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A shadow falls on our table, and we both look up. There stands the man of the hour, the man who was the point person on the mission that frightful day. His overuse of cologne covers the gunpowder smell that I remember. A blast from the past stands over me like a dog trying to mark his territory. This son of a…
“Reese!” Greg says enthusiastically.
“Greg?” she says, surprised. “What are you doing on this side of town?”
“I was in the neighborhood at a meeting. A few soldiers are back from deployment and looking for jobs. Trying to reel in some fresh blood.”
Extra blood, mercenaries, fuckers who are trigger-happy and loaded with PTSD.
The way Greg is looking at her, he isn’t here for a client meeting. His head follows his eyes as he looks her up and down. Confident cock likes to show his interest. He must’ve been watching and waiting for her to arrive. Though his polo appears semipressed, his tactical pants are a wrinkled mess. A clear sign he has been sitting for an extended period of time. He turns to me and snickers. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh! Sorry, this is John Peterson.” She gestures to me.
I hold out my hand. Keep it together, Adam. “Hey, I’m John.”
He shakes my hand and firmly squeezes as if he is trying to assert dominance. Arrogant little shit.
“Greg.” He nods. His near bald head shines in the fluorescent light of the café. The maroon shirt that is tucked into his wrinkled pants accentuates the few freckles on his skin. His shoulders sit high and tight, like a true serviceman, although it actually shows he is shorter than he likes to appear. It’s the Napoleon Syndrome mindset of thinking one is taller when the reality is they are quite short. I have a few inches on Greg.
“Nice to meet you,” I respond.
Testosterone fills the small space around the table, and I pull my hand back.
“How do you know Reese?” he asks, probing for information.
“We met here yesterday,” she interrupts, causing Greg to look at her. She seems slightly annoyed. Her entire palm pushes a stray hair from her face. Her head shakes back and forth so faintly that if you were not paying attention you would’ve missed it.
“Oh?” He looks back at me.
Adam, play dumb. Adam, don’t blow your cover.
Then he looks back at Reese and lowers his head to her. “Why didn’t you call me back yesterday?”
“They unloaded some garbage on me yesterday. I had to work late, and by the time I got home, I just needed the quiet,” she says.
I chuckle at the garbage comment. Jokes, we have inside jokes now. Greg looks at me and then back at Reese, curiosity playing at the ends of his nerves. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, trying to control his words. I’m getting irritated at his behavior.
“I want to take you to dinner tonight,” he tells her. This wasn’t a question but rather a bold statement.
My eyes widen at his bold move. Horrible bold move. Reese isn’t like most girls, and his arrogance will turn her off.
“Sure,” she huffs. As if admitting defeat.
The fuck! I shift in my seat and look out the window.
I can hear the cockiness in his voice when he replies, “Great, I’ll call you. Don’t forget to pick up the phone, gorgeous.” With those parting words, he walks away.
Continuing to stare out the window, I watch him strut down the sidewalk, images of how I can end him painting pretty pictures in my mind. If I start to dismember him at his knees, it will get his short ass further down to earth before I…
Reese interrupts my thoughts when she says, “I’m not going to go out with him.”
“I’m sorry. Were we not listening to the same conversation?” I ask her. I am irritated and confused about how she could accept a date with another man while on a date with me.
“He’s been asking for weeks. Pretty much since Kevin went all radio silent. Greg has been the one I have been talking to—besides you, of course. I only talk to him to see if Kevin has talked to him at least. Otherwise, I would’ve cut off all communication with him. I’ll make up another excuse again to get out of it. Last time I told him I had to wash my hair.”
“Is that a thing?” I question. You see that in movies or books. I haven’t heard a woman actually doing that. One side of my mouth tips up with interest.
“For some, I did wash my hair though, so it wasn’t a total lie.” She takes a sip of her espresso and closes her eyes. Savoring the flavor and trying to hide that coy smile.
