The Elite: The Complete Series of Boomer and Player (With Bonus) (66 page)

“See? That right there is the exact reason why I don’t want to do this.”

“Other than the fact that you think it’s encroaching upon your planned night of skirt chasing?” Jack interjected, flashing me a dark smile.

Okay, he had a point. That wasn’t helping my irritation levels either. It had been way too long since I’d had any female company and there was only so much satisfaction I could eek out on my own. And even that was a chore since I shared a bathroom and sleeping quarters with three other dudes.

“Yes, besides that.” I kicked off my boots and shoved them under the edge of my bunk. “Because my dad is who he is, I can already tell you exactly how this is going to go. As soon as anyone finds out my last name, their first question is going to be if there’s any relation, and after that’s confirmed they are going to do one of two things. One, they’ll tell me some story about a time when they met my dad, or a friend of theirs met my dad, or some bullshit like that. As if it has anything to do with me. Or two, they’ll assume I only got to where I am because of him, and they’ll automatically write me off like I rode coattails all the way here.

“So, yes, to answer your question, of course I’d rather be out having fun. So sue me.” My piece said, I propped my feet up against the frame of my bunk and reclined back, crossing my arms above my head to create a makeshift pillow.

“I don’t get you, man.”

I rolled my eyes towards him. “What?”

“You don’t want to look like you rode coattails to get here, so you don’t want to make a big splash by throwing your dad’s name around, but at the same time, you don’t want to play the social game to make your own name and reputation for yourself that’s separate from your old man.” Jack shrugged. “Just seems to me you can’t have it both ways.”

“I just want to fly, man. That’s it. I’m not here to climb the ladder and make headlines. I just want to do my job and be the best one out there. What my squad thinks of me is way more important than the dickheads who watch from behind some desk.”

Jack nodded, his expression unreadable. We hadn’t talked about it specifically, but as I studied him, I wondered if maybe he was the type to want to climb the ladder.

“What about you? You gonna be one of the ass-kissers in there tonight?” I asked him.

“Wasn’t planning on it. I’d like a little time away from all this just as much as you,” Jack smiled as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Luckily for you—while I tend to play by the rules—that also means that I’ve gotten very skilled at finding loopholes.”

“Go on.” I mirrored his smile, floored by the spark of mischief in his eyes. He had a plan.

“The captain only said that we had to be present, in our dress blues—” he gave a pointed look at my still closed footlocker before continuing, “—he didn’t say anything about the dinner afterward. So what that tells me, is that as long as we make our appearance, shake a few hands, hobnob a little, then we can get the hell out of there and nobody will complain. Besides, if your doom and gloom predictions prove to be true, everyone will be too busy kissing ass and name dropping anyway. No one will even know we’re gone.”

I sat up, narrowly avoiding hitting my head on the bunk above mine, and grinned over at Jack. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Jack laughed and pulled his shirt off over his head, his dogtags tinkling, as he tossed it to the side. “The sooner you change, the sooner we can go see and be seen, and make a quick exit.”

That was all the motivation I needed.

I pushed off the edge of my mattress and went to my own footlocker, which was in a woefully different state than Jack’s. It took more than a little digging just to reach the bottom where I stashed my dress blues several months ago. The last time I’d worn them was at the graduation ceremony from OCS (Officers Candidate School). As I lifted the crumpled suit, a flood of memories swallowed me up.

Despite my resistance to certain aspects of being a sailor, it was in my blood. It always had been. I’d spent my entire childhood and teenage years living on different naval bases, where my heroes weren’t the latex wearing cartoons on TV. They were real, living men who cast larger than life shadows. They saved lives, traded their time and energy in service of their country, and were willing to lay down their own lives for strangers they’d never even meet.

Aside from the few years when I’d been pissed at the world, I’d always planned on enlisting as soon as I was able.

Standing in front of the crowd on graduation day, receiving my pin, and reciting my commitment to service was a day I’d never forget. The event itself had passed in a blur, a flurry of activity, and a lot of the smaller moments of the day were now jumbled up and ran together in my mind, but the one moment that rose above the others, like a pinnacle, was the look in my dad’s eyes as he stood to salute me after I received my rank pin.

