“You sure?”
“Totally.” I laugh. “Have fun.”
“Think you’ll hit the ball this time with the pretty pilot?” he asks, eyeing me.
“I don’t know,” I respond with a shrug. “But I’m going to try.”
“I thought as much.” He chuckles before heading toward the redhead and her friends. “Have fun.”
“Make good choices!” I call out, laughing, and he flips me off over his head. Still chuckling to myself, I turn back to the bar. “Two more,” I say, holding up my fingers.
The bartender pops the cap on a couple more beers and places them in front of me with a smile on his face and a knowing shake of his head. I drop a couple of bills on the battered wooden top with a thanks and scoop up the fresh bottles. With mymea culpain hand, I make my way back over to my pretty pilot and her two friends.
The men watch me move toward them from over her shoulder. The darker-haired of the two nods to me, and she turns to look at me from over her shoulder. Her green eyes shine bright as she watches me but otherwise gives me no reaction. I simultaneously love it and hate it. I want to know what she’s thinking but right now, she’s cold as ice.
“I’m sorry,” I say, placing the beer in front of her. “I was an ass.”
“Yes, you were,” she replies quietly.
Damn. I didn’t think she’d be so, I don’t know… blunt. She’s honest, I’ll give her that. I get the feeling that, with this woman, you always know where you stand with her.
“I could give you my reason why, and I will, if you want to know,” I say, giving her the same level of honesty she gave me. “But just a warning, it does not make me look good.”
“And why are you telling me this?” she asks.
I can see why she wouldn’t trust my word or my excuses right now.
“Because I want to get to know you.” It’s the truth and it’s out of my mouth before I can think of a cooler answer. So she at least knows the truth, but I hope I didn’t just come on too strong—again.
“Why?” she asks me and I pray that the twinkle in her jade eyes is more than just a little interest because on my end of things, the initial attraction is off the charts. Now knowing that she’s both beautiful and intelligent has me wanting to get to know both her mind and her body and I haven’t felt like that about someone in quite awhile.
“Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met in a long time, and I can’t walk away from that.”
“So you’re back to apologize? And then what?” she asks, her eyes narrowing on me, and I get the feeling she doesn’t think very much of me. “Get in my pants?” And, it would turn out, I was right. Though, she is too. I do want in her pants, but I also want more. How much more, I’m still not sure.
“How about, for now, we just talk? If you don’t hate me, maybe I could take you out to dinner this weekend.” And as I say the words, I realize they’re the truth. I do want to get to know her, and I do want to take her out. The thought surprises me, because I haven’t wanted to expend the effort to carve out the time in my busy life for someone else in some time.
“And if I said I wanted you to take me home and fuck me?” she asks pointblank.
The words sound harsh and unfamiliar on her tongue, even though I know she’s a tough marine. Something about this woman tells me that she doesn’t talk like this often. I like that. I like knowing that she doesn’t prevaricate, but she also doesn’t chase after every man and I love the knowledge that she said those words to me.
“As much as I’d like to say I’d be a gentleman and wait, I wouldn’t,” I admit. “Because I get the feeling that a woman like you doesn’t come around often, and if I let the chance to be with you, even for one night, slip through my fingers, I would regret it.”
She eyes me thoughtfully for a moment, and I barely hold in the urge to squirm like a new recruit. Finally, one of her friends takes pity on me and also reminds me that we’re not alone. “Oh for fuck’s sake, would you put the frog out of his misery already? This is embarrassing.”
She rolls her eyes at him but then looks back to me. “Would you like to join us?”
“I would.” I set my beer down on the table and pull up the remaining bar stool.
“So what’s your name?” one of her friends asks me.
“Kyle, and yours?”
“I’m Cinco,” the darker-haired man answers before pointing to his buddy. “And this is Hooter.”
I smirk. “Nice call sign.” It’s a terrible call sign, but then again, we don’t get to choose them, they’re usually handed out for more embarrassing reasons.
“What’s yours?” he asks me.
