Always a Marine 21 - Lest Old Marines Be Forgot (2 page)

“Thank you, sir.” Clearing his throat, Luke gave him a small smile. “So how does retirement feel?”

“Like a dark road.”

A lot of guys looked forward to the day they cycled out, retiring with full benefits, and getting on with their lives. Their spouses celebrated the final PCS and their kids enjoyed having Dad at home. Tom didn’t even own a home much less have a wife or kids. The Marines had been the sum total of his existence—until the first of December when he’d begun terminal leave.

“My offer stands; we could use a man with your experience and wisdom.” They’d been the first words out of Luke’s mouth when Tom mentioned his retirement.

“I’m not a touchy-feely guy, Luke. I wouldn’t know the first damn thing to say to someone who needs help. A boot to the ass—that I can do. The rest of this crap—not so much.” It wasn’t in his nature. A man did what he needed to do and a Marine did what had to be done. Fussing about it after was a bunch of politically-correct bullshit and the result of a generation weaned on self-help television.

“Sometimes a boot to the ass is what’s required.” Luke chuckled. “But the offer stands.”

“Understood.” He went quiet, puffing on the cigar and considered the frosty evening. The fact that he still avoided one topic aggravated him. Sweeping his gaze across the darkened, empty area surrounding the portico, Tom paced a step forward and turned to face Luke. “I am going to discuss one matter with you. It will go no further than the two of us. After this conversation, we’re not going to speak of it again. Understood?”

Eyebrows raised, Luke shifted back a step and leaned against the wall. He nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

Done with beating around the bush, he went right for the throat of the matter. “When you sign up for a 1Night Stand, what exactly is expected?”

To his credit, the younger man didn’t laugh, but humor did make an appearance in his smile. “I would think that’s rather self-explanatory, sir.”

Tom simply stared at him. It was self-explanatory, but he’d never engaged someone via a service before. It was one thing to pick up a woman in a social situation; it made for an entirely different matter to plan a date with a complete stranger who had been selected for him.

Luke shifted and his smile flattened. “My apologies sir, I wasn’t trying to be a smart ass.”

“Yes, you were.” Tom forgave him. “But I’d still appreciate an answer.”

“Basically what Madame Eve says on her site. You fill out the paperwork. You answer the questions. She pairs you with someone she feels is an ideal match and you get together. Dinner is an option. A show. Or you can cut straight to the chase and meet in a hotel room.” It was his turn to look uncomfortable.

Fixing on the discomfort, Tom gestured to him with the cigar. “What did you choose?”

“Drinks.” The reply rode on a hard rush of breath. “I thought drinks were a good icebreaker. We could have dinner and see where things went naturally.”

“So to a hotel room?”

Luke didn’t answer immediately, but he winced. “Not precisely, sir.”

“Not precisely? You either went to a hotel room or not.”

“Well….” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The drinks and dinner were planned at the Sybarite Club downtown. It’s private, discreet—and offers certain amenities in the back. Including rooms.”

“So you used one of those.” It seemed a rather sanguine way to approach the scenario. A room in a club, an assignation, and then both parties were free to leave and never see each other again. Tom wasn’t sure that fit his interest either.

“Not…exactly….”

Though intrigued by the younger man’s grimace, Tom let him off the hook. “I signed up for a date a few weeks ago. When I didn’t hear anything for a while, I assumed the lady hadn’t been able to find anyone. Two days ago, I received an email confirming I would be in Dallas through the New Year.”

“She found you a date.” It wasn’t a question. Luke’s confidence in the mysterious Madame Eve had been a deciding factor after Tom had done his information gathering.

“Apparently so. I’ve been asked to confirm the details and I don’t really have any idea of the location. So I need to choose a location and give all the information to her. If I decide to go through with it.”

Straightening, Luke’s unease vanished. “You should. Seriously.” He held up a hand when Tom would have interrupted. “Madame Eve has a gift. Whether you get anything more than a pleasant evening with an interesting woman out of it, sir—you deserve to give yourself the chance.”

“Son, I’ve been a confirmed bachelor for most of my life. Women—they’re a passing fancy. Not many are going to put up with a Marine as set in his ways as I am.” He’d long since accepted that part of his reality.

