A Few Good Men (7 page)

Scowling, he logged off and decided he had been correct in his initial opinion. Pen pals were nothing but a nuisance.

Maureen leaned back from the laptop set up on her kitchen table and placed one hand over her pounding heart. Yup, she was sure, it was definitely beating faster than usual. It must be concern over Jazzy’s condition. That had to be it.

So then why did her breath catch in her throat each time the alert listing Staff Sergeant John Blake’s name popped up on her screen announcing a new email?

His emails were all serious and businesslike, so unlike Jazzy’s lighthearted banter. It was kind of sexy.

Jeez. She didn’t even know him. And how could emails sound sexy? This was bad. She could not possibly feel chemistry with a guy when the only contact she’d received from him was three emails—could she? It was impossible. It was crazy.

Besides, he could be married for all she knew.

Wait. Jazzy had pictures of the tank crew posted on his page on the support site. Maureen glanced quickly at the clock. She had the double date with Peter and she still had to find something to wear and put on makeup.

Ah, what the hell. She’d make it if she rushed.

Maureen logged onto the support site and pulled up the photo Jazzy had posted showing his crew in front of their tank. Pushing her coffee mug farther away, she leaned forward and squinted. Finally, she located the man whose uniform read
Blake
across his chest. Immediately she looked at his left hand.

No ring. That was a good sign, although she knew not all married men wore wedding rings.

She looked closer at the other men in the picture. There was no wedding ring on Jazzy’s hand either.

“Damn.” Her voice echoed through the empty apartment. This didn’t prove anything. They obviously didn’t wear rings while driving around in tanks or whatever else they did over there.

Maureen looked back at John and studied his face. Serious, just like his emails. Handsome though, from what she could see beneath the dirt and dust and the body armor that covered him practically from head to toe.

With a quick right-click of her mouse, Maureen set the picture as her desktop background, strictly so she could look at it and keep Jazzy in her mind while he recovered, she told herself.

With one more glance at the photo now installed on her screen, Maureen rose and took the last sip from her mug. Caffeinated coffee in the evening would normally be the last thing she would ever be drinking. But then again, she was usually in her pajamas by the six-o’clock news, working or writing her book in bed on her laptop. Not tonight though. Tonight she would have to be witty, charming, funny, beautiful, awake and wear something other than flannel pajamas. Oh joy.

The phone rang, and she’d barely said hello when Peter demanded, “Are you dressed yet?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Liar.”

She sighed. “I’m deciding what to wear.” She moved to her closet and slid open the door so it wouldn’t be a total lie.

“No, you’re procrastinating because although you asked me to—and I actually managed to—arrange for a pair of handsome eligible men willing to take the both of us out tonight, you don’t really want to go.”

“That’s not true.”

“Maureen—”

“Look. I do want to go. I just don’t know what to wear.” Good thing he couldn’t see her expression. A poker face she did not have.

Peter let out a frustrated and extremely loud sigh in Maureen’s ear. “Lucky for you, my fashion-challenged friend, you have me. Wear the wrap dress and your boots.”

She kicked her toe into the carpet and pouted. She wore that dress for work functions and stuff. “Really? I don’t think—”

“You’re going to disagree with
me
about
fashion
?”

“No, of course not. But do you really think the wrap dress is dressy enough?”

“Of course it is, don’t be silly. Besides, you have cleavage for days in that dress, and with your obvious attitude regarding this date tonight, you’ll need every advantage you can get.”

Maureen scowled. “Fine. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“I’ll see you here.”

“Oh, one more thing. What are the lucky dates’ names?” Maybe if she started trying to remember them now, she wouldn’t forget in the middle of dinner. That had happened to her once or twice already.

“Bruce and Wayne.”

Maureen started to giggle. “Are they picking up the Batmobile from the Batcave on the way over?” Sometimes too much caffeine made her more giggly than an excessive amount of alcohol. Apparently tonight was one of those times. She found herself wiping the tears of laugher from her eyes and trying to catch her breath.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Peter asked not so indulgently.

“You know…Bruce Wayne. Batman’s real name.”

“Ah, yes, Batman, the first gay superhero. How could I forget?” She heard his short laugh over the phone.

“Do you really think so? Mmm. You could be right. I’ve often wondered about the whole Batman-Robin relationship dynamic and the tights. Although Superman and Spiderman both wore those too.”

“Are you procrastinating getting dressed or are you really as enthralled with the fashion choices and sexual leanings of twentieth century superheroes as you seem?”

A little of both actually
. “Okay, I’m going. See you later.”

Chapter Six

“So, Bruce, Peter told me you enjoy musical theater. I’m so behind on seeing the new shows. Have you seen anything good lately?”

Bruce, who had just sipped delicately at his sickeningly sweet-looking green apple martini, fluttered his hand excitedly as he swallowed. “Actually, I have. Wayne and I got front row tickets to the new Nathan Lane show. Oh my God. I laughed so hard I thought I would pee my pants. Wasn’t that right, Wayne?”

Bruce slapped Wayne’s arm playfully to get his attention, which elicited a dramatic eye roll in response. “You have to understand, Maureen. Bruce practically pees his pants at every show he sees. I nearly bought him adult diapers as a birthday gift.”

Bruce scowled. “So anyway, our friend is in the chorus of the new show Disney has on Broadway and has tons of connections. If you need tickets for anything, just give me or Wayne a call.”

She might actually take Bruce up on that offer. Maureen caught Peter’s eye and smiled. She was having a great time. She would freely admit that to him later.

