A Few Good Men

by Cat Johnson

  Jazzy’s pen pal, Summer, was already proving to be enough of a distraction to John. The last thing he needed was for Jazzy to supply him with another one. If he was honest with himself, he knew the last thing he wanted was to write to someone who wasn’t Summer. “Thanks, but no thank you.”

  “I’ll tell you what, sir. If you can’t find someplace to ship you them drawers you need, let me know. I’ll have my girl ship me some for you,” Morales offered generously.

  “Packages from the States usually get here in a week,” Jazzy supplied.

  John had gotten a Christmas card from his grandmother but hadn’t received any packages from home, so he didn’t know that. He also didn’t know anything about Morales suddenly getting a girl, but more importantly, he certainly hoped she wouldn’t have to ship him any drawers.

  “Thanks, Morales. I’ll keep that in mind. And when the hell did you get yourself a girl?”

  “I met her online. After Jazzy kept getting so much good shit from that support website I put up a page of my own. She’s a Yankee, and boy is she a looker, let me tell you. Always did like me a blonde. Hey, looky there. A computer just got freed up. You want to get on there, sir? I just have to email my girl, not buy drawers.”

  “No, you go ahead. I can wait for Gonzo to finish.”

  Morales bopped off happily to email his new girl while John waited for his turn to get online and pondered this new development. Now that he thought about it, Morales had been awfully smiley lately. Now he knew why.

  Jazzy must have noticed the change in their driver too, because he grinned after Morales. “See what a pen pal will do for a guy?”

  John had a feeling Morales and this girl were a bit more than just pen pals, but he was still not going to have this discussion.

  “Jazzy…” John growled the warning.

  “Yes, sir. I’m going. See you later.” He smiled wide.

  As Jazzy made his way slowly toward his quarters, John called after him, “I better not see you anywhere but in your rack.”

  Jazzy waved a dismissive hand and kept walking.

  Waiting there with nothing to do, John found himself with too much time to wonder. Was Summer going on a date that very night? How much longer would Gonzo be before he could log in and check his email? And where had that romance novel gotten to?

  Shit. After reviewing those thoughts, John realized he was in big trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  “A bar fight.” Peter flopped back into the plastic chair in the hospital’s emergency room waiting area while expelling an annoyed-sounding huff of breath.

  Maureen hung her head and waited for the onslaught as he continued.

  “I’ve lived thirty-two years without ever being in a fist fight in a bar, restaurant or any other establishment, gay or straight. But one date that I let you plan for us, and I’m spending the night in the hospital emergency room.”

  In Maureen’s defense, neither Peter nor herself had a scratch on them. They were in the hospital waiting for her date to get his bloody head stitched up. Since he’d had the foresight to shove both of them out onto the sidewalk and out of harm’s way before he jumped into the fray, she figured she owed him at least a ride to the hospital.

  When her date had suggested they go to the bar and see the band playing there, he could have had no way of knowing that a drunk with a broken beer bottle would go after the baseball-bat-wielding bartender. Or that he himself would get whacked in the head when the giant basketball game in the bar got flipped over. Or that the fight would eventually make its way out onto the sidewalk where she and Peter stood, causing them to have to scramble back inside and take refuge in the bar’s kitchen. The good news was that there in the kitchen they’d found Peter’s date hiding.

  Lucky for Maureen, Peter’s date, a male nurse by profession but at a different hospital, had gone into the examining room to sit with her date while he got stitched up. First of all, she didn’t feel close enough to the guy after only knowing him for a few hours to play dedicated girlfriend. Second, she felt nauseated even thinking about watching someone get stitches.

  So here she and Peter sat at two in the morning in a hospital in Brooklyn, waiting for their dates to emerge from behind the examination room’s magic curtain. The sick thing was, Maureen couldn’t wait to get home, or at least back to Peter’s, so she could write it all down in her blog.

