Unattainable (43 page)

“
How’s a list going to
help Charlotte fall in love with me?” I question him as he finds
what he’s looking for. He smoothes out a crumpled piece of paper on
my countertop and writes in big, bold letters across the top:
How to Make Charlotte Bang Me
.

“
That is so not the
purpose of this. I don’t want her to bang me,” I
complain.

Tyler stares at me with one eyebrow
raised.

“
Okay, fine!” I relent
after a few seconds of his stare-down. “That’s not the ONLY
purpose. I can’t just come right out and tell her I love her;
she’ll have a heart attack. We’ve known each other since birth and
this is going to come out of left field. I need to figure out a way
to ease her into it.”

Tyler sighs in annoyance and crosses
out the last part of the title and scribbles on the paper again. He
turns it around to show me.

How to Make Charlotte
Bang Me
Love Me. And Turn into a Giant
Pussy.

“
You’re such a
dick.”

Tyler shrugs. “Whatev. You’re still a
pussy. Okay, item number one…”

He pauses, tapping the end of the pen
against his chin while he thinks.

“
Ooooh, I’ve got it! Show
her your penis,” he says aloud as he writes on the
paper.

“
What?! No! That is not
going on the list,” I argue as I try to take the page from
him.

He jerks away, rolling his eyes at
me.

“
This is absolutely going
on the list. Chicks need to test out the merchandise before they
can make a decision. Do you honestly think she’s going to love you
if she thinks you might be harboring a pinky-peen in your
pants?”

There’s really no use in arguing with
him at this point. Tyler is going to do whatever the fuck he wants.
It’s best to just humor him. It’s not like I’m ever going to really
use the list so who cares?

“
Fine. But it’s not going
as number one.”

Tyler smiles in victory and crosses out
what he wrote, moving further down the page and rewriting it with a
number five in front of it.

“
There. Not at the top,
not at the bottom. It will give you plenty of time to work up to
the showing of the penis and then plenty of time to recover after
you show it to her and she starts rocking back and forth in the
corner, weeping silently.”

Reaching across the counter, I punch
him as hard as I can in the arm.

“
Fucker! I bruise easily!
What would Claire say if I told her you were abusing me?” Tyler
questions as he rubs the spot on his arm where my fist
connected.

“
Shut up about my
mother.”

“
No can do. She’s going to
be mine one day. You should just start calling me dad now,” he says
nonchalantly.

Ever since the day he met my
mother—naked—he’s been in love with her. For seven years I’ve had
to endure him leering at her, making inappropriate comments, and
imagining all the different ways my dad could die so he could
console the grieving widow.

“
I’m going to punch you
right in the ball sack if you don’t shut up,” I warn
him.

“
Don’t take that tone with
me, young man.”

I decide against beating the shit out
of Tyler at this time. The faster he makes this stupid list, the
faster he’ll go home—to his parents' basement where he currently
lives. No, I’m not kidding. He’s a walking, talking epitome of a
guy that refuses to grow up. He has a bachelor’s degree in Japanese
studies (a surefire way that he will never get a real job), works
part-time at The Gap, and has never had a serious
relationship.

Remind me again why I’m even thinking
of taking advice from him?

“
Okay, I’ve got a better
idea for number one. Go shopping with her.”

He writes out his new number one while
I stare at him questioningly. When he looks up after writing it
down, he stares at me like I’m an idiot.

“
Bro, chicks love
shopping. If you go and ooh and ahh over every pair of shoes she
picks up, you’ll be in her pants by the time you get to Auntie
Anne’s Pretzels,” he informs me.

I don’t even bother explaining to him,
yet again, that my main purpose in life isn’t to get in Charlotte’s
pants. Sure, it’s something I dream about. Well, wet dream about.
And the reason for my earlier Google search, but it’s not the
ultimate goal. I want her to love me. I want her to see me as
something other than a friend. I want her to realize that we’re
soul mates.

Fuck. Maybe I am getting my
period.

“
Alright, item number two.
Take her to The Cheesecake Factory,” he states as he continues to
write.

“
Why The Cheesecake
Factory?”

Tyler shrugs as he taps the pen against
the counter. “Chicks dig The Cheesecake Factory. It will show her
that you can be all fancy and shit. Oooooh, oooooh, oooooh! Tell
her she can order whatever she wants. That’s a total cool-guy
move,” he tells me excitedly.

Alright, so this isn’t too bad. I can
handle a day of shopping as long as I’m with Charlotte. And The
Cheesecake Factory is delicious.

“
What else?” I ask as I go
around the counter and stand next to him as he writes
furiously.

“
Dude, this is going to be
epic. I am such a fucking genius. You better name your first born
after me or something,” he tells me as he continues making the
list, quickly coming up with ten things that he swears will have
Charlotte in love with me by the time I finish all of them. We work
together, crossing things out and moving them around until we have
a pretty good list of things for me to do to win Charlotte
over.

I know I’m going to regret this.
Somehow, some way, this is all going to come back and bite me in
the ass, but I’m desperate. I know I’m a chickenshit and should
just come right out and tell her, but that’s not happening. This
needs to be handled delicately. Tyler is the only person who knows
how I feel about Charlotte. If anyone finds out about this before
I’m ready… Well, let’s just say having my mom tell my eighth grade
English teacher at conferences that when I was little I used to
walk around telling strangers my dad had a huge wiener will seem
like the best day of my life.

Yep, totally going to regret
this.

Copyright©2013

Chapter 1

Alex

"Shots! Shots! Shots!
Shots!"

It was all I heard as I threw back
tequila shot after tequila shot. My head was pounding with every
chant that left those fuckers' mouths, and I knew at any second I
was probably going to puke every ounce of that shit up, but through
the incessant bangs in my head I told myself not to give these
assholes the satisfaction. I would keep that shit down if it killed
me.