The trendy new restaurant was the hottest ticket in town at the moment, and Wayne had managed to get them not only reservations but also a great table—one right in the front bay window that overlooked the bustling city street outside. The food was fabulous. Wayne knew the chef personally and ordered for them all, which on a normal date would have pissed her off, but for some reason it didn’t this time because she loved everything he ordered for her.

However, there was one problem with this whole scenario, quite an insurmountable one, and that was that Wayne was Peter’s gay date and
Bruce
was her supposedly straight one. Everyone at the table of four seemed to know he was gay except for Bruce himself.

If the goal for the evening had been to find a man who was easy to talk to, funny and enjoyed what she did, then the evening could be considered a resounding success. Since she already had Peter for all of that and the goal had been to find the love of her life, or a guy she could date or at least sleep with for a while… Well, it was obvious that was not happening tonight.

“Can I get anyone anything else?”

The waiter standing next to Maureen knocked her out of her ponderings. She glanced sideways at him, getting an eyeful of a tight young ass in black polyester. Her gaze traveled upward to his face. Too young. Way, way too young. She stifled a sigh at herself for even considering it, but she was truly getting tired of battery-operated sex.

“Oh my God, no. I couldn’t eat another bite.” Bruce rubbed his perfectly flat belly.

“I’ll take the check.” Wayne picked up the leather folder from the waiter’s hand and shoved in his gold card without even asking for her or Peter’s share of the bill.

A nice meal for which she didn’t have to pay, and there were no demands made on her sexually by any of the three gay men—in fact not one of them even glanced at her cleavage. They actually spoke while looking at her eyes. It was a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant.

Maureen hadn’t had a night this nice in a long time. Yet sadly, it just reinforced her original assertion, the one that had led them to this great dating experiment in the first place—all the good ones were gay or in the military.

After dinner, the two dropped Peter and Maureen off at Peter’s building and drove merrily off in a whirlwind of show tunes on the CD player in the car.

Maureen smiled all the way to Peter’s apartment. He closed and locked the door behind them and turned to her. “Go on. Get it all out. I know. I screwed up.”

Maureen threw herself on the couch, finally allowing herself to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Peter scowled, obviously not sharing the humor of the events, which seemed so obvious to Maureen.

“Come on, Peter. Lighten up. Besides, who knows what my picks for next week will bring. Coming from Tiffany’s little black book, they could be anything. And Bruce really was nice, once again proving my theory—”

“That all the good men are gay. I know. I know. Well, I do agree with you there. But Bruce was supposed to be straight. He asked Wayne to find him a woman
and
he was married for ten years, for God’s sake.” He finished the sentence as he helped pull off her boots and then plopped down on the couch with her feet in his lap.

“It took his wife ten years to figure out he was gay and divorce him? What the hell took her so long? The love of musical theater and impeccable fashion sense weren’t enough of a clue?”

Peter shook his head. “Sweetie, you’d be surprised at how many
straight
married men I’ve met who are looking for action. They come to the bars and think no one will notice the minivan with the car seat parked outside. And in Bruce’s wife’s defense, they must have been having sex. They’ve got a kid together.”

Maureen shook her head. Maybe being single wasn’t so bad after all if your husband could turn out to be gay after ten years of marriage. Or
straight
and going to gay bars. She didn’t know which was worse. “So, are you going to see Wayne again?”

“Maybe.” Peter began to absently massage her feet, making her eyes roll back in her head.

With her head lolling against the arm of the couch, she managed to open her eyes. “Why only maybe? He was nice.”

He crinkled his nose and shrugged. “I didn’t like how he ordered for us all at the restaurant. And then how he paid for everyone. That have-to-be-in-control-of-everything attitude pisses me off.”

Maureen giggled. “You and I are so alike sometimes it’s scary.”

“Is this where you start complaining that if I were straight all your problems would be solved because we could just get married?” He raised a brow in her direction.

She narrowed her eyes at him even though those words had come out of her mouth on more than one occasion. “No, there is going to be room for only one bitchy woman in my marriage, whenever that happens, and I will be it.”

He laughed. “You got that right, sister.”

Maureen whacked him in the head with a throw pillow. “Hey. Are you insulting me?”

“No. Would I do that? Come on. Time for bed. You need your beauty sleep, and there will be breakfast and mimosas bright and early in the morning.” He dumped her legs off his lap and stood.

“Mmm.” In anticipation of that yummy breakfast, she let the insult of the beauty-sleep comment go, lazily getting up from the couch herself.

“You are so easily bought with food.” Shaking his head, Peter turned toward his own bedroom saying, “Sleep well,” as he disappeared.

She definitely would sleep well for lack of anything better to do. She would not be dreaming of Bruce, that was for certain. Maybe of mimosas and eggs benedict…or perhaps a certain serious tank commander over in Iraq.

By the time Peter walked into the living room the next morning, Maureen was already engrossed on the computer.

“What are you doing up so early and on my computer no less? Having soldier withdrawal? Have to log in and cry over some more emails?”

She frowned. “First of all, stop being so mean to me before I’ve even had any coffee. Second, I am not logging in to see my emails. I—well, Summer—is starting a blog on my website.”

What she didn’t tell him was that she had checked her email an hour before and there was nothing good there, at least nothing from John Blake. She definitely was not going to tell Peter that she had written him a quick email anyway, asking him about Jazzy and then telling him how they were having some unseasonably warm weather here in New York and the early spring flowers were already starting to pop up. She always liked to give the deployed troops a little taste of home.

After a quick glance at the monitor that showed only her blog screen, Peter seemed satisfied she was telling the truth and made his way to the kitchen. “You could have made yourself coffee, you know.”