21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (38 page)

God, she loved Stormer. The woman approached every issue in pure black and white. “You’re still not getting details about the sex. But yeah—” She attributed the heat on her cheeks to the sun overhead. Her physical therapy had ended twenty minutes before, and she kicked back in her wheelchair outside the center. She’d sent a text to Logan that she was done, and he promised he was on his way. It seemed weird that he wasn’t right there when she finished as he had been every other time. “They’re probably the only really awesome part of this crap.”

“Bed rest in air conditioning with real coffee and hot guys—gotta say I’m not really feeling your pain.”

Jazz laughed. She pictured Stormer’s eyes crossing as she delivered that line. “Mocking the wounded is not an honorable pastime.”

“True. But neither is telling me you have problems choosing which guy to fuck.”

Point taken
.

“Miss you.”

“Yeah, me, too. Oh, look. New girl is back and she forgot her helmet…again.” The long suffering sigh carried a wicked sense of humor. “And there she goes back to her locker. Point goes to her, she got the message without having to be told.”

“Don’t get dead, Mary.” She was reluctant to hang up, but those few minutes brightened the pall on her self-pity.

“Right back atcha.”

The phone clicked as she hung up, and Jazz stared at it. It sucked for her friends to be there, when she couldn’t cover their backs. Knowing they hadn’t been injured in the attack saved her sanity. Learning that most of the girls they’d talked to that day, including little Anoonseh, signed up for the next batch of classes almost made it worth it. They’d been furious on her behalf—furious and grateful. Anoonseh’s mother even sent a private message of thanks, which Stormer relayed to her along with the news that she was going to take classes with her daughter.

She’d made a difference. It wasn’t as much as she wanted it to be, but she had done it. She clung to that.

“Jasmine Winters?” A delicate, feminine voice intruded and she glanced up into the single, most cheerful smile she’d ever seen. A stunning blonde in jeans and a loose blousy shirt stood in front of her, sunglasses perched on her head like a headband. “I’m Lauren Kincaid.”

“James’ Lauren?” She accepted the beautifully manicured hand stretching out to take hers and shook it.

“Yes, I am.” The woman’s smile increased, if that were possible, and she radiated good cheer and positive health. Dazzled by the wattage, Jazz smiled back. “I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since the boys brought you up at dinner a few months ago. But James insisted I wait until you had some recovery time. He thinks I bulldoze every situation. Which is true, but sometimes it takes a good bulldozer to plow through the bullshit. You know what I mean?”

“Actually, yes, I do. It’s nice to meet you. I think Zach mentioned you in a letter—or maybe it was Logan? They were impressed with James’ ability to land a ‘movie babe.’” Probably not the most complimentary way of putting it, but Lauren laughed.

“I am the one who totally got lucky. Anyway, not that I can’t talk about James all day, but I’m actually here to pick you up.”

“Me?” Jazz frowned. Logan might be running late—a first—but she didn’t recall making any other plans. A frisson of fear struck sparks against her gut. Was she still losing time? She didn’t think she had in the last couple of weeks.

“Yes, and before you start worrying you forgot something, this is totally spontaneous. I was walking James to his office when we ran into the guys. They were on their way here and mentioned you. I am seriously in need of a manicure and some pampering, so I thought to myself what better way to get to know you than to invite you along?” She waved a clearly-not-in-need-of-a-manicure hand for emphasis. “I have this great place I go to, we can get massages, some mani-pedis, and they’ll serve us lunch to boot. Say yes? I don’t have a lot of girlfriends here to do this with except for Rebecca, and she’s neck deep in wedding planning. I’d rather have a mud facial than be up to my armpits in taffeta.”

Everything about the glowing woman from her glossy blonde locks pulled back in a casual ponytail, to her sparkling sandals framing bright red toenails was like being struck blind by a hurricane of cheer. “Okay, I need to call the guys….”

“Nope. No need. I told them I’d take you back to the apartment if you said no, so you’re free.” She cocked her head, sweeping a completely nonjudgmental look over her appearance. “Unless you want to change. I didn’t think about the fact that you worked out. I have some things that might fit then we can play a little dress up while we’re at it.”