  There was seriously something wrong with her since she had become a writer. No matter how bad things got—things meaning mostly her dating record—she viewed it as a writing opportunity. And she’d had two doozies to write about recently.

  “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?” Peter crossed his arms and stared at her.

  “Um. What’s for breakfast tomorrow morning?” His narrowed stare led her to abandon the comedic approach. “Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say to you. When you plan to date as much as we have, you’re bound to have some bad ones. It’s statistically impossible not to.”

  There. Blame the odds. People can’t argue with statistics.

  Peter didn’t look impressed. “If I thought you were honestly sorry, it would be different. But you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  She tried not to smile and failed.

  “Maureen.”

  “I’m sorry. On the other hand, I never thought I would say this, but I’m enjoying our dating disasters. Our dates are so unbelievably bad that I’m actually looking forward to the next one just to see how much worse it can get. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I get to share them with you. Even the worst horror is fun if I’m with you.”

  Peter sighed. “How am I supposed to stay mad at you when you say stuff like that?”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and gave him her cutest puppy-dog face. “You can’t.”

  He scowled. “Well, I’m going to try anyway.”

  Maureen smiled. He was softening. She could tell.

  Peter glanced again at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t we both try to get a quick nap until Rocky in there is done getting his bloody head sewn back together? I know you. You’ll be up half the night working on your blog, and I’ll be awake wondering what you’re writing about me this time.”

  Maureen hid a smirk. He did know her so well. “There is some good news though, about what has come out of these bad dates.”

  Peter looked down at her skeptically. “Really? Pray tell. Whatever could that be?”

  “My publisher sent me my latest sales figures for the book, and there was a definite spike in sales last week since I began my blog about our little social experiment.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I am so happy that our misery has entertained your readership and boosted your royalties.”

  Maureen knew he was happy for her in spite of his sarcasm. Not only because he was her best friend, and a best friend’s job was to suffer your failures right alongside you as well as share your successes, but mostly because she saw the small smile that lifted the corner of his mouth when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  She smiled herself and closed her eyes as the words of her next blog entry swirled through her head. She only hoped she would remember them all until she got to a computer—and checked for an email from John.

  As sleep threatened to overtake her, she forced herself to wake up enough to ask one more question. “You have next week’s date lined up, right?”

  Peter laughed beneath her cheek. “Yes. And I guarantee we won’t be back here after it. Now get some rest.”

  She let her mind drift to imagining what John’s voice sounded like and happily did exactly that.

  “I want you.” John stroked her face, his gaze burning into hers from just inches away.

  Maureen could feel the evidence of that pressed against her. She swallowed hard, fighting the butterflies in her stomach. “I want you too.”

  “It’s been a while for me, with the war and all.” He smiled and it warmed her straight through to the core, as did the rich timbre of his
voice. She could feel it vibrate through her. They were pressed so closely together as he lay on top of her.

  “It’s been a while for me too.” She smothered a laugh at that understatement. He had no clue how long it had been for her, and she didn’t have the war as an excuse.

  His eyes twinkled. “Then let’s not wait any longer.”

  She had trouble coming up with enough breath to answer him. “Good idea.”

  Just as John was about to slide into her, as she waited for blissful release from the unbearable tension inside her, the most obnoxious sound on earth shattered the moment.

  Maureen groaned and flung one arm over her face. What absolutely horrible timing. The first good dream she’d had in years and it was gone. She slapped at the clock on the bedside table. That’s it. No more alarms. She didn’t care if she was late to work, she wasn’t going to risk the only sex she’d had in months would be interrupted.

  With a heavy heart, she said a sad goodbye to her bed, pushing aside the crazy idea of staying under the covers and possible having her battery-operated friend join her. She headed for the shower and another workweek. At least she had one thing to look forward to each day—emails from John.

  Actually, he hadn’t written back in two whole days. No, make that three if there wasn’t one waiting for her this morning. She was beginning to worry. What if he had gotten blown up? Or worse, was just tired of hearing from her and was trying to give her a hint?

