Page 33 of Warrior's Walk

The microphone makes a screeching sound and McCormick yells, “Fuck yeah! Karaoke, Bitches!”

A feeling like a heavy stone sinks in the pit of my stomach. “This is gonna get ugly real fast,” I say to Brian.

Laughing, he clasps my hand in a shake. “You’ll do just fine ’round here. I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven.”

Feeling lighter than I did when I walked in, I rejoin the guys who are looking over the song list like they’re studying for the ASVAB.

“Whatchu singing, Rhett?”

I glance at Stiles and shake my head. “Not singin’, man.”

“We’ll see about that,” he laughs.

When I raise my head again, scanning the crowd for Riggs, my eyes settle on a cute blonde. She’s a curvy little thing with a big bright smile. And she’s fixed it on me. Fuck, I’ve got no game in a damn cast and with a broken heart to boot. I haven’t even thought about getting laid since the shit-show in Afghanistan.

Not true, liar. You think about getting banged by Riggs every fuckin’ night.

That don’t count, though, ’cause that’s Riggs. Who wouldn’t fantasize about him? That scruff, those dark eyes, and big rough hands and domineering attitude. Yeah, it’s a given.

This cutie wants my attention, like now. She gets up and walks over to our table, and I pull out an empty chair for her. Her little blue dress hints at plenty of cleavage, and she leans forward to tease me.

“Hi, I’m Brandi, with an i.”

“Yes you are,” I say dumbly. Her tits are hypnotizing me. “I’m Rhett.”

“Ohh, I love that name,” she gushes. “What are you drinking?”

“Uh,Coke?” Mandy elbows me in the ribs without even looking my way. “Oh, um, can I buy you a drink?”

I don’t even wanna buy her a drink. I’m fucking broke, and with my broken leg, I can’t even fuck her. At least, not like I used to. Maybe I can lie on my back while she rides me—very carefully.

Hell, nothing about that even sounds remotely appealing. My dick likes her tits, but not enough to get hard for her.

“A margarita. I just love the taste. It comes in so many flavors!”

Jesus Christ, she’s a bright one. If my buddies were here, they’d be fucking me over by buying a margarita in every flavor and charging it to my card. A pang of sadness hits me square in the chest. Fuck, I miss them. I glance down the long table of laughing faces and feel a little lost among the crowd of mynewbuddies.

Starting life over just feels… exhausting.

Brandi with-an-i polishes off her margarita and takes me by the hand, dragging me from my chair.

“Come on, my song is up. Sing with me.”

“Yeah, Rhett, sing with her,” McCormick urges, laughing at me.

“Let me grab my crutches,” I plead as she practically topples me over. “You’re next,” I threaten McCormick.

“Bet your sweet ass I am! I can sing real good,” he boasts.

Almost every man at the table snickers.

To my everlasting horror and the amusement of my buddies, the song Brandi chose is ‘Genie In A Bottle’ by ChristinaAguilera. “I can’t…” but she tugs me back onstage, winding her arm around my waist to squish me against her lush boobs, and I’m trapped, like a fucking genie in a bottle, ironically. Thankfully, the guys are whooping and laughing so loudly that it mostly drowns out my singing. If only West wasn’t recording me on his phone, I might’ve been able to make everyone forget… eventually.

Every time she says I’ve gotta rub her the right way, she shimmies her ass against my hip. I glance across the bar and fucking fuck… Riggs is staring at me, jaw slightly agape.

The song dies down and Brandi ends with a big finish—she fists my shirt and pulls me down to plant a big, wet, sticky lipstick smooch on my lips. The bar cheers wildly; well, mostly just the Bitches, and when I look back at Riggs, he’s no longer gaping.

He’s glaring.

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