“She’s gorgeous. She’s a model and she likes you. What’s the problem?”
“I think she comes from a lot of money.”
Thane threw back a swig. “So what? Because you don’t, you figure you have no right to like her? That’s fucked up.”
“Easy for a guy to say when he grew up with an Olympic-size swimming pool in his back yard.”
Thane gripped his shoulder. “Weren’t you the guy who just finished several weeks of fucking shit and abuse in BUD/S with me? Pretty sure you were right beside me when we learned mind over matter, mind over everything. So get your fucking mind square, Pat. She likes you. You like her. Simple math. Do her and get her out of your system. We’ve got SQT’s in a month. Your focus has to be on point.”
Thane wandered back toward the table. Marg wasn’t the type of girl you got out of your system. He could go back to the table and let the brunette with the doe-eyes, who kept sending looks his way, pick him up. These women had junior Frog Hogs written all over them.
The guys were new to all this, but these women saw them as easy pickings and chased the team guys for recognition. They had invisible belts and each SEAL they fucked, punched another name in their holster. His name graced a few too many.
Choices, he always had them. Least Marg thought so. He could go home to find his mother reading in her favorite chair and his father gone for the night, or he could grow a pair and call Marg and apologize. He pulled a quarter from his pocket and walked out the front door of the shithole that reeked of stale beer.
The bright pink neon “open” sign hung half kilter. He stepped out of the way of two SEALs he recognized from the base who headed into the dungeon of a bar. They didn’t acknowledge him. He and the rest of the guys from BUD/S weren’t SEALs yet, they were new guys, and they’d stay that way until they had the Budweiser and not until they’d proven themselves in the field, but right now, he needed to prove himself to Marg.
Gripping the folding glass door, he yarded it open and stepped into the phone booth. After her answering machine kicked in, he hung up. He knew damn well she’d gone out with whomever had been downstairs at her condo.
It bothered him.
A lot.
“Hi,” he heard a soft voice from behind him. The cute little brunette looked nervously at him when he turned. “I’m Theresa.”
“Hey. I’m Patrick.”
“I was leaving and saw you here.” She shrugged. “Thought I’d stop and say hi.”
“Not staying with your friends?”
She shook her head. “They’re new friends and I just….” She shrugged again. “I’m not really into hanging around grungy bars.”
“Don’t blame you.” He chuckled.
“I live in the Heights. Taking the bus from here means walking in the dark. My parents would flip out if they knew.”
“Where do you live?” Not everybody who grew up in the Heights were crooks or sluts, and Theresa seemed like a sweetheart.
“On Landis St, across from Rosa Parks Elementary.”
“Did you go to school there?”
“Yeah, we’ve lived there since I was five.”
“I grew up in the Heights, too.” He paused. “I’m heading home. Do you want a ride?”
“That would be great. If you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind at all.”
He’d always been attracted to brunettes. Theresa covered her assets instead of showing them off in skin tight clothes. A petite girl with big brown eyes and thick wavy hair, probably from a decent family that didn’t have a huge income. For some reason Theresa’s innocence appealed to him like a breath of fresh air.
When they approached his bike, she giggled. “You ride a bike. That’s awesome. I’ve always wanted to ride on a motorcycle. That probably sounds silly to you, but my parents wouldn’t let me get on one of these things. I’m excited.”
He handed her a helmet. “How about we take the long way home.”
Her face lit into a brilliant smile. “Seriously? Yes, definitely, yes, but you can’t let me off in front of my house. I know it sounds stupid. I’m twenty-one, but I don’t want to upset my folks.”
Too cute, he thought. “No problem. Think we can manage that.”
Patrick didn’t even feel her on the back of his bike with her delicate frame. When he leaned the bike, she leaned with him. They rode along the waterfront and side streets, keeping clear of the highway. When he stopped a couple doors down from where she lived, Theresa had a perma grin stuck to her face.
“That was the best!” she said, lifting to her toes for a second. “Thank you, Patrick.”
