Abby Road (11 page)

He shook his head while unloading our lunch. “Not for a kid. West Point Military Academy. I was three when we left.” He passed me a napkin. “Until college, I’d never lived in the same city for more than a year or two.”

“Which college?” I asked.

He looked up but didn’t answer right away. “A school in Maryland,” he finally offered, digging in our bag of food. “I finished my MBA two years ago, but I took some time off before business school.” He sent me a lightning-fast glance. “Marine Corps.”

I sat back on my heels. “Wow. That’s . . .” I was about to blurt, “That’s just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” but instead I said, “That’s hardly
time off
.”

We sat in silence for a bit, me extracting information from a part of my brain I never thought I’d use in casual conversation. “So,” I said, folding a napkin, “is this school in Maryland you mentioned
Annapolis
, by any chance?”

He nodded.

“
Ex Scientia Tridens
,” I added, putting on my serious face. “That’s the Academy motto, you know. It’s Latin for ‘From Knowledge, Seapower.’” I paused, waiting for his reaction.

His stunned-into-muteness expression was very satisfying.

“Navy will have a pretty decent team this season, don’t you think?” That little sports nugget was thanks to Hal. “Oh, and
Semper Fidelis.
”
I straightened my spine and offered a very smart salute.

Todd blinked, brows still furrowing, looking more shocked than if I’d yanked out an Uzi and started field-stripping it blindfolded. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“Oh, I know a bit about you Marines.” I leaned back, arms balancing my weight behind me.

“And?” Todd didn’t break his stare; apparently my offhanded explanation was not enough.

“To tell the truth, a copy of Oliver North’s autobiography was left under my hotel bed a few years ago. It was the only book I had with me, and for a while, I became a little obsessed with him and his service years.” I shrugged, gazing out at the sea.

Todd passed me a bottle of water. “It wasn’t
Under Fire
, was it?” His tone was drenched with disbelief.

“That’s the book,” I confirmed, “and don’t sound so
shocked
. I’m not illiterate.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” he insisted, handing me a bag of chips. “I read that book for the first time last summer. He became a sort of hero of mine. Made me want to re-enlist.”

“Once a Marine,” I sing-songed, “always a Marine.”

“Exactly.” Todd fell pensive again, staring down at his sandwich. “You do realize that book is more than twenty years old? Interesting that we both read it recently.”

“I find the whole thing rather . . .”
Careful, Abby . . .
“Heroic.”

“Agreed.” Todd smiled. “I was hardly like Ollie, unfortunately.” He formed his fingers into a gun, firing imaginary shots at a flock of low-flying seagulls. “After boot camp and officer’s training, I spent a lot of time in the grunts, doing my job. Nothing glamorous.”

But very noble
, I mentally added. And then my overly imaginative mind found it difficult
not
to picture him in desert-blasted digicams. Gun on his shoulder, sand goggles, American flag on his sleeve, defender of the free world. Macho hot stuff.

“Do you ever miss it?” I asked, holding the water bottle up to my cheek, trying to cool down surreptitiously.

Before answering, Todd looked puzzled; maybe he was thrown by such a nosy question. “I’ve never considered that,” he replied after a moment. “I suppose I do, though, in a way.” A corner of his mouth pulled back. “But I get my fix every now and then. I secretly love killing my father and sisters at paintball.” He took a long drink of his water and looked out at the Gulf, smiling reminiscently.

“I was three semesters away from getting my degree,” I said.

Todd handed me my turkey sandwich.

I sat it unopened on my lap, suddenly worried about what he’d think. He had his master’s degree and probably military medals, and I was basically a dropout.

“You went to college?” he asked. The left side his mouth was full of roast beef.

“You sound surprised again.”

Todd took another bite of his sandwich, mustard squirting out the other end. He chewed for a moment and then stopped. “Before either of us says anything more, will you do me a favor?” he asked. “Eat.” His eyes pointed to the untouched sandwich on my leg.

I unwrapped it and took one bite just to satisfy him. Oh, buddy, it was delicious. The bread was the perfect combination of chewy and hard, the veggies were garden fresh, and the avocado was like edible velvet. Where had this food been all my life?

“Enjoying yourself?” Todd asked.

I laughed, careful not to blow bits of half-chewed bread out of my mouth.

After I wolfed down half the sandwich, Todd went back to his own. “So, your college days?” he prompted at the exact moment when my mouth was completely full.

I’d been asked that question before in interviews, and it always made me uncomfortable. But Todd’s curious expression was neither mocking nor probing, which made me willing to share. “Yeah,” I said, still chewing. “I enjoyed it at the time, my classes and labs. I was going for a degree in fine arts, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with it, painting or drawing. Maybe teaching.” I sighed. “Math was my strong subject, though. Those long algebraic equations came really easily.”

“I’m not surprised,” Todd said after wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Why?”

He lifted a smile. “I saw your photographic memory in action firsthand earlier, how you rattled off Danish like that.” He shook his head. “That’s crazy impressive.” The way he was looking at me was almost like admiration.
He
was the one with the MBA.