“Then you’ve got nothing to lose…unless you’re chickening out.”

Tom stiffened at the accusation, but Luke wasn’t finished.

“A lot of guys come home screwed up. They dump their girlfriends or their girlfriends dump them. Divorce is another painful factor in their lives. We’re Marines, we endure—but we don’t have to endure alone. You’re retiring and that means you’ve got a whole new battle plan to put into place. What does it hurt to scout for the right person to be at your side on this next part of the journey?”

When he put it like that…. “It’s a fair argument.”

“I know it is. I walked away from the love of my life to be a Marine, sir. I was a damn good one—”

“Still are, son. You still are.”

He accepted the compliment with a nod. “Thank you, sir. My point is—I walked away and I spent ten years alone when I didn’t have to. Signing up for that service was the best damn decision I could have made—it brought Rebecca back into my life. Maybe this is your chance to make a second life for yourself—maybe it’s just a great way to spend a night. Go—find out.”

“Good argument. Facts over emotion.” But he didn’t disagree with it either. Truth be told, he wasn’t a coward. He simply wasn’t comfortable with the idea either.

“I have a few suggestions for places to go—we should make a decision tonight because New Year’s Eve will make it hard to get reservations. I can make some calls, too. Becca knows pretty much every high end vendor in the state, so she can pull some strings.” Pride and affection crept into his voice whenever he mentioned his wife.

“I appreciate that.” He did. The arrival of the confirmation email had stumped Tom. He hadn’t expected anything to come from signing up—and now that it had, he wanted to make a good impression at least.

“It will be my honor, sir.” Luke’s grin took on a sly edge. “Do we need to have a conversation about condoms?”

Amused, Tom suppressed the emotion, instead giving him a hard look. “Don’t make me beat you, son.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Brenda stared at the contents of her closet. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” Heart in her throat, she reached for her go-to, semi-formal peach dress.

“Oh, hell no.” Amelia Valentine—Brenda’s best friend and the closest she had to a real sister—jerked the creamy silk dress out of her hands and tossed it across the room.

“Hey, I love that dress.”

“I know.” Amelia nudged her to the right and began to flick through the other dresses hanging in her closet. “But you are not wearing
mother-of-the-bride
on a
date
.”

Brenda scowled. “It does not say
mother-of-the-bride
….”

“No, it actually screams Sunday morning church with all the old farts, but I was trying to be nice.” Amelia continued to sort through the clothes. “No. No. Oh, my word—Brenda, donate this to the collection box at the Salvation Army or something.” She pulled out a shapeless black sweater dress that had certainly seen better days.

“It looks fine with a belt.”

“Honey.” Her best friend turned, one hand propped on a hip while she held the sweater dress away from her as though it might give her a disease. “It’s about six sizes too big. You lost all of that weight. Why do you keep this?”

Sighing, she took the woolen dress and held it up to her body. “Because it used to make me feel pretty.”

Sympathy creased Amelia’s face and she leaned into Brenda until they could see themselves cheek to cheek in the long mirror attached to the closet door. “You’re beautiful.” Her soft, comforting tone encouraged Brenda to believe her. The corner of her lipsticked mouth turned up. “But the dress is hideous. Toss it.”

After a quick squeeze, Amelia dove into the closet again. “This is about getting out of our comfort zone, meeting a handsome man and letting him rock your world.”

Rolling her eyes, Brenda sat down on the corner of her bed. She wore a light robe and she’d already showered and blown her hair dry. She should have known Amelia would show up at the eleventh hour to help her get ready—and make sure she didn’t chicken out of the date. She couldn’t complain, the whole of the last year had taken Brenda out of her comfort zone and helped her confront her ghosts. “I could just—”

“No.” Amelia whirled away from the clothes and pointed a finger at her. “You are not going to cancel. I don’t care if we have to drive to the mall and go through every dress they have to find you the perfect outfit, but you’re
going
to go tonight. You are going to have mad sex with some stud, and you’re going to wake up tomorrow a new woman.” With her ice-blonde hair and cool blue eyes, Amelia looked as amazing as always. No one would ever know she was forty-nine and the mother of three. But, then, she swore it was a diet of healthy loving that kept her young.

