Page 40 of My All American Girl

I shrugged dismissively. “Let him watch,” I said as I turned back toward the table.

In the back of my mind, all I could think about was how much I wanted him to teach me a thing or two—both inside and outside of the cockpit. A while later, Dean emerged from behind the bar to collect empty glasses from a nearby table. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I suddenly felt brave enough to ask him some personal questions. He seemed to know everything about me. It seemed only right.

“Why are you bothering with this kind of work?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “With your level of training, you could be anything, anywhere you wanted. So why here? Why this place?”

He smirked at me. “You know why I’m here.”

I nodded, knowing full well I was the reason he was stuck here. But he obviously owned this bar before I came along.

“But why here?” I asked.

“To me, this place isn’t a shithole. It’s a sanctuary. A place to decompress with friends. It’s not pretentious. No one can really relax if they have to worry about some asshole critiquing their choice of single malt. And it’s an investment. I’m not going to be in the military forever.”

“So this is your retirement plan?”

“Better than nothing.” He shrugged and gestured to the man behind the bar. “That’s Jude. He’s my best friend, even though we don’t talk all the time. We’ve been running the joint together for years. Well, I used to run it. I haven’t been around much lately, thanks to some other obligations.”

“Like your divorce?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My cheeks burned. I immediately regretted the comment as soon as it left my mouth.

Dean’s expression changed. I was embarrassed. Humiliated. My big mouth got me in trouble once again.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to say it like that,” I stammered, desperately wishing I could take back the words.