“It was never my intention,” I said, my voice low, “dropping out like I did. I guess I really didn’t have a choice; the music stuff happened so fast.” I looked out toward the water. “I wonder sometimes if that was a mistake.”

Todd rested an elbow on his knee. “You make it sound like your life is over. How old are you? Twenty-four?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’ve got you by four years, and I’m still making decisions I regret. That’s life.” He balled his napkin in his fist then tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If this helps at all, at the end of my deployment in Iraq, I didn’t know whether to continue in the military or go back to school. I was stuck at a crossroads with absolutely no plan.”

“Really?”

“Totally vacillating. I considered the FBI for a time, went as far as applying.”

“Did you get in?”

He only smiled, still chewing, at my question.

“Ah. Of
course
you got in.”

He took a long swig of water. He was so cute; it took everything in me not to dive over and pin those big shoulders to the sand.

“So the CIA didn’t interest you?” I joked.

“Not for long.”

I froze mid-chew. “You approached the CIA?”

“Actually they approached me.” He slowly leaned forward, looked over his shoulder, and then back at me. “But the rest of that story is classified. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He reached out and grabbed me by the arms. “Then
eat
you.”

We stared at each other. The touch of his fingers made my skin tingle.

“You’re so . . . full of it,” I whispered, breaking the silence. “They probably wouldn’t take you because of all your dirty little secrets, right?”

Todd let go of my arms and sat back. “Not a chance.” He looked down at the spread of food between us. “I’m rather squeaky clean, I’m afraid.”

I couldn’t stop smiling, tickled that this big, tough, sexy guy was apologizing to me for being abnormally normal.

He leaned back on one hand. “Seriously, though, I think the Feds were mostly interested in my sniper background.” A different kind of smile sat on his lips now; something in it made the little hairs on my arms stand up.

Sniper shooting? In Iraq? Gosh.

“I seemed to have inherited a kind of . . .” He shrugged. “Unique hand-to-eye coordination. But in the end, I decided to go the civilian route, which made my mother very happy.” He handed me a fork so we could share the key lime pie. “Most of my heavy-duty assault rifles are locked up.” He sliced into our dessert. “For the time being, anyway.”

I rolled onto my side. Todd was on his back. For the moment, neither of us was speaking. The sun felt so warm, mirroring the feeling in my soul. I sighed lightly as I watched him stretched out on the sand next to me, and I wondered what would happen if I accidentally tucked myself into the crook of his arm . . .

Saved by the bell, “Octopus’s Garden” started singing from my pocket.

Todd rolled his head to look at me. “It’s Hal,” I explained.

“Richardson?” he asked, sitting up. Todd knew the last name of our guitarist. Yep, we were
that
famous.

I nodded. “Should I answer?” I wondered aloud, asking both of us. “I get a lot of calls when we’re split up like this. Such a pain.”

“Take the call,” Todd said. “I don’t mind. Would you like some privacy?”

“For Hal?” I scoffed, pushing the button to accept the call. “Stay right where you are.” I slapped the phone to my ear.
“What?”

“Molly called.” Hal’s voice was low, monotone, all business. “Said you met some dude.”

I sighed impatiently, draping my free arm over my eyes. “And?”

“Are you too busy vegging on the beach to talk to me, or what? Is the dude right there with you?” Hal cackled.

I could practically feel Todd at my side. I tried hard not to grin. “Maybe he is.”

Silence. “Lemme talk to him, duchess.”

I moved my arm off my eyes to see Todd looking down at me. He’d heard the request—Hal’s voice was always very loud through the phone.

“Ha-ha.” I scoffed. “Not happening, Hal.”

“Duchess . . .”

I rolled my eyes and sat up. Todd shrugged and nodded simultaneously, then extended his open hand.

“Hal, do
not
be a moron,” I warned.

But Hal only chuckled like he was up to something.

“Sorry,” I whispered to Todd as I passed him my cell. “He’ll keep bugging me.”

“Hello?” Todd spoke, his gaze moving to the sky. “Yes. Well . . . yes.” He looked confused first, and then he chuckled. “Yes, I know.” He looked at me, listening hard. “She is, and I will.” He laughed again before saying good-bye.

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “Hal’s the product of what happens when cousins marry.”

“I didn’t realize he was a
gangsta
.”

“He’s not.” I snickered. “I think he was trying out his tough-guy persona on you.”

“Scary.” Todd smiled as he handed back my cell. “He’s awfully protective of you, isn’t he?”

My brows wrinkled as I slipped the phone into my pocket. “What did that ingrate say to you?”

“Something about breaking my face if anything happens today.”

“Happens?” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

Todd shrugged. “He’s
your
crazy friend, not mine.”

I laughed, trying to picture scrawny, skater-boy Hal breaking anything on Todd. “He
is
crazy,” I confirmed.

I looked past Todd’s shoulder, out to the water, remembering that just over a year ago, I sat across the room from Hal and the other two guys of Mustang Sally on the day Max announced that “Satellite” was going to be the first single off the new album. Hal had winked at me inconspicuously and wrinkled his nose. He’d been hiding it, but I knew him, and he was disappointed.

“When you kids become more established,” Max had said, “you can record your own songs.”