21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (148 page)

Shifting, Luke pulled out his wallet and counted out four crisp fifty-dollar bills. He tossed them with an almost nonchalant air onto the stack. The men’s chatter cut off and every gaze in the room swung to him. Tom put his hand on the stack of bills next to him and shoved them all to the center.

“All in.”

Luke studied him.

Tom waited.

The younger man blinked. “Fuck it.” He shoved the rest of his cash to the center as well. “Call.”

Smiling slowly, Tom flipped over the first card. Queen of Spades. Damon whistled. Moisture decorated Luke’s upper lip as he smiled ruefully.

“I am so screwed.”

Flipping the second card, the Queen of Hearts, Tom nodded. “Yes, young man—you are.”

“Dammit.” Luke laughed and revealed his king and jack, which when matched with what lay out in the spread would have given him a straight.

Whistles cut the air and the men cheered. “And now that we’re all broke, we can really get the drinking going.” Cavanaugh was up and heading for the bar.

“No drinks for me.” Sinclair shook his head, grabbed his keys and mimed a salute at Tom. “I gotta go. It was good to meet you Lieutenant Colonel. But I’m off to kidnap Helena for the weekend.” The men had given him a hard time about his attorney girlfriend earlier, but the Cajun hadn’t seemed to mind.

“She say yes yet?” Westwood stacked the cards before sorting the cash in the pot into piles by denomination. They’d been playing for charity.

Sinclair shrugged into his coat. “Why, yes she did. That’s where we’re headed—Las Vegas.”

Tom hid a smile as the other men froze then the war whoops began as one by one they rose, pounded Sinclair on the back and gave him handshakes.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Cavanaugh demanded.

“Because she doesn’t have a ring on her finger yet, but before that clock strikes midnight, she damn well will.” Westwood and Cavanaugh walked Sinclair out, offering a wide range of advice and teasing comments. Luke rejoined Tom at the table and finished counting out the cash.

“Four thousand, pretty nice donation, sir. You sure you will want us to drop it in the kitty for the drive?” They’d hosted fundraising events all month—doubling up their donations to Toys for Tots and Mike’s Place.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t, son. Why are you questioning my orders?” The last he asked without heat or censure and Luke laughed.

“Fair point, sir. Fair point.” Finishing the count, Luke tied off the roll of cash with a rubber band and locked it in a safe. “It’ll be a while before they get back. I expect they’re going to give Damon a hard time. Cigar?”

One habit he’d never given up in thirty-plus years of service—the occasional cigar during a social situation. Retrieving his jacket from the coat rack, Tom followed Luke out of his office and down a hallway to a sheltered portico. Outside, the air was brisk. A deep freeze had set in following Christmas and their breath easily fogged. Both men were silent as they clipped and readied their cigars.

Tom had considered how to broach a difficult subject all evening, electing to avoid it at least while they were in mixed company. Finally, he said, “You’ve done a fine thing with this place, son. Your dad would be proud.”

A solemn shadow passed over Luke’s face and he glanced out into the dark. “I’d like to think so, sir. We were not close in those last few years.”

Yes, Dex had shut everyone out after his wife died—including his son. Laying a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, Tom gave Luke a light squeeze. “He was proud of you. Don’t doubt it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clearing his throat, Luke gave him a small smile. “So how does retirement feel?”

“Like a dark road.”

A lot of guys looked forward to the day they cycled out, retiring with full benefits, and getting on with their lives. Their spouses celebrated the final PCS and their kids enjoyed having Dad at home. Tom didn’t even own a home much less have a wife or kids. The Marines had been the sum total of his existence—until the first of December when he’d begun terminal leave.

“My offer stands; we could use a man with your experience and wisdom.” They’d been the first words out of Luke’s mouth when Tom mentioned his retirement.

“I’m not a touchy-feely guy, Luke. I wouldn’t know the first damn thing to say to someone who needs help. A boot to the ass—that I can do. The rest of this crap—not so much.” It wasn’t in his nature. A man did what he needed to do and a Marine did what had to be done. Fussing about it after was a bunch of politically-correct bullshit and the result of a generation weaned on self-help television.

“Sometimes a boot to the ass is what’s required.” Luke chuckled. “But the offer stands.”

