Page 1 of The War Revision
Chapter 1
Themeet-rude
InThe New Yorker—mental laugh with a little tear in the corner of my left eye, like I’d consciously pick that kind of magazine—it wasMen’s Fitness, I’ve read that people slowly start physically and mentally aging after forty.
Bunch of bull crap if you ask me.
At forty-three I’ve never felt better. I still got it…never actually lost it. Getting tail is as easy as getting an exasperated response from my brother. There are five people checking me out as I enter Sally’s, the bar owned by a friend, which on Friday gets packed thanks to her ladies-drink-free night.
The pool of potential hookups hasn’t shrunk as I’ve grown older, it has somehow gotten larger. My long, light blond hair and dark green eyes remind sci-fi enthusiasts of that Lego-something elf from theLord of the Ringsmovie. Plus, my boxer build, wicked grin, and the ink covering my body—being a tattoo artist has its perks—attract the less geeky population. I was blessed with good looks. And thank fuck for that since my sex drive rivals that of dolphins.
Yep, dolphins. I accidentally butt-clicked a documentary a while back and discovered that male dolphins love to get down and dirty. They even hook up with same-sex partners as a fraternity-esque ritual. It’s all about the pleasure for the wicked mammals, and I cannot agree more.
My brother Jordie, on the other hand, calls my constant horniness the slutty-rabbit effect—without the urge to reproduce. Because kids? I’d rather cover my body in honey, tie myself to a forest tree, and let the animals have their fun.
I’d be a wonderful uncle though. The fun one who helps with all their firsts. First alcoholic drink and first drunken hurl. First drive and first time flirting with a cop. First weed joint and first one-a.m.-Chinese-restaurant delivery call. First talk about sexuality and all the yummy possibilities.
If Jordie finds a decent guy to ever settle down with, I’d be down for that. But right now, his love life is a disaster. You know what they say about ginger guys—they are hellions. And fuck if it’s not true—in his case tending more toward hysterical spinster. Especially these days.
“Hey, Kaiden. The usual?” the cute bartender asks me, fluttering his long eyelashes.
“Yes, please.”
He was a good fuck, but I never go back for seconds. I’m more of a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy. Nail and bail. Hop and pop. Fucking the same person more than once goes against my carefree-banging list of rules. Jordie and my best friend, Pete, mock the list every chance they get, but those rules let me have fun without boring, clingy, complications—most of the time. Hey, there are some people who wear rose-colored glasses. It’s not my fault they picture me as a knight in shining armor and then feel like I push them off my mighty steed when I fuck their roommate.
I give the bartender an easy smile when he places the mojito in front of me, but my eyes flick quickly away and around the room. The bar is not much, but the familiarity of it makes me come back at least once a week. In addition to the occasional free drink Sally allows.
The dim yellow lights slightly hide the fading on the old wooden walls, and the rust on the even more ancient jukebox, which I’m pretty sure played its last song in the seventies. On the small dance floor, people are wiggling, rubbing, and sweating against each other, lost in the sexy rhythm of Camila Cabello’s “Havana.”
I’m near the solid green U-shaped counter in the middle of the bar, the perfect spot to let my eyes browse around in search of a one-nighter. The refreshing minty drink hits my throat just as a guy stops next to me. He leans on the counter, putting on display a perky, round ass I immediately imagine riding. I check the rest of him out. He reminds me of a twink Christian Grey, hopefully sans red room—I can be kinky but not whip kinky. Ouch!
He’s much shorter than me, with light chestnut hair, and is wearing a white button-down and blue shorts. His brown eyes turn my way, and for a few but very long seconds he ogles my colorful inked arms and delineated pecs wrapped in a very tight dark purple t-shirt.
Mmm. I’ve just found my next victim.
Now he’s trying to catch the bartender’s attention, but the guy is too busy flirting with another customer a few feet away. I turn toward the counter and slide two fingers inside my mouth, letting out a loud whistle. It works. The bartender nods my way, and when he reaches me, I point at the new guy. He orders two drinks and then smiles at me.
“Thanks, handsome,” he purrs, leaning imperceptibly closer.
“You’re welcome, hottie.” I smile back and slowly open my mouth, letting my pierced tongue wrap around the straw. I pucker my lips and suck some of the mojito down my throat. Mr. Grey’s gaze zeroes in on my mouth. Moth. Flame.Gotcha.
“You seem to have a very skillful mouth,” he says suggestively.
“I can do many wicked things with these lips,” I tell him.
I hear a snort from behind me, but before I can throw a glance over my shoulder, Mr. Grey speaks again. “Really? And would you be interested in showing me some of those wicked things?”
I bite my lower lip and let my eyes rake down his body. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
I hear another snort, but I keep my focus on him like a fox on a rabbit tail.
“Oh, I will.” He smiles lewdly, and then introduces himself, “Leo.”
“Kaiden. And I’m sure I’ll be very pleased to have met you at the end of this night.”
