Free More, Please by Kate Aster Page B

remind myself.
    Hannah hands her the wet dog toy. “Want
to try? Kosmo can catch it before it even hits the ground. I trained him.”
    “I saw that. You’re really a good dog
trainer, Hannah. So, how do I get him to do this exactly? I don’t think I’ll be
as good at it as you,” Allie says.
    I love that she makes Hannah feel good
about herself. I’m not sure what goes on in that school my niece attends, but
it seems to be chiseling away at her self-esteem.
    Watching her with my niece I feel
somewhat vindicated that I misjudged Allie’s age. It’s not the way she looks.
She looks 24. But something in her eyes seems almost… tired. Like she’s
seen just enough to be a little more burned-out on life than others her age.
    No, I’d guess her age to be around 28. 28
is doable for me. There’s a world of difference between 24 and 28 in my book.
At 24, I was a fresh-faced, newly promoted Lieutenant JG looking to charge
through life without thinking twice. Four years later, I had made it through my
first two SEAL missions and was well on my way to becoming the sardonic pain-in-the-ass
I am today.
    After Hannah retreats to the other side
of the yard as Kosmo sniffs something intriguing along the fence line, Allie
looks over at me, her gaze wandering appreciatively over my pecs. She glances
away briefly before asking, “So why aren’t you in the Navy anymore? Your
commander said you were pretty amazing when I called him for a reference. Got a
silver medal, or something.”
    I laugh. “Silver Star.”
    She blushes again, and I hate how attractive
she looks when the pink rushes to her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m not really up on the
whole military thing,” she says.
    “That’s all right. But I thought you said
your dad was a vet?”
    “Veterinarian,” she corrects, and I’m
realizing just how little she really talked about herself at dinner that night.
I must have monopolized the conversation.
    “So anyway, why’d you get out?” she asks.
     I stretch my legs and watch Hannah
in the distance, keeping my voice low. I never like her hearing this sort of
thing. “I was shot in my shoulder pretty bad. Wouldn’t have stopped me from
staying in, but it’s my dominant shoulder, so I have a harder time with an
assault rifle.” I skip mentioning the fact that I had a solid six months during
which I couldn’t sleep more than an hour at a time. Or the fact that the eerie
silence of nighttime in Newton’s Creek brings my blood pressure up at least twenty
points.
    Her brow pinches with concern. “I’m
sorry. There wasn’t someplace else they could use you?”
    “Oh, sure. I could have stayed in the
Navy or even commanded with an injury like mine. But I can’t be a SEAL. And
that’s all I ever wanted to be.”
    “That’s terrible.”
    I hate people’s pity, but there doesn’t
seem to be pity in her eyes. Only understanding. So I don’t mind. Giving a
shrug, I say, “It worked out fine. My family’s going through some stuff right
now, and I think it’s better for me to be here now, anyway. How about you? Why
are you juggling two jobs when you should be rescuing dogs full-time?”
    “You do what you gotta do,” she replies with
a grin. “And there’s not a lot of money in the dog rescuing business.”
    I crack a smile, liking that she doesn’t
inundate me with the details of her life. It’s refreshing. Anytime I meet women
these days, I feel like they are trying the 30-second speed-dating tactic. I’ll
be standing in the produce aisle and a long-locked stranger is suddenly telling
me her decades of backstory and all her life goals. Which of course, isn’t
really what I want to hear since I don’t know what my life goals are anymore.
Just get through my plumbing inspection with the County so I can put up my
drywall in #3, I guess.
    Certainly not the goals I once had in my
life.
    When the doorbell rings, I go inside to
get the food. It feels good to have a reason to pull my eyes from her. Looking
at Allie