Number one on the list of things I didn’t want to see when I walked into Voodoo to pick Charlie up from work: her, shirtless, with the guy she used to fuck.
I’ve never been the jealous type before, but something about Charlie fueled my most basic instincts. If Con hadn’t been holding a tattoo gun, I might’ve decked him. I started boxing at the Naval Academy, and still made sure I hit a bag or got a workout in at least five days a week. Con might have a couple inches on me, but I could take him. I was pretty sure he’d gone Army, so we might spill some blood before I finished him. I fought to bury my emotions when he lifted the tattoo gun away from her skin and smirked as I crossed the room.
I kept my tone light. “Charlie, sweetheart, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” The answer was obvious, and I was probably being a dick by asking, but I couldn’t hold it in.
Charlie twisted to smile at me and then looked over her shoulder at the burst of color that hadn’t been there when I’d left her at the Dirty Dog this morning. She looked as relaxed as I’d ever seen her outside of bed.
“Do you like it?” I stepped into the small room and checked out her new tat: vivid fireworks exploding across the creamy skin of her shoulder blade. Blue, red, green, and golden yellow, artfully shaded and incredibly detailed. This time I was the one smiling. She’d marked herself permanently with a memory we’d made together. I leaned down, ignoring Con, and kissed her for all I was worth. I heard his stool roll away but wasn’t sure if he’d left the room. Regardless, I wasn’t stopping the kiss until I was damn well good and ready.
When I finally pulled away, I kissed the top of her other shoulder. “I love it.” Although I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to Charlie—I could never guess what was going on in her head—I was going to take it as a sign that she was committing to this. To us. “Can you get the night of the Fourth of July off? It’s a Saturday.”
She glanced toward Con where he stood leaning against the doorway. “You’ve had a lot of Saturday nights off lately,” he replied.
I was ready to argue, but he continued, “But I’m always telling you that you work too damn much anyway. So go for it.” Con turned to me with a mocking stare. “What’s the occasion? Or don’t I want to know?”
Hell, I’d hoped to warm Charlie up to the idea gradually, because I didn’t want her to say no. I needed her next to me. “Just some festivities.”
Charlie stiffened. “Public festivities?” she asked.
“Let’s talk about it later, yeah?” I said, hoping we could have this conversation without an audience. Thankfully, she nodded.
“You mind waiting a few more minutes while Con finishes up?”
I leaned down and kissed her shoulder again. “As long as it takes.” I shot her a pointed look. She bit her lip at my double meaning. I’d never claimed to be subtle.
I stepped aside for Con to come back in and get settled on his stool. He picked up where he left off, and Charlie slipped back into her relaxed state as soon as the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room.
Her easy mood lasted about three steps outside Voodoo. “So tell me about Fourth of July.”
“It’s a holiday celebrating American independence.”
She shot me a sidelong look and waited for a serious answer as we walked in the direction of my car. Parking in New Orleans had never been irritating to me until I met Charlie. She lived and worked in some of the most unparkable places. I opened her door, and she climbed in. I rounded the hood and hopped in the driver’s seat.
The silence in the car forced me to explain. “It’s an event called Fighting for Freedom that’s being held on the Steamboat Orleans. It’s put on by two nonprofits focused on serving veterans that I’m partnering with to get my own off the ground. There’s a dinner and silent auction before the fireworks.” I pulled away from the curb.
“Your own?”
I looked over, realizing I hadn’t yet shared it with her. She was quickly becoming the most important person in my life, but every time I saw her, my thoughts were filled with nothing but Charlie. So it was little wonder we hadn’t discussed it.
I explained further as I drove. “I’m starting a nonprofit to offer PTSD counseling and alternative therapies to vets who’d prefer not to seek treatment at the VA for whatever reason. My lawyer has already formed the corporation, and we’re working on the application for tax-exempt status. There’s still a ton of work to be done, but it’s all starting to come together. That’s why this Fourth of July thing is so important, because there will be a lot of people there who support veteran’s causes who I’ll need on my side to make The Kingman Project a success.”
“Wow. That’s … amazing. If you need help with pro forma financial statements, I’m your girl.”
My gaze snapped to hers for a second before refocusing on the road. What the hell? Pro forma financial statements?
“Why—” I started to ask her to explain, but she interrupted my question.
“Wait, Kingman—was he the pilot who…?” Her change of subject derailed my thoughts as my stomach dropped, the same way it did every time I relived the explosion in my head. It should have been me.
“Yeah. He’s the one. The one … who saved me. His widow will be there too. She’s remarried now, to a friend of mine. I’d like you to meet her.”
I turned onto her street and snagged a spot not far from Harriet’s house. I put the SUV in park and turned to face Charlie. She was frowning and picking at the black nail polish on her thumb. Her body language was all wrong.