  As she turned on the water in the shower so it would get hot, she resisted the urge to boot up her computer. She’d have to shower first and then check her email while drinking her coffee or she’d be late for work.

  This worry was agonizing. Maybe she should find herself a nice retired serviceman who was safely at home here in the US but still had all the same qualities. And maybe there was a similar gay ex-military man out there for Peter.

  No, that wouldn’t work. She’d emailed servicemen men for over a year now, and she’d never had a sex dream about any of them. She was beginning to realize it wasn’t just military men in general, but John in particular who tempted her body and mind and had her emotions so tangled up.

  Maureen was still obsessing over the lack of communication from John and what it might mean when she arrived at her desk at work. She was so caught up in her own thoughts she barely noticed when Tiffany strode over.

  She stood next to Maureen’s desk, arms crossed. “Hey, did you know there is an erotic romance author who is also named Summer who writes in her blog about the same kind of dating game that you and your gay friend are playing?”

  “Um, no. Is there?” novelist closet?Shit. Was this going to be her big coming out of the erotic

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. You stole the idea for that whole dating thing from her, didn’t you?”

  How stupid could the girl be to think there could be two women and their gay best friends who were serial dating?

  Maureen hid the sigh of relief over Tiffany’s apparent lack of common sense as best she could. “You’re right, Tiffany. You caught me. That’s what I did. I stole the idea for the dating thing from her.”

  Tiffany nodded knowingly. “And the name Summer too?”

  Maureen hung her head in false shame. “I stole her name too.”

  Tiffany looked victorious. “That’s what I figured. It’s okay. I bet that’s not her real name anyway.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “Mmm. You’re probably right. Sounds fake to me. So how did you come across her blog? She’s not very well known.” Maureen’s heart beat a bit faster with excitement. Was she becoming famous?

  “My soldier told me about it. He and his buddies have read her book and now they read her blog too.”

  Tiffany’s soldier. Maureen’s heart began to pound. The only soldier she knew who’d read her book was Jazzy. Could it be? No. Jazzy would not cheat on his wife and especially not with Tiffany. Oh God, what if Tiffany was emailing John?

  She did her best to play it cool as her pulse sped. “Really? You’re still corresponding with those military guys you told me about? The soldier and Marine, was it?”

  Tiffany nodded.

  Maureen wrestled to control her voice as she asked, “What’s your soldier’s name? I’m uh…just wondering if maybe I’ve seen it on the support website, is all.”

  “Hector Morales. He’s a Texan. I’ve always wanted to date a Texan. And he’s a sergeant. That’s a good rank, right? It means he’s an officer or something, doesn’t it? Do you know him from the websites?”

  Maureen let that name sink in for a second as she tried to calm her nerves. Morales. Jazzy’s driver. She remembered Jazzy had written he gave the book to him.

  Jeez, what a coincidence. What were the chances of that? But at least Maureen could rest assured that Jazzy was the kind of guy she thought he was, totally devoted to his wife and too smart to fall for the likes of Tiffany. More importantly, the man of her dreams wasn’t Tiffany’s man either.

  She realized Tiffany was still waiting for an answer, probably hoping she had swooped in and stolen one of Maureen’s guys. “No. That name doesn’t sound familiar.” Then, feeling spiteful and wanting to burst Tiffany’s bitchy bubble she added, “And if he’s a sergeant, he’s still an enlisted man, not a commissioned officer.”

  Maureen shocked herself that she knew that. She’d picked up a lot of military knowledge on the support sites and from corresponding with the troops. Maybe she should write a military romance next. Hmm, there was an idea.

  Tiffany frowned for a second and then shrugged it off. “That’s okay. Doesn’t matter much anyway. I’m pissed off at him. It’s been like days and I haven’t heard from him. He hasn’t answered my emails. He hasn’t been on IM. I think I’m gonna dump him. Besides, things are going really well with the Marine. He’s a lieutenant. That’s a real officer, right?”