Dazed by the effervescence, Jazz laughed again. “No, I’m good. I actually managed to use one of the showers in the center.”

“Perfect! Are you good to go or do I get to push? I warn you, I will make back up beeps if we have to turn around.”

The complete impudence in the tease tickled Jazz’s funny bone. “I think I got this. Where are you parked?”

Jazz relaxed. The masseuse turned out to be in the Air Force reserve and understood the physical therapy she was undergoing. Ninety minutes of toning massage later, she felt better than she had in weeks. Amber dug her thumbs and elbows into knots along Jazz’s spine, triggering pressure points that hurt like a bitch at first, but when they let go, she thought she’d peed.

By the time she poured off the table and they wheeled her out to the mani-pedi room, she felt almost human. Amber wrapped her head in a warm towel, covering the scars and the spiky stubble length of her hair. It was growing back, very, very slowly. Jazz maneuvered onto the pedi chair without any assistance. Amber, bless her, stayed close but somehow managed not to hover.

“I am in love with this spa.” Lauren occupied the opposite chair, her hair pulled up into a ponytail at the back of her head. A Marine green headband held the tendrils off her scrubbed face.

“It’s pretty nice.” It was more than nice. The spa seemed to cater every need a woman might have from hair to body massage.

“I was thinking facials after this, are you doing okay for that?” Lauren’s bright and sunny personality steam rolled over any possible objections, so Jazz just smiled.

“Sure.” Of course, it occurred to her that she didn’t have her wallet or a way to pay. Straightening in the chair, she glanced down at the petite Asian woman who turned on the water and warm jets.

“Don’t worry about it” Lauren interrupted her before she could protest. “Membership has its privileges.”

“You’re very good at that.” Jazz leaned back again and sighed as her feet settled into the warm water.

“Which
that
are we discussing?” Lauren inspected the pink polish on her nails. “Does this look too Pepto to you?”

“No, they look more delicate that that. Pepto kind of screams at you.” The bizarre conversation added another layer of surreal to the early afternoon escape. The first was the conspicuous absence of the guys. A hollow ache wrapped around her heart. They hadn’t called either. Maybe Logan more than got her message the night before—even though they’d had sex—mind blowing sex. She didn’t know who to choose or even how.

But God, she didn’t want to lose them. It hurt.

“Good. So what were you saying?” Lauren dragged her back to the presence. The pedicurist slathered warm wax on her legs and she glanced down.

“You seem very confident in your ability to get your way. You make a decision and everyone rushes to comply. Even me, apparently.” The last words rode a droll and dry note. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Are you sure? It sounded a bit like a complaint.” The blonde squinted and wrinkled her nose, but her smile never faltered.

“I’m positive. It never occurred to me to do this. Amber is an amazing masseuse. I’m feeling pretty good…ow!” She jerked her gaze down to the pedicurist who was not working on Jazz’s feet, but waxing her legs. “A little warning next time.”

A shiver of déjà vu raced up her spine. She’d done this before. In Las Vegas, the day she met them, she’d spent an entire day in a spa. She’d been plucked, plumped, primped and primed for her night. She’d walked down that long hallway from the elevator to the hotel room in a cloud of femininity. She’d wanted to feel sexy and like a woman. The spa helped.

Zach and Logan did the rest.

“Jazz?” Lauren’s voice penetrated the haze of pleasure the memory evoked, and she focused on the present.

“I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Tell her if it hurts too much. I know you’ve been stuck in the hospital or at the PT center. I figured the whole female package would enjoy a little pampering.” The woman’s frankness was absolutely priceless. “But you push back anytime you think we’re going across the line.”

“I will. To be honest…I think I did need this. It’s not the first thing that occurs to me.” And it wasn’t. Her mother despaired of her as a teen when she preferred the rough sports to more girly activities. She’d barely done more than pony tail her hair for prom, and she spent her eighteenth birthday with the Marine recruiter, signing paperwork. The only thing standing between her and Parris Island had been her high school graduation.

She belonged to the Marines. She found a strength and a purpose with her brothers and sisters- in-arms that she’d found nowhere else.