“Understood.” He went quiet, puffing on the cigar and considered the frosty evening. The fact that he still avoided one topic aggravated him. Sweeping his gaze across the darkened, empty area surrounding the portico, Tom paced a step forward and turned to face Luke. “I am going to discuss one matter with you. It will go no further than the two of us. After this conversation, we’re not going to speak of it again. Understood?”

Eyebrows raised, Luke shifted back a step and leaned against the wall. He nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

Done with beating around the bush, he went right for the throat of the matter. “When you sign up for a 1Night Stand, what exactly is expected?”

To his credit, the younger man didn’t laugh, but humor did make an appearance in his smile. “I would think that’s rather self-explanatory, sir.”

Tom simply stared at him. It was self-explanatory, but he’d never engaged someone via a service before. It was one thing to pick up a woman in a social situation; it made for an entirely different matter to plan a date with a complete stranger who had been selected for him.

Luke shifted and his smile flattened. “My apologies sir, I wasn’t trying to be a smart ass.”

“Yes, you were.” Tom forgave him. “But I’d still appreciate an answer.”

“Basically what Madame Eve says on her site. You fill out the paperwork. You answer the questions. She pairs you with someone she feels is an ideal match and you get together. Dinner is an option. A show. Or you can cut straight to the chase and meet in a hotel room.” It was his turn to look uncomfortable.

Fixing on the discomfort, Tom gestured to him with the cigar. “What did you choose?”

“Drinks.” The reply rode on a hard rush of breath. “I thought drinks were a good icebreaker. We could have dinner and see where things went naturally.”

“So to a hotel room?”

Luke didn’t answer immediately, but he winced. “Not precisely, sir.”

“Not precisely? You either went to a hotel room or not.”

“Well….” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The drinks and dinner were planned at the Sybarite Club downtown. It’s private, discreet—and offers certain amenities in the back. Including rooms.”

“So you used one of those.” It seemed a rather sanguine way to approach the scenario. A room in a club, an assignation, and then both parties were free to leave and never see each other again. Tom wasn’t sure that fit his interest either.

“Not…exactly….”

Though intrigued by the younger man’s grimace, Tom let him off the hook. “I signed up for a date a few weeks ago. When I didn’t hear anything for a while, I assumed the lady hadn’t been able to find anyone. Two days ago, I received an email confirming I would be in Dallas through the New Year.”

“She found you a date.” It wasn’t a question. Luke’s confidence in the mysterious Madame Eve had been a deciding factor after Tom had done his information gathering.

“Apparently so. I’ve been asked to confirm the details and I don’t really have any idea of the location. So I need to choose a location and give all the information to her. If I decide to go through with it.”

Straightening, Luke’s unease vanished. “You should. Seriously.” He held up a hand when Tom would have interrupted. “Madame Eve has a gift. Whether you get anything more than a pleasant evening with an interesting woman out of it, sir—you deserve to give yourself the chance.”

“Son, I’ve been a confirmed bachelor for most of my life. Women—they’re a passing fancy. Not many are going to put up with a Marine as set in his ways as I am.” He’d long since accepted that part of his reality.

“Then you’ve got nothing to lose…unless you’re chickening out.”

Tom stiffened at the accusation, but Luke wasn’t finished.

“A lot of guys come home screwed up. They dump their girlfriends or their girlfriends dump them. Divorce is another painful factor in their lives. We’re Marines, we endure—but we don’t have to endure alone. You’re retiring and that means you’ve got a whole new battle plan to put into place. What does it hurt to scout for the right person to be at your side on this next part of the journey?”

When he put it like that…. “It’s a fair argument.”

“I know it is. I walked away from the love of my life to be a Marine, sir. I was a damn good one—”

“Still are, son. You still are.”

He accepted the compliment with a nod. “Thank you, sir. My point is—I walked away and I spent ten years alone when I didn’t have to. Signing up for that service was the best damn decision I could have made—it brought Rebecca back into my life. Maybe this is your chance to make a second life for yourself—maybe it’s just a great way to spend a night. Go—find out.”

“Good argument. Facts over emotion.” But he didn’t disagree with it either. Truth be told, he wasn’t a coward. He simply wasn’t comfortable with the idea either.

