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Jean struts beside me, muttering something about not being dressed for a night out. She probably means she’s not wearing skintight clothes and sparkles but she looks perfect to me. It’s been ages since I hit the town and it’s never been my thing. Too crowded and too many people pressing up against you. It’s as if they can sense I’m a soldier and men give me dirty looks, wanting to pick fights. I ignore them, knowing that if I as much as lift a finger they’ll end up in the hospital or the morgue.
We pass clubs and cafés but forego the nastier parts of town and I decide to take her to a bar my sister likes called,Rebound. The place is packed and smells of perfume, the booths are intimate and the walls have hand paintings of old movie stars. There are large, open windows and have a view over the Sugar Mountain.
People smile with approval at Jean but their eyes widen in unease at the sight of me. I know I have a mean look on my face but that’s just its default setting and I’m not here to make friends. Women in heels throw envied glances down Jean’s shape and the men loosen their ties as if they need help breathing. It aggravates me. I don’t even like the women looking at her body. Putting my hand on Jean’s lower back, I push her over to the bar and order our drinks.
“You didn’t even ask me what I want?” she pouts but I shrug.
“Already know you like Heineken.”
Her eyes turn suspicions. “How do you know that?”
Because the brand name was printed on the t-shirt she wore, when I saw her out in the field. The snug, wet one that clung to her like a second skin.
“Am I wrong?” I say with a cocked brow and suddenly a grin flares on her face.
“No, you’re right.” She yanks the bottle to her and nurses as if she’s a calf dying from thirst. I must be watching her with heat in my eyes because she turns flustered and looks down. I’m not the only one ogling her, other men do the same and I reach out, pushing her chair closer to mine. The movement is so abrupt that her teeth clasp and she glowers at me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, “just thought you should sit closer.”
She tilts her head to the side and the ends of her hair brush her thigh. “Because you want us to look like a couple?”
I don’t do that stuff. That stuff is for normal men, who had normal upbringings and moved on to normal jobs.Family men.I wouldn’t be a good one. You need to know what love is in order to offer it, and I have no clue.
“Because I don’t want anybody messing with you,” I reply. The bartender seems like he would be up for it and he glances at Jean from the corner of his eyes, while pretending to wipe off a glass. He hasn’t even noticed that he has dropped the rag and is now using the end of his shirt. Twitching, he stops when he realizes that I’m killing him with my eyes.
“You have a customer,” I growl, nodding my head at the overexcited college kid next to me and the bartender leaves Jean alone. I turn to Jean again and she watches me curiously. She better not ask any questions. I hate getting personal, hate opening up whatever the hell that means and women have a knack for getting down to the bones.
“Carter...,” she begins and I brace myself, knowing I’ll snap at her if she starts probing, “did you bring me to this bar so that we would get to know each other?”
No.
Yes.
Fuck, I don’t know. I brought her here because I didn’t want her first time to be with a total stranger.
“Only reason I’m asking is because you’re not talking to me, and that’s how you usually get to know someone.” She lets out a sigh. “Okay fine, I’ll go first...I hate shopping, the color pink and romantic comedies. I get crazy impatient when I have to stand in line and I hate how many dogs get euthanized every year...”
I lift my head. “Why did you agree to this?”
Jean trails off, her eyes widening a little and she starts playing around with the napkin. Ripping it up into little pieces and I notice the sudden change in her. There’s tension in her shoulders now and she heaves. Is she hiding a deep, dark secret?
“Personal reasons,” she murmurs.
Now I’m irritated. I don’t like opening up but I get aggravated when she refuses to do the same. Think she gave me a little taste of my own medicine there. And it doesn’t taste that good. I grind my jaw, twirling in my stool.
This shouldn’t matter. For some reason it does.
“I’ve heard rumors about you,” she murmurs, glancing up at me. “That you’ve been threatening to quit because they don’t pay you enough.”
I let out a hoarse laughter and take a sip of my beer. “Is that what you’ve heard?” Anger flares in me. “It has nothing to do with the paycheck, that’s just an attempt for Blackwater to cover up their own bullshit.” The real reason is that I want to leave because they let us fend for ourselves the last time. We were starved of ammunition and supply by bureaucrats, and Blackwater didn’t do enough to help out.
Assholes.
Jean shrugs. “I’ve also heard you’re one of their best soldiers. Is that wrong too?”
A sense of pride that she knows that about me spreads in my chest. “Nah, that happens to be true.” My mouth twitches when she tosses her head back and laughs. Warmth spreads throughout my limbs and it has nothing to do with this crowded place or the liquor. It’s just her.
Our eyes meet and she’s not looking at me, the way she did when she saw me outside of her door. Then her eyes flickered with concern but they’re intimate now as if she could get close to me. I could let her close. If only I knew how.
