Page 5 of Frog Hog
Chapter Three
Valen
“He’s thirty-four, so he’s older than my usual suspect. I think for the first time it’s a good thing, Greer. I mean, it started off really weird and I thought he was being an offensive blow hole, but then I realized he was trying to get a feel for me,” I tell my best friend, pressing the phone to my ear. She’s this leggy blonde with huge blue eyes and a recording contract worth fifteen million dollars. “What do you think?” I ask, when she stays silent. I hear the buzz of voices around her. I know she’s probably surrounded by a dozen of her people, but it never stops her from talking like she’s alone.
“It sounds like your hobby turned into something more constructive.” she lilts, her accent audible. “What are the chances I get to meet him? Bring him up to my smog filled city so I can shake him down in person.” Greer tells someone to ease up on the curling iron because they’re burning her soul instead of her hair. Greer has been my best friend since we were children. Her parents are from Alabama and moved her to San Diego when she was a child.
I giggle. “We had coffee the morning after I met him at Burning Fish. It was weird. It was so quiet and the lights were so bright. His eyes are so fucking green, Greer. Like your weird ass alien blue, his are that odd, but green. Oh, he’s hot, but I’m not sure what to talk to him about. SEALs don’t like talking about their jobs.”
“What hobbies does he have?” She asks.
“I don’t know. He mentioned he has a small dog. It seems kind of weird,” I say, shifting on my sofa to relieve the pins and needles in my foot. “I have work to do now,” I tell her when my laptop pings from in front of me—alerting me to another new e-mail.
“Find out his hobbies and talk about his pet. Ask about his past relationships too. Those are important when you’re in your thirties. Chances are he has some baggage.”
“Way to be positive, Greer,” I mumble, before sipping my diet soda. “I’m not sure I want to delve into that subject then I’d have to divulge the skeletons in my closet. “
Greer scoffs. “He already knows your most offensive skeletons, Valen. You fuck SEALs for sport. He’s a SEAL and he’s still willing to date you. What more could you possibly tell him that would scare him off? I’m glad you’re settling down, though. It’s a good thing to try this out. Even if I’m a little jealous,” she says, before barking an order at the person plucking her eyebrows.
“I don’t know how you deal with all those people around you all the time.”
“I have to let these people around me all the time or I’d look like a trash can in every tabloid at the grocery store, Valen. I miss you. Come see me soon. We can ditch the posse and go incognito in sweats and sunglasses and go to a game or something.”
I smile. Greer loves baseball. I’ve always found it to be such a weird fact about a woman as successful and beautiful as she. “Deal. Good luck tomorrow at the studio. You got that song finished, right?”
Greer groans, and I can tell she’s holding her hand over the mouthpiece. “Thanks. It’s finished, yeah. Even if the little shit took forever getting his lyrics to my people.” She is recording a duet with a squirrelly asshole. I try to squelch my laughter, but I end up laughing some more.
“I can’t believe that’s real life. I always thought they portrayed him poorly in the news and he had to be awesome in real life.”
She groans. “I wish. He’s just as difficult in reality. I swear if he tries to hit on me again, I’ll be in the rag mags. Greer Sinclair beats the shit out of pop superstar. God, can you imagine? I’ll call you tomorrow night to let you know how it goes.”
“Details. I’ll want details.” Her life isn’t as weird as it was when her first record released. It was like watching a shooting star. It was a star who always circled you, but suddenly that star wanted more. Wanted to be higher. She changed, it was inevitable given her crazy life; it took a while for her to return to her former self. “See ya, baby.”
“Love you Vale-Hale. Be good. Go work. And for God’s sake don’t scare him off with that trick with your tongue.”
Laughing, I click off the phone and pick up my laptop. I’m a graphic designer for several large firms. I also do IT for two firms on the East Coast. I have to be up at insane o’clock to coincide with their working hours. Today was one of those days. My coffee is large and cold. I’m on my third pot. Greer always gets up at five to go to the gym so we talk most mornings.
Responding to e-mails and questions is easy and I work through my inbox quickly. Gabe Hutchinson. The name stands out because it’s not a person I typically get e-mail from. Usually my inbox is filled with messages from people I recognize. The subject line says: Date me.
It’s Hutch. A quick google search provided me with your email address. What are you doing this weekend? I’m heading out for a training trip next week, but wanted to see you before I left. I didn’t want to disturb you with a phone call, but figured this was a good way to signify I’ve officially stalked you online. Take that however you wish.
Hutch
His voice isn’t even attached to these typed words, but my body hears it anyways and reacts. My stomach tilts, and my face heats. I’m a giddy, fucking, school girl. Laughing to myself, I take a large swig of cold coffee and grimace at the temperature.Gabe Hutchinson.What a hot, fucking name. I always assume SEALs use nicknames, but I guess I wasn’t expecting Hutch’s to be so…normal. I amble to the kitchen to heat my coffee and take my laptop with me. Leaning over the counter in my pajamas I click reply and hit him back with a quick response.
What did you have in mind? I’m free and I won’t be trolling Burning Fish for men who want to fuck me. Perhaps you want to? Just kidding. Or maybe, I’m not. Am I? I don’t know. You can stalk me in person if you want to. You’ve gathered I work from home. 45 Indiana Way. There’s a code to get into the front gate of my condo cluster. 143143. You should probably call first though. I work in my underwear and I’m not really proper for company unless I know I’m expecting visitors. I enjoyed our coffee date. I want to know more. It’s not as easy to stalk you…
Valen
My cell phone rings from the coffee table and I make a dive for it. There’s one client who absolutely detests it when you answer on anything after the second ring. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever encountered. I’ve learned it’s better to let it go to voicemail if I can’t grab it after the first ring. It’s not Mr. Ringing Asshole though. It’s Hutch.
“Was that an invitation? You gave me your address and talked about fucking all in the same message. I’m a guy, so you know, I just wanted to confirm my caveman intentions before I barged into your house and took you on the floor barbarian style,” Hutch says, keeping his tone level. My core clenches with desire and heat prickles my neck. Now, a voice is attached to his words and it doeseverythingto my body.
Laughing, rather uncomfortably, I walk in to my bedroom. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have those tendencies in you. I’m glad to know I read you wrong in that department. I do so love fucking in beast mode.” I swallow hard and yank on the hem of my shirt. Hot. I feel hot.
There’s a long pause where he breathes, and I wait for him to speak. “You didn’t answer my question,” he growls.
I clear my throat even as my nipples tingle. “We should probably have a dinner date first. Fucking barbarian style is typically reserved for those in established relationships. Plus, we didn’t get off on the right foot, remember? We probably need to get to know each other a little more before we get mixed up in sex. I should note, I do want to fuck your brains out just because I can.”