He grinned at her. “You’re welcome.” Theresa’s neighborhood looked just like his. Probably protected by her parents, she’d never been to bed with a guy, and rarely kissed.
Her beautiful doe-eyes stared at him with anticipation. “Do you go to that bar a lot?”
He shook his head. “Don’t think you should go back either.” The guys who hung out there would take her innocence, then break her heart. “You better get home.” He watched a slow moving black sedan drive past them. City Heights’ reputation for violent crime and rape weren’t on the headlines of the gazette for no reason. “I’ll stay here until I see you’re inside.”
She nodded, walking backwards. “I hope I see you again.”
He wasn’t going to offer a promise he never intended on keeping. “Bye, Theresa.”
Bringing her home was like placing a chick back into the nest it had fallen from. Hopefully, she’d find a nice guy who’d get her out of this part of the city, but it wasn’t him. He watched until she waved one more time and disappeared up her walkway.
It only took him five minutes to get home, and he didn’t bother turning the lights on when he cracked the front door. He checked the time. Ten thirty. Marg and Theresa were the same age, but Marg had a grounding force. More mature. Probably more experienced, but did that include a one-night roll in the sheets with his best friend? The thought kept nudging at him.
Sitting on the old lumpy couch that reeked of his old man’s cigarette smoke, he stared at the phone. What if he called her again and she didn’t answer? Would she spend the night with her father’s pick in future husbands?
He laid his head back and closed his eyes until a bleating alarm grabbed his attention. His brow pinched when he turned to look at the phone. Instead of sitting in the cradle, it sat propped on the ledge. Probably his sister in a hurry when she hung up from talking with her friend. The alarm had him reaching for the receiver. He thumbed the button to stop the alert and the dial tone beckoned him to call Marg.
Although Harper was a dick, his words kept grounding Pat. You don’t want to hang out with a guy from the Heights. About to drop the receiver into the cradle, the bulb behind the stained lampshade flickered to life for a moment, then dimmed and extinguished. He stared at it and something one of his BUD/S instructors had said when his boat crew was coming in last during Hell Week popped into his head. Patrick had been put in charge of a losing crew. Before the drill started, meant to test their endurance again, the instructor told him to own his leadership. “You think it’s the losing crew that’s weak or the leader?” who happened to be Kit Harper, the instructor asked.
Pat wasn’t sure, a bit of both maybe. Leadership drives a team to win, his instructor said. Pat looked around his home. His father was the leader of their family and they lived in a dive with little food on the table. But what if his father had been a hardworking man who cared about his wife and family? Would they live here? Did it matter what cradle a man was born in? Karen Cobbs was Catholic, and she’d made sure they went to church every Sunday as kids. Pat nodded slowly. Christ’s story had the same moral, didn’t it? Against all odds, he’d faced the challenge before him. Tipped tables and confronted tyranny. The belts of social discrimination were meant to be shredded. Pat swallowed thickly. He and the team with the highest odds to lose, beat Kit’s boat team.
The light flickered again. Re
aching under the shade, he twisted the bulb, but it sat snug in the socket. He could accept his roots. Keep thinking he was no better than his old man, or he could shed the gnarly skin of the paradigm trying to strangle him, finish his training and hope that Marg would be in the audience when they pinned the Budweiser on his chest.
He gripped the receiver and dialed her number.
Chapter Ten
“Hello?”
“Marg, hey,” he paused. Dive in SEAL! “Wanna join me for a cup of coffee?”
Too many heartbeats thumped by before she said, “Where?”
“I know it’s late. Just thought maybe you might have a minute or two.” Maybe longer.
“Patrick, if all you have is a few minutes, it would be better if—”
“I’m sorry I took off tonight. How about if I pick you up in ten minutes, unless you have company?”
“No, he’s gone.”
A satisfied grin spread across his lips, swept there by the thought her father’s pick hadn’t talked her into the bedroom. “Wear something warm, it’s cool outside.”