Except Las Vegas…and you didn’t even realize they were Marines
…. Her heart twinged. She’d loved being with them, loved it so much that she’d nearly been late to her meeting to re-sign her contract. She loved it so much that she’d actually hesitated to re-sign.
I never told them that. I had lunch with them after, but I never told them I almost didn’t do it. They never asked me not too either. They asked me to keep in touch. They wanted to visit on my leaves. They wanted to know where I would be assigned, and they knew what questions to ask. But they never asked me to not be me
.

She barely noticed the waxing as the woman finished, or when she started on her toenails. Her mind whirled with information. The lonely ache in her soul intensified. Every time a door opened, she glanced up, half-expecting to see them. Either. Both. But they didn’t come.

Two hours later, she reclined in yet another chair with goop on her face to open her pores and repair the skin. The technician performing the facial clucked over her, equal parts admiration for her skin tone and admonishment for not taking better care of it. Jazz didn’t laugh. She’d chosen the same red for her nails she’d worn in Vegas. It wasn’t regulation. She should have chosen clear, but the first time she saw that red peeking out of the manicurist basket, she’d wanted it.

It would be better if she planned to put on that sassy black dress, but it was packed away at her mom’s. She could call her, but what would she say.
Hey mom, I know I’m still learning this walking thing, but I want to dress up and get laid. You know like that Vegas trip you bought me?

Yeah, no
.

Her mother worried enough about her. She loved her mom. They may not always have understood each other or been on the same page, but her mother never made her feel bad about her choices. Not even when that choice included two men. Pastor Robbie wouldn’t feel the same way, nor would most of the members of her mother’s church. Hell, if she couldn’t reconcile the idea that she loved two men, wanted both, and desired a way to be with the two of them forever, how would anyone else?

But what if it isn’t forever
? The tiny note of self-doubt crept out of the shadows of her soul.
What if this is a fling
?
I’m assuming they’re looking at forever, too. But two guys don’t plan to be with the same woman for the long term, no matter how great they are. Logan said he wasn’t jealous of Zach, but what happens when—if I get pregnant
?
That changes things. Do I want to get pregnant
?

The thought made her feel vaguely ill. Children, like marriage, were concepts she’d put off to a nebulous future. When she completed her military service, or at least until the action in Afghanistan and Iraq abated. Not that there seemed to be a long-term end coming anytime soon.

“You realize the point of this, the dark room, the mood music, the treatments—it’s to wind down. Not wind up, right?” Lauren chided her in a hushed voice. “I can hear you thinking from here.”

They were alone in the facial room, their treatments working while wind chimes and ocean waves accompanied a soft piano concerto. Jazz barely noticed the music until Lauren brought it up. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt alone enough in my head to think things through.”

“Hmm, too much background noise. Recovery. Doctors. Nurses. Physical therapists. Hot guys. I imagine that’s pretty overwhelming. I feel that way a lot when I’m on set. I have to pack Lauren away and immerse myself in the character or I’ll go crazy. It’s worse at big events or when there’s a huge press presence. You can’t frown thinking about something, whether it’s the picture or if you’ve paid your electrical bill, because someone snaps a shot and begins to speculate—usually wildly speculate.” No self-pity presented itself in her words, just simple acceptance of her life. “James isn’t particularly fond of the press part, but he’s amazing when we have to do it. He gives them this stern, firm look and they back up obediently. Marines are so sexy.”

Jazz teetered on the edge of laughter, but her chuckle echoed with unshed tears, and she blinked rapidly to force them back. “The guys are great. They have been more than great. They stuck around even when I gibbered like a gibbon. They take care of me. They bathe me. They feed me. They drive me to all my appointments. They’re great.”

Pushy Lauren returned. “But?”

“It’s not worth complaining about.” They weren’t screwing anything up. She was.

“Of course it is. I don’t care how much someone loves you. If they hover, it can get annoying. Those guys are good looking men, you don’t want to look like a patient to them or someone they have to take care of, you want to be sexy and attractive.” Score another point to the bubbly blonde. Her cheerful attitude disguised a very sharp and observant mind.