Course, half the women in the bar are wearing them, too, which makes it really fucking hard to concentrate every time someone decides to bend over.
And dear god in heaven, thank you for the women who decided tonight was laundry night.
“You’re drooling.” Kelsey Ryder doesn’t even blink as she reaches across me for the Patron bottle.
She has no idea what the sight of the lotus tattoo on her lower back does to me. And I’ll never tell her.
I lost that chance in the bleeding deserts of Iraq.
I look away and focus on the here and now of pouring drinks and pretending we never knew each other before we both started working at The Pint.
“So are you.” She pats my cheek like I’m some kind of neutered puppy.
“Yeah, well, I would say you’re welcome but I’m not sure Eli is happy with the results of tonight’s special event.” Kelsey tosses back her own shot before pouring a line of twelve shots, all in a row.
“Why would he be upset? This shit is practically printing money.”
Eli is the owner of The Pint and sometimes, he’s fucking weird. Like tonight, for example.
Half the crowd is wearing Vineyard Vines and Sperrys. The other half is literally wearing combat boots and Ranger Panties. There is some mixing but for the most part, the military folks are on one side of the bar, laughing and getting tanked and the college crowd are doing an ethnography of military bar stories, watching warily from a distance, like they’re afraid one of the vets is going to snap and shoot the place up.
This is fine, I’m sure. Like what could possibly go wrong?
As long as no one calls someone else a fucking moron, we should be okay.
But it’s a bar. And despite our efforts, there is a schism down the middle of our space, one that I’m not sure how to heal.
Technically, it’s not my job to heal anything. That’s Eli. Everyone’s favorite Boy Scout who looks like a Hell’s Angel.
Unlike me, who looks like an angel and raises holy hell whenever I get the urge.
The music shifts from something pulsing and intense to smooth country.
And this is how our night ends, ladies and gentlemen.
In the middle of a bar fight about what music should be played, Kelsey shuffles into the space between the combatants and starts to dance.
And I mean really dance.
Her hips sway to the music, her eyes close. Her lips part just a little.
Enough to lure one of the Sperrys to move in behind her, his hand sliding down her hip, his body moving in sync with hers like they’ve done this before. Her tank slides higher, revealing the ink that spreads out around her waist.
It’s enthralling, watching her move. Watching her lose herself in the feel of someone else’s body against hers, the smooth slide of his hands down her flesh, drawing her closer.
I’m not the only one captured by the erotic duo. The smooth slow country continues and slowly, the tension in the bar dissipates, replaced by sensual energy from people daring to cross the gap and make that most elemental human connection.
And I feel suddenly, starkly, alone.
Just like always.
A Message from Jessica Scott
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About the Author
Jessica Scott is an Iraq war veteran, an active duty army officer and the USA Today bestselling author of novels set in the heart of America’s Army. She is the mother of two daughters, three cats and three dogs, and wife to a retired NCO.
She’s also written for the New York Times At War Blog, PBS Point of View Regarding War, and IAVA. She deployed to Iraq in 2009 as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF)/New Dawn and has had the honor of serving as a company commander at Fort Hood, Texas twice.
She holds a Ph.D. in morality in Sociology with Duke University and she’s been featured as one of Esquire Magazine’s Americans of the Year for 2012.
Photo: Courtesy of Buzz Covington Photography
After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL Page 21