He wouldn’t seduce her into his bed either. Not Marg. He wished he had a car to pick her up, but she had to accept him as he was and what he had right now was little to nothing but a promise he’d succeed.
Swinging his leg over the bike, a residual case of doubt rushed in. Why couldn’t he be more like Thane? The guy didn’t give a fuck where a woman came from, he treated them all the same. Course, they only got a four hour taste of him, and he never snuck back for leftovers. Pat secured the chin strap. One day, a woman would knock Thane on his ass. He hoped he’d be around to see it because he was gonna give him the worst fucking time of his life, pompous asshole.
Because of the late hour, Pat slowed his speed when he approached Marg’s building. She lived in the new marina district of San Diego. Pruned hedges, tall streetlamps and an eclectic twist of metal positioned in a shallow cement pool trickling water sat near the entrance to her condominium.
Standing behind the fountain, Marg looked like an image shimmering in a make-a-guy-embarrass-himself wet dream. She had to be a mirage, but she stepped out from the overhang and stood on the sidewalk.
Perfection.
He pulled off his helmet. “Hey.”
She nodded and gazed at him warily.
He got off the bike and unlocked his extra helmet. When she took it from him, he noted she wore a lined jacket with a sheepskin collar and knee high boots. His fucking brain went straight to her in nothing but the knee high boots.
“Where’re we going?” She slung her long leg over the saddle of the bike.
The alpha side of him, with no sense of anything but the priority of his dick, wanted to blurt out, some place no one can find us for a week. “Ever been to Chula Vista?”
“No,” The helmet muffled her voice so she shook her head.
He knew exactly where he’d take her. At Bayside Park they could take a walk along the beach and stop at a small café open until midnight that served seriously good desert. He mounted in front of her, and waited. When she didn’t do what he expected, he slid his gloved hand down her arm and guided it around his waist. She grasped him gently.
“Tighter, hold me tighter, Marg.” Both arms circled him, and her grip cinched around his waist. He grinned to himself and kicked the stand up. Marg Stines was holding onto him, and man did it ever make him feel good.
With the stars twinkling on a clear night, he parked the bike near the water of Bayside Park and Marg slid off. They both pulled their helmets at the same time. Her long brown hair snaked out like a silky sheath and unfurled to her chest. His heartbeat ticked at an uneven pace.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You went to a lot of trouble to make dinner.”
“Why did you leave?” She held the helmet in her arms, protecting herself.
He jerked his chin down and shrugged. “I don’t know.” He raised his brow a little worried what he would see when he tilted his head to peer at her. Wasn’t he supposed to be the confident Navy SEAL? He didn’t feel the part standing in her company.
She swallowed and gazed into his eyes. Her words came out as a whisper, but they thundered through him like an explosion. “Why are you trying to be a gentlemen when I want to see the savage part of you?”
Holy fuck. The distance between them and the helmet disappeared, his grip on her hips tightened like steel, and he yanked her tight. “Because you’re a lady.”
Marg’s head tipped up, her long dark lashes encompassing the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “Are you going to kiss me like one, too?”
Desire rolled over his inhibitions and his head dipped a little closer, but he stopped a breath away. Her tongue tangling with his would be a perfectly executed moment of bliss. Did she really want savage? Her fingers wove around his neck and his body tingled. There’d be no problem delivering what she wanted, laying her on the grass and kissing every perfect inch of her.
He lost track of time and space when their gazes locked. All his training flew out the window, no longer aware of his surroundings. Kiss her, his need shouted. Even a gentle taste would escalate to hot and out of control. His pulse thrummed as her soft fingers brushed the skin on his neck, her palms pressed against the back of his head, telling him not to back away.
A dog barked somewhere down the beach. The lamplight they stood under radiated the shine in her hair and the blue of her eyes, her lips pillowy and firm, waiting for him. He’d asked her out to apologize, not tear her clothes off.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked.
She blinked not expecting his question. “I didn’t think you liked me.”