"Come on, Staff Sergeant select. Throw
'em back, motherfucker!"

God, I loved my brothers, but half the
time I hated them.

Like now.

Finding out I was selected to pick up
staff sergeant in the Marine Corps was not only a reason to
celebrate, but a reason to get downright trashed. These guys, my
brothers in arms, promised me from the second I received the good
news that tonight would be the night that I cleaned the bar out.
And by the looks of things, they weren't lying.

Coyotes was jam-packed. Not only was it
a Friday night, but with selection news being thrown around, and
being stationed in the fucking boonies of Twentynine Palms,
everybody had a reason to come out and party. This place was the
Marines hangout. There was always the Enlisted Club—or E-Club—on
base, but fuck it, we were too restricted there, and these fuckers
wanted to kill my liver tonight, so to town we went.

The usual suspects had packed the bar.
As always, there were the boot—the new Marines who waited every
payday to come blow their money on alcohol, only to have to sit in
their lonely-ass barracks rooms playing
Call of Duty
and
other simulated war shit when they ran out of money. Who was I to
stop them? They hadn't seen a lick of combat and wanted to live it
through their television screens. Have at it.

Then there were the military groupies,
tag chasers, or whatever name you felt like calling them. Yes, they
exist. All they want to do is fuck anything in uniform in hopes
that they can land themselves some benefits and a stay-at-home gig.
They scour military hangouts in military towns, and in Twentynine
Palms any bar is a military hangout. Normally, I steer clear of
these "ladies," but occasionally my weakness prevails and I end up
giving in, but I always protect my shit. Babies with one of these
types would be my worst nightmare come true.

Tonight they were all over the place.
Tiny miniskirts barely covering the cheeks of their ass, pieces of
material used to cover tits, and plenty of makeup, hoping to
attract some dude in need of a quick fuck with hidden, long-term
consequences. Most of them, in this town anyway, were divorced from
a Marine and hoped to nail another one. They disgusted me to no
end, but hey, sometimes I just needed a quick lay and if they were
available, why not?

Then, there were the guys like me. The
single Marines who had been around for a bit, just letting loose
and having a good time. Even if that fun meant I might end up in
the ER getting my stomach pumped, I didn't care. I was moving up
the ranks faster than I could have ever imagined.

When I set out to join the Marine
Corps, it was sheer luck that I got in, and it changed my life for
the better. My career in the Corps was owed to my recruiter who
worked tirelessly for me, pulling so many fucking strings. He made
sure that I knew that his name was on my shit and that he would
find me if I ever embarrassed him. I knew then that I had made the
right choice and that I wanted to uphold the Marine Corps mantra of
Honor, Courage, and Commitment. I've poured every ounce of my being
into my career; volunteering for combat deployments, leading junior
Marines, mentoring, and now teaching.

Being an instructor at the School of
Communications was not my dream assignment, but I took it in stride
because like anything with the Corps, they assign you where you're
needed. I knew that, and although it wasn't what I wanted, it was
where I was needed. So when the orders were passed down to me, I
packed up, shut my fucking mouth, and did what I was told to
do.

Picking up staff sergeant in just six
short years wasn't on my list of goals. I knew it could happen, but
I never expected it to happen. Now that it had, I was beyond
fucking thrilled and needed to party the way these assholes
intended because it was worth it. The pain and suffering I would
feel in the morning was well worth the bullshit I was putting my
body through tonight.

"This night is to Sergeant Alejandro
Cruz, staff sergeant select!" Riley shouted, throwing back another
shot. I took another, but winced as the burning liquid made its way
down. I was damn near sure that after fifteen of these little
shits, my insides were being singed with every drop.

Sergeant Christopher Riley, or Riley as
we called him, was one of the guys I had known the longest. I'd met
him in boot camp and instantly hated him. He was loud, goofy, and
always in my space. I'd grown up fighting guys like him, but after
our brawl in boot camp one night after the lights went out, I grew
to respect him. He was a skinny white boy, too pretty to be a
Marine, I thought, and even though I kicked his ass he held his own
and made me work for it. After that night, we actually forged a
friendship, eventually becoming roommates.

"I don't think I can take much more.
Fuck, you guys are killing me," I stammered out, half drunk, half
mortified. I didn't want to bitch, but I was beginning to feel the
effects of my limits being reached, and it wasn't shaping up to be
pretty.

"Fuck that. We're clearing this place
out tonight!" Jensen yelled, shoving another shot into my
face.

Brandon Jensen, Jensen for short, was
one of the first guys I met when I checked in to the comm school. I
instantly liked him, making him my roommate as well. He was a lot
like me. He loved the Corps, and it was evident in the way he
carried himself. He, unlike a lot of the guys I had run into over
the course of my six-year career, believed in the rules and
regulations and set out to uphold them at every turn. I quickly
realized that looking at Jensen was a lot like looking at myself
only he was taller, part Mexican with some black mixed in, and
probably a little more good-looking than I was. Chicks seemed to
flock to him, and while I caught my fair share, Jensen was like a
pussy magnet. They lined up, but he was always selective, which
made me respect him even more.

"Don't pussy out, Cruz. You've earned
this shit," Smith chimed in, patting me on the back.

"Yeah. Plus, you're paying for this, so
you better drink up," Newsome threw out, causing me to turn my
drunken gaze on him.

Part of me wanted to lunge across the
table at him, yet another part wanted me to sit my ass down since
my head was spinning out of control by this point. All liquor and
no food was making me feel like a lightweight. I hated it, but I
wasn't sure how much longer I could keep up the tough-guy
charade.