Page 5 of Hot Shot

After my parents were deported when I was fourteen, my sister and I were shuttled into the foster care system. Unfortunately for me, nobody wanted a fourteen-year-old Mexican kid with dark hair and brown skin who was big for his age and had an attitude. They did, however, want my ten-year-old sister, Alejandra. She was small and cute . . . and a girl. She disappeared with her new family amid tears and heartbreak, and I’ve only seen her once since then. After her family adopted her and changed her name, I completely lost track of her. To this day I have no idea where she is.

Iwasn’t adopted, but was shuttled from one foster home to another. It was clear that none of them really wanted me there. At first, I’d have a deeply buried molecule of hope every time a new family took me in. Maybe they would be the ones who loved me. Who wanted me. Maybe I’d fit in there and feel safe. But I soon learned not to get my hopes up. Not to care. I became resentful, edgy. Difficult. Who could blame them for not wanting me?

So hey, it’s no surprise that someone like Carrie doesn’t want me either. Maybe that’s why her dismissal of me bugs me so much . . . it brings back those memories of rejection and being found lacking.

I got over that. At least, I thought I had. I found my place in the world when I became a Navy SEAL. I found my brothers, the men who understand me like nobody else I’ve ever met. I proved myself worthy by succeeding at the most demanding training the US military has to offer. I finally felt at home—accepted. Like I was making a contribution and that contribution was valued.

I wipe a glass and set it on a shelf. It’s one of the special tequila glasses we used for our finest añejotequilas, and for the tasting evenings we started having in an attempt to improve business.

Our first couple of tasting evenings went well. We made some money and interest has grown, and we’re seeing the payoff in return customers. We have another one planned in a few weeks, and we also have a bachelor party scheduled next month. A groom and his friends are coming in to do a private tequila-tasting evening.

My thoughts go back to Carrie again as I move around behind the bar preparing for the day ahead. When she walked in earlier, I had to look twice at her because she looked so different. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was, but then I realized she had no makeup on. I’d never seen her without makeup.

Not that she wears alotof makeup, but what she does wear makes her look really different. She has gorgeous eyes, an unusual gray-blue that she emphasizes with shadow and mascara, and full lips that make me think carnal thoughts. She’s usually pretty polished looking, but today she was wearing ripped jeans and an old hoodie, her hair was up in a messy twist on top of her head with pieces falling around her face, her lips a naked pale pink, and her eyes bare and vulnerable looking.

She gave me a genuine smile when we were talking about those stupid party games—I knew she would like them, heh—and there’d been a moment there, a flash of heat that made me think maybe she doesn’ttotallyhate me.

Then again, what the hell do I know?

The sound of the back door opening and closing alerts me to the arrival of someone. Likely not Beck, since he and Hayden are no doubt snuggled up in bed together on a Saturday morning. Who knows when we’ll see Beck again?

Ugh. I hate the twist I feel in my gut. I’m not jealous of Beck. I’m happy for him. So we see less of him these days. That’s fine. And it’s not like Beck is shirking his duties at Conquistadors—he’s here tending bar like he always has and helping out. In fact, maybe more so after we had a little talk about his busy pre-Hayden social life. But now outside of work we don’t see him as much as we used to.

Cade appears from the hallway, scowling. “Hey. Too early for tequila shots?”

I lift an eyebrow. “You know me. It’s never too early. What’s wrong?”

“Just a huge traffic snarl up on the 405. You know how that makes me nuts.”

“What the hell were you doing on the 405?” Cade’s place is only a few blocks from Conquistadors. All three of us found homes near the bar in the Pacific Beach neighborhood of San Diego, near the ocean we all love. “Oh, never mind.”

Cade’s been sleeping his way through the entire female population of Southern California for the last few months.

“You’d think getting laid would put you in a good enough mood to handle a little traffic.”

“You’d think.” Despite his stated need for tequila, Cade makes no move to pour himself a drink. And he probably won’t. “And it was more than a little traffic. It was a fucking parking lot. I could have gotten out of my car and walked here faster.”

“Hey, chill. No big deal. It’s not like you’re gonna get fired for being late.”

Cade rubs his face. “Right. Right.” Of all of us, Cade’s the one who is most tightly wound, although his shaggy, sun-bleached hair and deep tan give the impression of a laid-back surfer dude.

“So, listen. I have to tell you about the party we’re having for Beck and Hayden.”

“Party?”

“Yeah.” I outline the plans for the upcoming engagement soiree.

Cade nods agreeably. “Sure. Sounds good. What can I do?”

“We’re taking care of food and drinks. I asked Carrie to help with the guest list and decorations.”

“Decorations?” Cade’s eyebrows pull together

I shrug. “She’s all artsy and into that shit.”

Cade grins. “She actually agreed to help you?”

“Yeah.” I frown. “It’s for her best friend.”

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