was "If My Name Was Whiskey" by Carly Pearce. I didn't follow the same line of thought, my girl didn't lose her man to Whiskey, she was Whiskey, but she did suffer a broken heart. So, for big part of the story, her name being Whiskey didn't do a damn thing.

I had the book outlined in my mind by the time I got home and less than two months later I wrote, The End. As with all my books, I put a lot of myself into this one. From my love of Karaoke, to Crown Royal being my absolute favorite Whiskey, well next to this one now. As you read this story you were learning about me and it was my pleasure to share it with you.

I'd like to thank my family, who is forever supportive. I have a phenomenal husband, the best kids ever, and what family would be complete without a fur-baby or four.

My betas, Amy, one of my besties and still the best free book I ever gave away, and Pat, my mom n law. I only had two this go around and you both did a fantastic job. Thank you once again.

To my mother who's always watching over me. You are forever inspiring and forever in my heart. I miss you every day.

To my grandmother, who passed earlier this year. She won't get to read this book, but that's okay because I believe she helped me write it.

To my editor Daniella Prima of Prima Editing & Proofreading. Thank you for your eyes and your insight. Another one bites the dust!

To all my friends and fans who wait impatiently because I'm the slowest writer ever, but then shower me with love and tell me it was worth the wait when my words are finally read. I love you guys.

To all the readers I meet at signings, who had no clue who the heck I was and now I call you my friends.

To my change in careers earlier this year that doesn't leave me so exasperated after work. I'm so happy to want to write again when I get home, and believe me, I do.

And finally, to this amazing blessing that was bestowed upon me. The gift of creativity, and the confidence and bravery to share it, whether it be with many or few. It is one of the most precious gifts I've ever known, and it's not lost on me just how blessed I am.

Other books by Mareta L. Miller

The Ninety-Nine Roses Series:

Telling Me with Roses

Stemming from Secrets

Blooming with Love

Fighting for us

Contributed work to the charity Anthology:

Vegas Strong

Paperbacks available from Mareta L. Miller directly @

Maretalmiller.com

Follow me on Facebook, twitter, & Goodreads

@MaretaLMiller

