Page 21 of Down and Dirty

Maudeen was a five-foot-two bundle of sexy curves and a smile that would light a black op sky, not to mention a mouth that could turn a sailor’s tongue blue. She was also the ex-wife of a world-class spouse abuser and was a single mother of twin toddlers. She was trying to get a teaching degree. Sexual harassment wasn’t a word in her dictionary; she just gave back as good as she got with the horny sailors who hit on her.

“How’s that education loan coming?” he inquired, patting the hand that still rested on his shoulder.

“Great. Thanks for recommending that counselor at San Diego State.”

After a bit more chitchat, Maudeen left, and he turned back to the table where all his buddies were gawking at him. “What?”

“Do you know how many men have been trying to get in Bawdy Maudy’s pants this past year?” Sly asked.

“I haven’t been anywhere near Maudeen’s undies.”

Cage made a snorting sound of disbelief. “Didja notice, cher, that she dint ask any of the rest of us if we wanted a refill?”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “She probably forgot.”

“Earth to clueless Navy SEAL,” Sly remarked. “Maudy has had the hots for you from the get-go.”

“Probably,” he admitted. No false modesty here. Attracting women had never been a problem for him.

“What a shock to see Britta on the grinder today!” Good ol’ JAM to the rescue, changing the subject.

“Tell me about it!”

Zach, along with JAM, Cage, Max, and Geek, had fallen into the most bizarre situation two years ago. They’d been on a reproduction Viking longship on some godforsaken fjord in Norway when they somehow landed in the eleventh century. Yeah, yeah, it sounded insane. It had been. While there for a few weeks, they’d defeated some tango named Steinolf, Max had met Hilda, the love of his life, whom he brought back to the future with him, and Zach had fallen for the infamous Britta the Big, whom he’d left behind. Or so he’d thought, until today.

“I don’t understand,” Sly said. “How do you all know this Amazon babe?”

Every one of them shifted uncomfortably.

Sly narrowed his eyes. “Is this tied into that crazy-ass trip you guys took to Norway?”

Oh, yeah! “Sort of.”

He and his buddies never talked about the experience. If they didn’t analyze it, they could pretend it never happened. Plus, they’d all find themselves strapped to a table in a mental hospital or under some scientist’s dissecting knife if word got out. At the very least, they would be living in a bubble. Instead, they chose to believe it had all been a communal bad dream, a hallucination.

But now there was Britta, bringing it all to the forefront again.

“What’re you gonna do about Britta?” JAM asked.

“Why should I be the one to help Britta? Why not you guys?”

“’Cause yer the one that chased her tail twenty-four/seven two years ago.”

“Really?” Sly appeared skeptical. “I’ve never seen Pretty Boy chase a woman before. Wish I’d been there.”

“It wasn’t pretty, especially fer Pretty Boy.” Cage ducked the pretzel Zach threw at him.

“I called Max and Hilda and left a message on their answering machine. I’m sure he and his family will be able to do something to help Britta… uh, transition,” he told them. “In the meantime, I’m just going to play it by ear.”

“Or by ass,” Sly contributed.

“Transition, my ass!” That was Cage’s opinion.

“In other words,” JAM interpreted, “he doesn’t have a clue.”

Zach stood and tossed some bills on the table, preparing to leave.

A group of six Navy nurses, still in uniform, sat down at a table nearby and placed orders for hot wings, a pitcher of beer, and an extra helping of celery sticks with blue cheese dressing. He’d forgotten that tonight was wing night.