He was so proud of me.

And in that moment, I realized that even if I never received a medal of honor, or walked away with some massive battle scar, or an impressive tale of heroism—it wouldn’t matter—because my old man would be there, proud of me every step of the way.

“Come on, Rosen,” Jack prodded, breaking through my cheesy moment of sentiment. “That suit’s not gonna iron itself.”

I glared up at him as I lifted off the balls of my feet to full standing height. “Don’t be such a nag, McGuire.”

Jack grinned. “Then move your ass, Rosen.”

We laughed and I pushed him out of the way to take over the ironing board he’d set up to get the kinks worked out of his own dress blues. He changed as I went to work on my suit—wishing I’d thought ahead and had it dry cleaned—and twenty minutes later, we were both dressed, and walking out the doors.

“You know,” I started, looking over at Jack, and then back at myself. “We look pretty good like this. Maybe we should keep these on when we go out tonight.”

Jack laughed. “That hardly seems fair to the ladies. They wouldn’t have a chance at resisting us.”

I grinned. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Chapter Two

The ceremony turned out to be far more tolerable than I’d anticipated. The introductions and speeches were short, succinct, and to the point. In less than an hour, the room was dismissed to the adjoining banquet hall, where to my delight, I spotted an open bar. “Maybe this’ll be more fun than I thought after all,” I said, turning, expecting Jack to be at my side.

Instead, I found him half a dozen paces away, in full networking mode. I rolled my eyes. So much for our plan. He had two officers pulled into a conversation with him and as I approached, I caught hints of their conversation, which sounded incredibly boring. I flashed a tight smile at the trio and told Jack, “I’ll be at the bar.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and made my way across the room. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe it was odd that I’d chosen the life of an officer when I didn’t want anything to do with the politics and networking of it all. My passion was rather singular—I loved to fly. I’d started taking pilot lessons at age twelve and received my license the day I turned seventeen. Receiving my pilot’s license was more important than even getting my drivers’ license the year before. It was an addiction.

Even when I’d been mad at the world—the Navy included—I still wanted to fly. To me, there were no other careers or directions that made sense for my life. Sure, I could’ve gone a more traditional route, and turned my passion for flying into a career as a commercial pilot. I’d get to fly nearly every day. See the world.

And undoubtedly bang a lot of big-assed stewardesses.

But that didn’t hold the same appeal as flying for something bigger, a larger purpose, and while I might not always like the politics of being an officer, I knew that for me it’d be the best way to serve my country and follow my passion.

And hell, I
still
managed to bang a lot of big-assed stewardesses.

I approached the bar and ordered a finger of whiskey. I dropped a couple of bills in the tip jar and then took the tumbler over to a nearby table and dropped into a cloth-covered seat. From my vantage point, I could watch everyone play in the piranha pit, without ever having to partake.

If nothing else, it made for good people watching.

I took a sip from my glass, letting the whiskey warm a path all the way to my gut. I could barely remember the last time I’d had a good, stiff drink. Some guys had smuggled in a few six packs over the course of flight school, but no one had managed to get their hands on the good stuff. I needed to make it last. I set the glass down on the table and lazily swirled the contents as I scanned the room. It was somewhat of a mixed group. Most of the people in attendance were Naval Officers and we were all dressed in identical suits. However, some of them had their spouses with them, and as civilians, they were dressed in evening wear. The men in navy or black suits, and the women in fancy dresses and gowns. There didn’t appear to be any children there.

All in all, it was quite the shindig.

I flicked my eyes back to Jack. Great. He was talking with his hands. He only did that when he was really fired up about something.

At this rate we were never going to get out in time to make a trip off base—our first since flight school had started.

As I was mentally plotting exit strategies to get Jack out of his debate, I felt someone swoop behind me. I craned around in my seat and saw the Command Master Chief Petty Officers from the base was coming to the table, drink in hand, and his eyes found the empty seat next to mine. “You need a seat, Master Chief?”

