A Few Good Men (9 page)

John leaned back with a sigh, which Jazzy, still lurking behind him, misinterpreted as a laugh.

Wearing his ever-present grin, Jazzy said, “See. I told you she was funny. Tag-team dating. That is just too much. She’s going to keep doing it and then write about each date afterward, but I don’t see how she’ll ever beat this one where the straight guy turned out to be gay. That was classic.”

“She certainly is a vivid writer,” John said when he realized Jazzy was still expecting him to make some comment on the damn blog.

“She sure as shit is, and she has some crazy-ass kind of imagination too.” Morales commented. “That one scene in the book she wrote where they’re in the elevator stuck between floors… Damn.”

Gonzo jumped in. “Shit. I know. After reading that I had to clean my gun, if you know what I mean.”

Covering his face with one hand, John realized his entire tank crew had read Summer’s book, except for him, that is.

John rose from the chair.

Jazzy sat again. He logged off the computer and then relinquished his spot to Gonzo. “Your turn, Gonz. And sir, you should have taken me up on reading the book next. Now I don’t even know where it is. One of the other guys from the platoon borrowed it, and I haven’t seen it since.”

John held up one hand before Jazzy continued any farther. He really did not want to read the book given the sexual images of Summer Winters that he had begun to find too often in his head already. And that was just from her emails. Forget about if he read her sex novel. He didn’t even want to think about that.

“That’s okay. I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

John found Jazzy shaking his head. “I do worry about you, sir. You need to have some fun. You work too hard.”

John laughed. “We’re in a war zone. There’s neither time nor opportunity for fun.”

Besides, reading romance novels was not exactly his idea of fun, even though he had never actually read one.

Not that what he had to do next today was fun either, but it was a necessity and would make his life easier. “I need to get online after you’re done here, Gonzo.”

Jazzy raised a brow. “Hmm. Really. Emailing someone special?”

The guy never gave up. Had Summer emailed Jazzy and said they had been corresponding? For some reason John didn’t want to let Jazzy know exactly how often he and Summer had already written.

John rolled his eyes and made light of it. “No, I’m not emailing anyone at all, special or other. The laundry service has managed to lose half of my boxer briefs and half my socks over the past few months. Every time I turn around I’m out of clean underwear and socks. I need more, and I have to find an online retailer that will ship to a military address.”

John was also not going to admit to Jazzy that he had intended on doing this task for a week now but he never got around to it because he was too busy corresponding with Summer.

Jazzy looked disappointed. “Oh well. I still have hope for you, and the offer of a pen pal still stands if you want one.”

Jazzy’s pen pal, Summer, was already proving to be enough of a distraction to John. The last thing he needed was for Jazzy to supply him with another one. If he was honest with himself, he knew the last thing he wanted was to write to someone who wasn’t Summer. “Thanks, but no thank you.”

“I’ll tell you what, sir. If you can’t find someplace to ship you them drawers you need, let me know. I’ll have my girl ship me some for you,” Morales offered generously.

“Packages from the States usually get here in a week,” Jazzy supplied.

John had gotten a Christmas card from his grandmother but hadn’t received any packages from home, so he didn’t know that. He also didn’t know anything about Morales suddenly getting a girl, but more importantly, he certainly hoped she wouldn’t have to ship him any drawers.

“Thanks, Morales. I’ll keep that in mind. And when the hell did you get yourself a girl?”

“I met her online. After Jazzy kept getting so much good shit from that support website I put up a page of my own. She’s a Yankee, and boy is she a looker, let me tell you. Always did like me a blonde. Hey, looky there. A computer just got freed up. You want to get on there, sir? I just have to email my girl, not buy drawers.”

“No, you go ahead. I can wait for Gonzo to finish.”

Morales bopped off happily to email his new girl while John waited for his turn to get online and pondered this new development. Now that he thought about it, Morales had been awfully smiley lately. Now he knew why.

Jazzy must have noticed the change in their driver too, because he grinned after Morales. “See what a pen pal will do for a guy?”

John had a feeling Morales and this girl were a bit more than just pen pals, but he was still not going to have this discussion.

“Jazzy…” John growled the warning.

“Yes, sir. I’m going. See you later.” He smiled wide.

As Jazzy made his way slowly toward his quarters, John called after him, “I better not see you anywhere but in your rack.”

Jazzy waved a dismissive hand and kept walking.

Waiting there with nothing to do, John found himself with too much time to wonder. Was Summer going on a date that very night? How much longer would Gonzo be before he could log in and check his email? And where had that romance novel gotten to?

Shit. After reviewing those thoughts, John realized he was in big trouble.

Chapter Eight

“A bar fight.” Peter flopped back into the plastic chair in the hospital’s emergency room waiting area while expelling an annoyed-sounding huff of breath.

Maureen hung her head and waited for the onslaught as he continued.

“I’ve lived thirty-two years without ever being in a fist fight in a bar, restaurant or any other establishment, gay or straight. But one date that I let you plan for us, and I’m spending the night in the hospital emergency room.”

In Maureen’s defense, neither Peter nor herself had a scratch on them. They were in the hospital waiting for her date to get his bloody head stitched up. Since he’d had the foresight to shove both of them out onto the sidewalk and out of harm’s way before he jumped into the fray, she figured she owed him at least a ride to the hospital.

