I stand up and walk towards my bedroom without saying a word to him. I open the door then close it softly behind me. It takes all my self-control not to slam it. I barely make it ten steps inside before the door is flying open and hitting the wall with a loud bang. I turn around and see Ford filling the space and looking even bigger than moments ago.

"I told your dad I’d keep my eyes on you at all times. That means the door stays open."

"I was about to change," I challenge, taking off my cardigan and letting it drop to the floor. Then I reach for the hem of my shirt and begin to pull it over my head. I hear a string of curses, and when I pull the shirt off I see he’s gone. "Whatever," I mumble. I go into my closet and dig around for something to wear. I settle on a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. I find some knee socks and slip them on and up my legs. Then I pull my hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head and walk out of my room.

I’m not going to hide from him. Besides, even if I am irritated by his behavior at the moment I still want to be around Ford. Even if it’s only to watch him pace back and forth. Plus, I’m hungry, and the idea of making us both something to eat sounds good. No, it feels right. It’s so domestic and almost like we’re a couple playing house.

He stops his pacing when I walk in the room and he looks me up and down. His eyes roam over my body and he mumbles something to himself. I keep walking past him and go straight to the kitchen. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s following me, but I can’t help myself. I peek over my shoulder to see his eyes trained on my ass, and I might just put a little more wiggle in each step.

"I’m hungry," I say I enter the kitchen and open the refrigerator. "Do you want something?"

I make a show of bending over to dig around in the fully stocked refrigerator. It’s always loaded up. When he doesn’t answer I look over my shoulder again at him. He’s standing there with his eyes still on my ass.

"Yeah. I have an itch for something juicy right about now." His eyes move slowly up my body until they finally come up to meet mine. I turn back around to look into the refrigerator. The cool air cuts the heat rising in my body. What would be like for him to have his mouth on me? Would he spread me out on the kitchen counter for his own delight? How many times have I touched myself thinking about him kissing his way to my sex?

I suck in a deep breath and my nipples tighten. My panties are becoming sticky as the desire grows. I see steaks on the bottom shelf and take them out.

"Steaks it is," I chirp a little too loudly. I watch Ford fight a smirk and I’m thankful his icy mood is melting.

His eyes move to my chest and he groans. "Fucking hell. This is worse than being waterboarded," he says as he rubs his eyes.

I look down and see my hard nipples are pushing against the thin material of the shirt. I shrug because I don’t know what else to do. So instead I go to the pantry and take out some potatoes.

"Have you been waterboarded?" I ask, trying to get him to talk.

"Yeah." He says it as casually as when he’d told me he was shot. I’m not sure what to say, but I want to cry.

"I don’t like the idea of you being hurt," I admit.

Blinking fast, I try and fight the tears. He could have died. And if that happened then he would have never been mine. The thought tears me up inside and I try not to dwell on it.

"I’m fine, sweet pea. I’m right here with you and I’m not going anywhere," he reminds me. My body relaxes at his words. He’s right. He is here with me.

"Your life is so different than mine," I tell him as I get to work on making our dinner.

"We both serve our country," he says simply. "Just in different ways. I watched you today, working with that family. You knew exactly what to say and how to handle it. You’re as well trained as I am, but in a different way. You gave up your childhood and almost a decade of your life. That’s time you won’t get back. At least I chose what I wanted to do with my life. You didn’t get to."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me." His eyes soften. I never thought about it like that. It makes me feel that maybe I am doing my part to help.

I put the potatoes in the oven and start on the steaks. "Why don’t you want to go to college?" he asks.

"Maybe one day, just not now." I shrug. Maybe not ever, if I’m being completely honest. But I don’t want to get into it with Ford like I do with my dad. I don’t want a lecture from him.

"Do you have a reason for not wanting to right now?" he pushes.

My reason is mainly him, but I’m too shy to tell him that. "It’s not what I want. That life."

"What life do you want?"

"This." I flip the steak over and then lean my hip on the counter. "A husband, kids, white picket fence, the American dream." I try to read his face, but I can’t. I hate that he can wear that emotionless mask. "What do you want now that you’re getting out?"

"You." He says it simply.

I remain silent, but he doesn’t say anything else. I grab some dishes and serve our dinner without saying another word. When I turn to reach for something, I run right into Ford. His finger goes under my chin, making me look up at him.

"You should be careful what you wish for." I stare at him for a moment, then he moves away.