Page 15 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

Chapter Nine

Mason

Virginia Beach, Virginia

2019

I see her the minute she walks in. She opens the door, and it’s like someone shines a flashlight into my eyes. Her long, blond hair is glowing through the haze of the bar. She’s tall and slender, and from what I can make out from this distance, her legs start somewhere up around her chest. I immediately think about how they would feel wrapped all around me.

She starts maneuvering her way expertly through the drunk men. They’re all leering at her. It makes me want to pull out my rifle, and shoot a round of warning shots over their heads. I watch as they brush up against her on purpose. She deftly changes direction every time it happens, ignoring their filthy eyes and hungry greetings. There’s no doubt in my mind this happens every time she walks into a room.

She’s only about twenty feet from me now. I get a better look at her. She looks like she just came off the beach—cutoffs, T-shirt, flip flops. Her skin and hair both still radiate the sun’s glow. She takes a stool at the bar, her back toward me. Her hair sways back and forth as she settles into her seat. I’m hypnotized. I want to dip my hands deep into it, and feel it flow over me like water.

I hear her saying something to Pete. It sounds like she’s ordered something other than beer or whiskey. That’s really where his bartending skills start and end. Pete leaves to get her a drink that I’m sure is going to be nothing like what she ordered. She turns her stool around and looks right at me. She sees me looking. I don’t try to hide it. She smiles slightly to acknowledge, but not to encourage, and looks away. The disappointment shoots all the way through my body.

I’ve seen her type before. Not often. Certainly not in this town. A woman like her is like a mirage—an illusion sent to trick you into thinking something on the horizon could actually quench your thirst. But in the back of your head, you know it’s not real. You’re never even going to be able to get close to it.

I don’t look away though. I’m not sure I physically can. My eyes dart up and down her body not sure where they want to land. There’s so much to look at. I’m enjoying the subtle curves peeking out of her loose V-neck T-shirt when she crosses her legs, drawing my eyes slowly, all the way down her long, long legs. As I’m thinking about how I’d like to start at her ankles and run my hands all the way up until they disappear under her cutoffs, I notice suddenly that the legs have started walking toward me.

“I’ll play,” she says to us, to me, to the team.

Seeing what we see every day, it takes a lot to bring us to a complete stop. But, here we are, seven grizzled operators stopped in our tracks, leering thirstily at the mirage.

Butch is the first to recover. “You’ll play with us? Not sure you know what you’re getting into, ma’am.” He extends out the word “ma’am” to highlight his Georgia drawl. It’s one of his go-to pickup moves.

“Oh, I think I probably do.” She doesn’t look too concerned.

“We’re like professional pool players, darlin’,” Butch continues. “You ought not to mess with us.”

“I’ll take my chances, but I get to pick my partner.”

Amused, I watch as my team all suddenly straighten up like they’re in the operator version of a beauty pageant, pumping out their chests and trying to smooth their beards.

“I want curly back there.” She points to Mouse. As usual, he’s the only one not seeking the spotlight. Currently, he’s trying to blend into the wall.

“Mouse? All this on display, and you want that?” Butch is flexing so hard, I think he might pop a bicep.

“Women are always suckers for the strong, silent type. Am I right?” she says turning to Clark, one of the naval analysts assigned to our team. Clark rolls her eyes. She’s about as interested in us as we are in her.

“Well, she’s not going to say anything because she knows y’all, but trust me, she looks at those curls,” the mirage says, nodding toward Mouse, who is about to keel over from all the attention being leveled at him.

She smiles, picks up a cue, and walks past all of us on her way over to Mouse. Our heads turn one at a time as she slowly passes by. Our eyes linger on her perfectly curved backside, as her sweet, heady scent fills our nostrils. It’s fucking intoxicating. All of it. The entire show. Her eyes lock with mine for a second and she does a double-take. I’m used to it by now. No one expects that color of blue coming out of my worn face. My eyes are the only thing that don’t seem to age about me. She recovers quickly, but she knows I noticed.

She finally gets over to Mouse. She presses her body lightly to him and whispers into his ear. I’m suddenly filled with an unwarranted jealousy. I want to rip her away from him. I don’t hear what she’s saying, but I hear Mouse reply, “Yeah, do your thing. I’ve got your back if you miss.” He puts his hand on her waist and pulls her a little closer as he answers. My jealousy is overflowing now.

“What in the damn hell are you doing?” Butch brings me back to reality. “If you get any closer to him, you’re going to render him useless as your teammate. Mousie won’t be able to walk soon.”

“I’m discussing strategy with my teammate. You’re familiar with strategy, right?”

Damn, does that mean she knows what we do for a living? It kind of disappoints me.

“The only strategy Mouse is going to need is how to hide what’s going on in his pants right now,” Hawk says from the corner. We all laugh at the honesty of it. The rest of us are getting hard just watching her, much less touching her.

“Do y’all want to talk all night or play pool?” she purrs, suddenly throwing in a Southern accent. She knows who she’s dealing with. A lot of us are Southerners or Texans. She’s using all of her ammunition.

“Okay, Strawberry Shortcake, let’s see your stuff,” Butch says.

It’s not until now as she moves directly under the light that I notice her blonde hair has flicks of red running through it. Her hair, like the rest of her, is perfect. She looks like a fucking angel to me. She puts a hundred down on the table and waits patiently for the rest of us to follow. I’m so mesmerized. I temporarily forget that I’m expected to play in the game. I fumble for my hundred and finally put it down on the table.

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