His brow furrowed. “Of course I like you. What would make you think I didn’t?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “You don’t act like any of the other guys I’ve known.” Her arms slid down his chest and burrowed inside his leather jacket.
“Are you cold?”
“Little.”
He’d been trained to ignore the cold, but right now he hoped like hell she couldn’t feel the heatwave behind his zipper because he had zero control over that body part. He needed to cool his jets. “Let’s get inside. The café is a block away.”
He held her hand and with every step regretted not jumping all over the opportunity to taste her. He’d never done that before. If a woman wanted him, he obliged.
They strolled the walkway along the water. “Why did you call back?” she finally asked.
Girls always wanted an explanation, but maybe he needed one as well. “I called earlier, but there was no answer.”
“Bruce dropped by, as you know, and brought dinner. We went for a run afterwards.”
“You like to run?”
“That’s how I keep fit. There’s an exercise room at my complex with a pool. I swim too. I used to be on the college swim team.”
That was all interesting, but… “Bruce coming back?”
“Yes.” Marg stopped and looked at him. “You left in a hurry.”
“When are you seeing him again?”
“Patrick, he’s a friend.”
“I’m guessing he’s not on the same page. Who is he?” Shut up, Cobbs, you sound like a jealous insecure twit.
“He works in my father’s studio.”
“Your father owns a studio? Is he an artist?”
She stepped away from him. “He runs the studio and owns the majority of shares. The one with three little letters you’ve probably seen at the beginning of a movie.”
His brows popped with recognition. “That studio?”
“Yes, my step-grandfather ran it before him.”
“Why aren’t you an actress?” It seemed like a reasonable question until she burst out laughing.
“Because I can’t act, Patrick.” The laughter evaporated. “Because living in that town means you give your soul up for stupid shit.”
He’d never heard her swear before, and he hadn’t known her long enough to see her mad, but he was seeing it now.
> “In Glittertown you’re either born to it, marry it, sleep with it, or steal it.”
“And your father wants you to marry it.”
“My mother raised us with every intention of selling us to the best family she could. She doesn’t love us. She wants me and my sisters out. My father has a good heart, but he screwed around on my mom. He said it was a mistake.” She laughed almost hysterically. “A mistake all right. With the blonde, fake ‘D’ cups and open-thighed bitch secretary who always cooed and gave me a warm hug when I visited Dad. Now, Mother calls the shots. They had to save face. Until then, they’d been the perfect Hollywood power couple. My mother kept busy with fundraisers and dinner parties and Dad made blockbuster movies.”
Patrick listened quietly while Marg spilled her angry guts all over the sidewalk.
“I don’t want that. I don’t want some guy who thinks I’m smart and can say the witty thing at the right time and receive polite laughter and agreeable nods from his business associates. Then when you’re out of the public eye, you go to your separate bedrooms in a house too big for anyone’s good to live in, decked out with thousand dollar sculptures and signed paintings of the ‘in’ artist. When no one’s looking, you meet your lover at some tropical destination and call it a business trip.” Marg’s brow furrowed tightly. “That’s what a Hollywood marriage is all about. It’s bullshit.”
“Margaret,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you know better than I, but you’re generalizing. That’s never a good thing.”
She snapped her mouth shut and stood in front of him stunned. “Forget it,” she spat out.
Shit. Obviously not what she needed to hear. She marched away from him.
“Hey.” He grabbed her and swung her into his arms. “You’re walking away from a guy who understands. I might not know what the rich live like, but I’ve got an old man that never spends the night with his wife. Instead, he picks up some whore and then staggers home when the sun comes up. My mom is the strongest person I know. Not only is she dying, but her heart was broken by that bastard years ago, and yet she stays.” He paused, then lifted Marg’s chin. “You’re angry, and you have a right to be. So am I, but we don’t have to follow in their steps if we don’t want to. I’m not. You’re not.”
Code Name: Forever & Ever (A Warrior's Challenge series Book 5) Page 11