Glancing away from the furious certainty in her expression, Brenda studied her own manicure. She’d chosen a dark burgundy, it was hardly her normal color—which was clear or the palest of pink. Wanting something bold, she’d gone for darker and added glitz to the injury, the manicurist had touched up her painted toes and nails with a glittery sheen. They sparkled.

I am way too old for this shit
. “Amelia….”

“No. You do not get to
Amelia
me.” Hands on her hips, Amelia wound up to a good temper. After thirty-seven years of friendship, Brenda knew all the signs. “Last year—on New Year’s Day, I rushed over here because you’d collapsed. If you don’t do this, I know I’m going to find you unconscious. Then I’ll have to cart you to the hospital. We are so over this—
he
wouldn’t want you to keep doing that to yourself. So tonight, tonight it’s a fresh start, a new man, a new way to be….”

The diatribe continued even as Amelia returned to the closet. The quaver underscoring the words and the sheen of tears stifled any further objection from Brenda. She’d agreed to apply to 1Night Stand after the second hospital trip, but she’d managed to delay half a year before Amelia sat her down in front of the computer and walked her through the process. What Amelia hadn’t realized was that second trip to the hospital scared the crap out of Brenda and she’d finally started seeing a therapist. When she’d applied for the 1Night Stand, she’d thought she’d been ready.

When months went by with no offers, she’d thought maybe she’d narrowly averted disaster. Then two days before Christmas, the mysterious Madame Eve sent her a request for confirmation that Brenda was free on New Year’s Eve.

“Oh, this is lovely.” The sudden change in Amelia’s strident tone dragged Brenda’s thoughts back to the room. She held up a body-hugging black cocktail dress with a white piping design that gave it a color block effect.  Of course, its dangerously daring neckline promised something else altogether.

“I can’t—” She’d been meaning to return it, having picked it out totally on impulse.

“Oh, you most certainly can.” And with those words, she advanced on Brenda and, hustled into her bathroom, and left her with the orders to change.

“I don’t have a bra I can wear with this,” she informed the closed door.

“Honey, gravity has always been kind to you and if that fits the way I think it will—well, you won’t need a bra and you’ll be grateful to be missing it later.” Amelia said the most outrageous things. Thank God she couldn’t see the heat flaming up Brenda’s cheeks.

“You’re an awful influence.” Still, she held the dress up to herself in the mirror. She didn’t have to imagine how she would look in it—one of the reasons she’d purchased it was the way it hugged her figure and turned her from a career loan officer into a femme fatale.

“Brenda.” Amelia’s voice softened and took on a serious, sober edge. “Put on the dress, let’s do your makeup and send you out tonight like the million-dollar woman you are. Do it because you deserve to feel beautiful and treat yourself that way. I don’t care if this guy turns out
not
to be the one, or the date flops, but you
need
this.”

Biting her lip and hating the indecision waffling through her, Brenda conceded without another word. It only took her a few moments to trade her robe for the dress. Not glancing at herself in the mirror, she held her breath and opened the door.

Amelia lit up. “Perfect. Let’s do your makeup—and what kind of panties are you wearing?”

Rueful, but amused all the same, Brenda hiked the skirt up and showed off the lace she’d already picked out before her courage faltered.

“Woo hoo!” Her friend tugged her out of the bathroom and sat her down at the table in front of the vanity in the bedroom. “You sit there and visualize how awesome you’re going to look and I’ll take care of the rest….”

Well, I can always cancel after I’m on the road. What could it hurt?

Enduring Amelia’s chatter and cosmetics turned out to be fun—and a half of glass of wine didn’t hurt. When Amelia had finished, she turned around and let Brenda see the results of her labor.

Brenda stared.

The woman looking back at her in the mirror couldn’t possibly be her. The cosmetic choices had been subtle and gave her plain-Jane features smoky eyes and glossy lips. Tipping her head from side to side, she tried to see what exactly Amelia had done—but she couldn’t discern the type of blush—only that her cheeks bones seemed higher. Diamond tear drop earrings added a hint of whimsy and a touch of magic to the silver streaks in her shoulder-length medium, mousy-brown hair