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“How’d you do?” He and Hollywood shared the same philosophy when it came to women—have a good time, but don’t get attached.
Hollywood shook his head. “Eh, I got a few numbers, but we leave in a month so I don’t know if it’s worth it. I don’t want to deal with the whole dating thing, then she’s going to get upset when she finds out I’m leaving for six months. It never goes over well.”
“Nope. Never goes over well.” Bolt wiggled his hips into position and glared at the ball. He was going to hit this sucker three hundred yards. He pulled the club behind his back and swung forward.
“WESTPAC is going to be epic. Korea, Thailand, Japan. We are going to be like rock stars over there. I’ve heard the strippers are unbelievable.” Hollywood chuckled.
“Yeah, I’ve heard something like that. I’m just ready for the flying. It’s going to be unbelievable flying over there.”
“Six months of nothing but beautiful women and perfect flying. I’d say we have a pretty good gig.”
“I agree.” Bolt tossed another ball on the tee and grimaced as the shot curved to the far left of the range.
“Ha! Man, you suck.”
“Shut up, Hollywood.” He threw the driver in his bag and reached for an iron. Maybe he just needed to change up his clubs.
“You didn’t say anything about last night. How was the Gaslamp scene? Touristy?” Hollywood asked.
Bolt tried to focus on the ball on the tee and not the scene of the nameless psuedo librarian under him that flashed in his head. He breathed through his teeth.
“That good, huh?” Hollywood wasn’t going to let it go.
“Yeah, kinda met someone.”
“Met someone? What in the hell does that mean?” Hollywood hit another perfect shot.
“Nothing. I didn’t get her number, so I won’t see her again.” Bolt still wondered if he should have at least asked.
“Alright. Glad you had fun.” Hollywood returned to his club and ball. “Want to hang out tonight? I was thinking about going to PB. You up for a few beers?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” Bolt threw the iron in his bag. He was always up for a few beers. “I think I’m calling it, man.”
His friend laughed. “Yeah, you suck today. What, is that girl in your head?”
“Nah.” Bolt picked up his clubs and slung them over his shoulder. “Just an off day. Hey, I’ll see you tonight. What time?”
“Nine.” Hollywood lined up to take another shot. He didn’t look ready to leave.
“See ya.”
Bolt stepped from the shower and grabbed the towel on the rack. He wiped the droplets of water from his face then his chest. He reached for his tags. They weren’t there. He dropped the towel and looked next to the hook where he always put them. Where were they? He searched his dresser, the bathroom counter, and his pockets. Dammit. He hadn’t picked them up this morning at the librarian’s. How could he have left them? Not all Marines wore their tags. It was a personal decision, but after losing Riggs he hadn’t gone a day without them. The guilt tore through him at the thought of abandoning them. It was one thing to take them off. It was something else to leave them behind.
He glanced at the clock. If he left now he could still swing by her place in time to meet Hollywood by nine. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and ran out the door. He prayed the librarian was at home on a Saturday night reading a book.
Bolt lived in Fashion Valley in a one-bedroom condo. He liked it. There was a local bar within walking distance, and he could be on the beach or at work in fifteen minutes. Location is everything.
He pulled onto the interstate and pointed his truck toward the Gaslamp district. The night crowd would be gathering, and he knew parking wouldn’t be easy. It had to be the most popular neighborhood in the seaside city. He slowed near the bar where he met the librarian and pulled behind it to park. Might as well take advantage of the lots where he could. Getting the tags back was worth the five dollars for parking.
In a matter of minutes he was knocking on her door. He rapped his knuckles a few times.
“Yep, hold on.” She swung open the door and he was met with the vision he had of her last night. Her hair was piled high on her head, loose strands flying to the side and she was wearing glasses. He didn’t know a woman could look so hot in a pair of specs. She was stunning. It didn’t hurt she had deep blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled.
“Hey.” He grinned.
“Oh, wow. Hey. What are you doing here?” She looked confused. For a second he worried she might slam the door in his face.
“I, uh—left something this morning. Just needed to grab it and then I’ll leave.” He motioned toward the living room.