“Thanks.” He set his matching glass on the table and sat in the offered seat. “I hate these things.”

My eyebrow raised, surprised by his bold statement.

The Master Chief chuckled at my change in expression. “At least they thought ahead enough to have an open bar, huh?”

I laughed and raised my glass to his. “Amen to that.”

We each took a drink and as I set my now empty glass back on the table, I spotted the rows of bars on his chest and gold hash marks down his sleeve. “That’s a lot of stripes there, Master Chief. How many years you been doing this?”

“Eighteen. You?”

“Just about to graduate from flight school.”

“Good for you, young man. You’ve got your whole career ahead of you, sir. The name is Mitchell, Henry Mitchell.”

He offered me a hand and I shook it, with a chuckle. “You’ve got a whole James Bond thing going there.”

Master Chief Mitchell dropped his head back and laughed. “Kid, when you’ve been in this man’s Navy eighteen years, sometimes you forget you even have a first name.”

I laughed and nodded along. I’d been raised on naval bases, so for me, last names only were as natural as breathing, but for new candidates who hadn’t been submersed in it, it took a little getting used to. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Aaron Rosen,” I introduced myself, before dropping the handshake.

The Master Chief’s expression shifted, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Here it comes. “You James Rosen’s son?”

I was gonna need a second round. “Yes, I am.”

Master Chief Mitchell nodded. “Your father’s a good man. Had the pleasure of meeting him a couple of times.”

“Thank you, Master Chief.”

“He’s out now, right? Finally retired?”

“That’s right. He retired about a year ago. These days he’s content to be a beach bum over in California.”

He roared with laughter again, obviously thinking I was joking.

“Only halfway true,” I added. “He actually opened a small museum, featuring some of the vintage planes he’s purchased over the years. The land was in our family for a while, so for the last three years he’s been building the house and airstrip and just in the last six months got the warehouse space to showcase his planes. It’s kind of the hobby at the moment but knowing my dad, he’ll turn it into something even bigger over the next few years.”

We talked shop over our second round. I didn’t mind talking to him about my father or his career. Mostly because I didn’t get the vibe that he was trying to wow me or dig for information. He struck me as the kind of man who had built a strong, but understated legacy and was content with that. As I was giving him the rundown of specs from my father’s last purchase, an old Grumman Bearcat, all the energy in the room changed and swept through the room, followed quickly by a murmur of excited whispers. I tracked the attention of those nearby and spotted the source of the sudden excitement.

Admiral Westerfield, the guest of honor, had the central place at the head table. Throughout the dinner his table had been flooded by a steady stream of well-wishers and I hadn’t noticed the place beside him had been left vacant. However, at some point in the last half a minute, a smoking hot blonde in a green evening dress had taken the empty seat.

And she had nearly every eye in the room focused on her.

Beside me, Master Chief Mitchell gave a low chuckle. “Oh boy,” he said, an amused look on his face. “You want some cheap entertainment, Rosen? You got it right here. Most every guy in here is gonna be trying to get her attention for the rest of the night.”

He was right. I could see it already starting to unfold as the men sitting at a nearby table turned their attention on the blonde. Even some of the older officers—who most of whom had their wives sitting beside them—couldn’t seem to help themselves from sneaking a peek.

“Who is she? I sincerely hope that’s not the Admiral’s wife.” The blonde couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. I’d have been shocked if she was legally able to drink.

“No,” Master Chief Mitchell replied with a laugh. “It’s his daughter. Wendy. I didn’t think she’d make it tonight. She’s a student at Ole Miss, but any time she comes to one of these things this is pretty much what happens,” he finished, gesturing at a cluster of men who could barely keep their tongue from hanging out of their mouths.

Not that I can blame them. The girl was gorgeous. Even from across the room, I could see her bright blue eyes, and her dark, sultry makeup. Her blonde hair was hanging loose—practically begged to be tugged on. And while her dress was likely modest looking dangling on a hanger, when wrapped around her luscious curves, it became downright sinful.