Page 47 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mason

Virginia Beach, Virginia

2019

“You okay?” I pull out a bar stool for her, and then sit down on the one next to her.

“What the hell was that?” She looks at me, her eyes a little wider than usual.

“I just knew the guy had no chance with you, so I thought I’d try to save him the rejection.”

She shakes her head in amazement, eyes still wide.

“You need another drink?” I ignore her look and motion to Pete.

Pete comes back over. “I tried to warn him, Mase.”

“Why didn’t you try to warn him about me, Pete? I’m the real ninja here,” she says.

“It’s true, Pete. I’ve seen her skills.”

Pete is not impressed. “You want another round?”

“Yeah. Whiskey and whatever she’s drinking.”

“It’s called a dirty martini, Mason. Man, get some class,” Pete says, smiling as he walks away.

“Seriously, Mason,” she says, nudging me on the shoulder. The minute she touches me, I have to physically brace myself on the bar to keep from grabbing her and kissing her right here, right now.

“So, are operators required to have anger issues? Or is that just a happy side effect of the job?” She looks down at my hands tightly gripping the bar.

“Not really required, but usually the case,” I say, trying to loosen my grip.

“Well, let me tell you, you get an A-plus in that area. I mean you really excel at it.”

“Well, you know, if you can’t be the best at something.”

It looks like Pete’s a little backed up, so I decide to take matters into my own hands. “Tell me how to make a dirty martini.”

“Well, first, Pete makes it wrong. He uses way too much olive juice for me. So, a couple to three ounces of vodka, half an ounce of vermouth, and just a little splash of olive juice. He made my first one way too salty.”

“So mainly vodka with more sweet than salty?”

“Exactly.”

I walk around the bar and start finding the ingredients.

“So, you just can go back there and make drinks?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” I look over my shoulder. “Pete, I’ve got her drink.”

“Mason, you don’t have to—I can wait.”

“I know I don’t have to, Millie. I want to. That’s why I offered.”

I turn my baseball hat backward, and rub my hands together. I feel like I’m about to disarm a bomb. I pour three healthy shots of vodka, and add the rest.

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