“I have a few suggestions for places to go—we should make a decision tonight because New Year’s Eve will make it hard to get reservations. I can make some calls, too. Becca knows pretty much every high end vendor in the state, so she can pull some strings.” Pride and affection crept into his voice whenever he mentioned his wife.

“I appreciate that.” He did. The arrival of the confirmation email had stumped Tom. He hadn’t expected anything to come from signing up—and now that it had, he wanted to make a good impression at least.

“It will be my honor, sir.” Luke’s grin took on a sly edge. “Do we need to have a conversation about condoms?”

Amused, Tom suppressed the emotion, instead giving him a hard look. “Don’t make me beat you, son.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Brenda stared at the contents of her closet. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” Heart in her throat, she reached for her go-to, semi-formal peach dress.

“Oh, hell no.” Amelia Valentine—Brenda’s best friend and the closest she had to a real sister—jerked the creamy silk dress out of her hands and tossed it across the room.

“Hey, I love that dress.”

“I know.” Amelia nudged her to the right and began to flick through the other dresses hanging in her closet. “But you are not wearing
mother-of-the-bride
on a
date
.”

Brenda scowled. “It does not say
mother-of-the-bride
….”

“No, it actually screams Sunday morning church with all the old farts, but I was trying to be nice.” Amelia continued to sort through the clothes. “No. No. Oh, my word—Brenda, donate this to the collection box at the Salvation Army or something.” She pulled out a shapeless black sweater dress that had certainly seen better days.

“It looks fine with a belt.”

“Honey.” Her best friend turned, one hand propped on a hip while she held the sweater dress away from her as though it might give her a disease. “It’s about six sizes too big. You lost all of that weight. Why do you keep this?”

Sighing, she took the woolen dress and held it up to her body. “Because it used to make me feel pretty.”

Sympathy creased Amelia’s face and she leaned into Brenda until they could see themselves cheek to cheek in the long mirror attached to the closet door. “You’re beautiful.” Her soft, comforting tone encouraged Brenda to believe her. The corner of her lipsticked mouth turned up. “But the dress is hideous. Toss it.”

After a quick squeeze, Amelia dove into the closet again. “This is about getting out of our comfort zone, meeting a handsome man and letting him rock your world.”

Rolling her eyes, Brenda sat down on the corner of her bed. She wore a light robe and she’d already showered and blown her hair dry. She should have known Amelia would show up at the eleventh hour to help her get ready—and make sure she didn’t chicken out of the date. She couldn’t complain, the whole of the last year had taken Brenda out of her comfort zone and helped her confront her ghosts. “I could just—”

“No.” Amelia whirled away from the clothes and pointed a finger at her. “You are not going to cancel. I don’t care if we have to drive to the mall and go through every dress they have to find you the perfect outfit, but you’re
going
to go tonight. You are going to have mad sex with some stud, and you’re going to wake up tomorrow a new woman.” With her ice-blonde hair and cool blue eyes, Amelia looked as amazing as always. No one would ever know she was forty-nine and the mother of three. But, then, she swore it was a diet of healthy loving that kept her young.

Glancing away from the furious certainty in her expression, Brenda studied her own manicure. She’d chosen a dark burgundy, it was hardly her normal color—which was clear or the palest of pink. Wanting something bold, she’d gone for darker and added glitz to the injury, the manicurist had touched up her painted toes and nails with a glittery sheen. They sparkled.

I am way too old for this shit
. “Amelia….”

“No. You do not get to
Amelia
me.” Hands on her hips, Amelia wound up to a good temper. After thirty-seven years of friendship, Brenda knew all the signs. “Last year—on New Year’s Day, I rushed over here because you’d collapsed. If you don’t do this, I know I’m going to find you unconscious. Then I’ll have to cart you to the hospital. We are so over this—
he
wouldn’t want you to keep doing that to yourself. So tonight, tonight it’s a fresh start, a new man, a new way to be….”

The diatribe continued even as Amelia returned to the closet. The quaver underscoring the words and the sheen of tears stifled any further objection from Brenda. She’d agreed to apply to 1Night Stand after the second hospital trip, but she’d managed to delay half a year before Amelia sat her down in front of the computer and walked her through the process. What Amelia hadn’t realized was that second trip to the hospital scared the crap out of Brenda and she’d finally started seeing a therapist. When she’d applied for the 1Night Stand, she’d thought she’d been ready.