  Maureen felt a sudden wave of relief. Morales hadn’t written Tiffany either, which had to mean the Internet was down at Jazzy and John’s camp or they were under a communications blackout. That was why John hadn’t written back.

  But actually, on second thought, that wasn’t much to be relieved about because communications were shut down when someone was very seriously hurt or killed until their families could be notified. Damn. Had John been hurt or killed? Had the whole tank been blown up and she’d lost Jazzy and John both?

  This was horrible. Unthinkable. How could a person live with this fear day in and day out?

  Seeing Tiffany was still standing there waiting for confirmation that a lieutenant was a real officer, Maureen managed to nod to appease Tiffany and her rank greed, but she couldn’t keep her mind off what might have happened to the men she’d come to think of as friends so far away.

  Maureen had to calm herself down. She had no proof anything bad had happened to any of them. She redirected her thoughts to something else and let herself wonder if poor Morales was the one from among Tiffany’s new acquisitions who’d made plans to come to New York to meet her during Fleet Week. Jazzy’s platoon was scheduled to be out of Iraq by then, barring any further troop extensions. Poor guy had no clue he was about to get dumped in favor of a Marine. If he were a typical Army guy, that in particular would not sit well. There existed a good-natured yet definite rivalry between those two branches of service.

  Maureen could definitely let a warning about Tiffany accidentally slip to Jazzy in her next email. The question was, should she? And while she was at it, how tempting would it be to start feeling around to find out more about John from Jazzy? How unethical would that be to exploit her friendship with Jazzy to find out more about John? That would be really wrong of her. Could she bring herself to do it?

  Hmm, it was a very tempting idea indeed. But in the meantime, she had the correspondence drought to deal with. She had to do something. Sitting there doing nothing would drive her insane, so she opted to play it off light. If she wrote and pretended that everything was okay there with them, then maybe they would be all rig
ht. The power of positive thinking and all that crap.

  Opening her email account—her boss was away at a meeting so it was safe—Maureen stared at the blank screen.

  She glanced up from her computer and realized Tiffany was glaring at her from across the office. She raised an eyebrow in a “What?” gesture. Tiffany stared pointedly at Maureen’s legs beneath her desk.

  In the back of Maureen’s brain, she had been aware of an annoying tapping. Now she realized it originated from under her own desk. With embarrassment, she halted her foot from its mindless tapping against the floor, a nervous habit she’d always had and never conquered.

  Tiffany turned back to her computer, looking satisfied. As if Maureen had been bothering her while she was actually working. Ha. Not much chance of that. She was probably flirting with some new soldiers in one browser while emailing her Marine in the other.

  Not feeling as small as she should at those bitter, spiteful thoughts, Maureen went back to her contemplating. Today’s burning question…what could she write about to John that wouldn’t sound like overt flirting or her fishing for him to write back, even though that was exactly the situation?

  She had pretty much exhausted the subject of the weather, both telling him about what it was like there in New York and inquiring what the weather currently was in Iraq. It wasn’t Easter yet so she couldn’t wish him a happy holiday and she wasn’t sure if she should anyway, especially since she didn’t even know his religion.

  Hell, she was a writer. She just needed to get creative. In the new message window, she decided to do just that.

  Dear John,

  Hmm. I just realized what a funny way that is to start a letter. Hehe. Get it? Dear John letter…

  Anyway, I guess I am a bit giddy today since I did a crazy thing in a moment of obvious insanity. I volunteered to judge thirty entries in a writing contest being run by an organization I belong to. Let me tell you, if I have to read one more story about alternate universes I may scream. Sci-fi has never been my thing. Currently I am reading an erotic futuristic vampire pirate story. Lots of sucking in that one—hehe. Last night I finished one about a mermaid and the fisherman who catches her. You can just imagine what happened then. Needless to say, I am now an expert in mermaid sex. Hehe. This experience has been an education, to say the least.