When her date had suggested they go to the bar and see the band playing there, he could have had no way of knowing that a drunk with a broken beer bottle would go after the baseball-bat-wielding bartender. Or that he himself would get whacked in the head when the giant basketball game in the bar got flipped over. Or that the fight would eventually make its way out onto the sidewalk where she and Peter stood, causing them to have to scramble back inside and take refuge in the bar’s kitchen. The good news was that there in the kitchen they’d found Peter’s date hiding.

Lucky for Maureen, Peter’s date, a male nurse by profession but at a different hospital, had gone into the examining room to sit with her date while he got stitched up. First of all, she didn’t feel close enough to the guy after only knowing him for a few hours to play dedicated girlfriend. Second, she felt nauseated even thinking about watching someone get stitches.

So here she and Peter sat at two in the morning in a hospital in Brooklyn, waiting for their dates to emerge from behind the examination room’s magic curtain. The sick thing was, Maureen couldn’t wait to get home, or at least back to Peter’s, so she could write it all down in her blog.

There was seriously something wrong with her since she had become a writer. No matter how bad things got—things meaning mostly her dating record—she viewed it as a writing opportunity. And she’d had two doozies to write about recently.

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say?” Peter crossed his arms and stared at her.

“Um. What’s for breakfast tomorrow morning?” His narrowed stare led her to abandon the comedic approach. “Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say to you. When you plan to date as much as we have, you’re bound to have some bad ones. It’s statistically impossible not to.”

There. Blame the odds. People can’t argue with statistics.

Peter didn’t look impressed. “If I thought you were honestly sorry, it would be different. But you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She tried not to smile and failed.

“Maureen.”

“I’m sorry. On the other hand, I never thought I would say this, but I’m enjoying our dating disasters. Our dates are so unbelievably bad that I’m actually looking forward to the next one just to see how much worse it can get. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I get to share them with you. Even the worst horror is fun if I’m with you.”

Peter sighed. “How am I supposed to stay mad at you when you say stuff like that?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder and gave him her cutest puppy-dog face. “You can’t.”

He scowled. “Well, I’m going to try anyway.”

Maureen smiled. He was softening. She could tell.

Peter glanced again at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t we both try to get a quick nap until Rocky in there is done getting his bloody head sewn back together? I know you. You’ll be up half the night working on your blog, and I’ll be awake wondering what you’re writing about me this time.”

Maureen hid a smirk. He did know her so well. “There is some good news though, about what has come out of these bad dates.”

Peter looked down at her skeptically. “Really? Pray tell. Whatever could that be?”

“My publisher sent me my latest sales figures for the book, and there was a definite spike in sales last week since I began my blog about our little social experiment.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am so happy that our misery has entertained your readership and boosted your royalties.”

Maureen knew he was happy for her in spite of his sarcasm. Not only because he was her best friend, and a best friend’s job was to suffer your failures right alongside you as well as share your successes, but mostly because she saw the small smile that lifted the corner of his mouth when he thought she wasn’t looking.

She smiled herself and closed her eyes as the words of her next blog entry swirled through her head. She only hoped she would remember them all until she got to a computer—and checked for an email from John.

As sleep threatened to overtake her, she forced herself to wake up enough to ask one more question. “You have next week’s date lined up, right?”

Peter laughed beneath her cheek. “Yes. And I guarantee we won’t be back here after it. Now get some rest.”

She let her mind drift to imagining what John’s voice sounded like and happily did exactly that.

“I want you.” John stroked her face, his gaze burning into hers from just inches away.

Maureen could feel the evidence of that pressed against her. She swallowed hard, fighting the butterflies in her stomach. “I want you too.”

“It’s been a while for me, with the war and all.” He smiled and it warmed her straight through to the core, as did the rich timbre of his voice. She could feel it vibrate through her. They were pressed so closely together as he lay on top of her.

“It’s been a while for me too.” She smothered a laugh at that understatement. He had no clue how long it had been for her, and she didn’t have the war as an excuse.

His eyes twinkled. “Then let’s not wait any longer.”

She had trouble coming up with enough breath to answer him. “Good idea.”

Just as John was about to slide into her, as she waited for blissful release from the unbearable tension inside her, the most obnoxious sound on earth shattered the moment.

Maureen groaned and flung one arm over her face. What absolutely horrible timing. The first good dream she’d had in years and it was gone. She slapped at the clock on the bedside table. That’s it. No more alarms. She didn’t care if she was late to work, she wasn’t going to risk the only sex she’d had in months would be interrupted.

With a heavy heart, she said a sad goodbye to her bed, pushing aside the crazy idea of staying under the covers and possible having her battery-operated friend join her. She headed for the shower and another workweek. At least she had one thing to look forward to each day—emails from John.

Actually, he hadn’t written back in two whole days. No, make that three if there wasn’t one waiting for her this morning. She was beginning to worry. What if he had gotten blown up? Or worse, was just tired of hearing from her and was trying to give her a hint?

As she turned on the water in the shower so it would get hot, she resisted the urge to boot up her computer. She’d have to shower first and then check her email while drinking her coffee or she’d be late for work.

This worry was agonizing. Maybe she should find herself a nice retired serviceman who was safely at home here in the US but still had all the same qualities. And maybe there was a similar gay ex-military man out there for Peter.

No, that wouldn’t work. She’d emailed servicemen men for over a year now, and she’d never had a sex dream about any of them. She was beginning to realize it wasn’t just military men in general, but John in particular who tempted her body and mind and had her emotions so tangled up.

Maureen was still obsessing over the lack of communication from John and what it might mean when she arrived at her desk at work. She was so caught up in her own thoughts she barely noticed when Tiffany strode over.