Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs (5 page)

Once naked, he covered himself with a condom and found her warm body fully accepting of his. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he barely had a chance to lean down and plant a kiss on her lips before she’d angled herself on him. He was so damn hard and she was so tight, the friction between their bodies quickened the passion he’d been holding back. He stroked her slow, letting her pull at his butt, bringing him deeper inside with every thrust. Her little mewling sounds were sweet.

“Mmm those little sounds you make, Karen. Real sexy like.”

She giggled, thrusting her pelvis up toward his groin, rocking herself on him. He placed his palms under her rear, holding her up off the bed as he bent one knee, angling to the side and pressing into her to the hilt. Her moans became desperate. She drew her knee up over his right shoulder, as he continued his hip-rocking action and then held himself against her insides, pulsing. Her little body shook beneath him as she came, and they shared their pleasure together.

He stroked her hairline with his thumb. “Sorry, darlin’. I guess I was a little tired.”

“Oh God, no! Jameson, I can’t believe…”

He cut her off with a deep kiss. “Shhh. We’re just two people here. Just you and me. I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. Give me a little time.”

He rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling he could not see. She fit nicely into the hollow beneath his arm, snuggling her breasts against his, wrapping her legs around his thigh. Her warm, moist pussy pulsed against him. He removed his condom using the top sheet and then reached over to feel the smooth skin of her rump.

“Wake me up if you want to, Jameson, when you’re ready.”

Well, suddenly, he was ready.

He was grateful
for this life, he thought as he showered with her. Karen’s body was perfect for him. He even enjoyed how the hot water made her nipples knot and how her cheeks pinked when he knelt in front of her in the shower and ‘tuned her G string,’ as he called it.

He bought her breakfast, and then it was time to part. He drove her over to pick up her car at the club. The place was looking dingy and didn’t have any of the sparkle of the night before. Nothing had the sparkle of the night before.

What’s happening?

He gave her a hug, kissed her on the cheek. She grabbed his ears and planted a deep kiss on him, nearly jumping him again in the parking lot.

“Whoa! Whoa! I need my energy for tonight’s show. You forget, I work tonight.”

She frowned. “So do I. But I can come tomorrow night.”

He smiled into her blue eyes and wanted to be kind, but didn’t want her thinking they were going to be exclusive for any length of time. “We had a nice time together, Karen. I think you clear wore me out. Might need a few days to recover.”

He saw the flattering remark appeared to work. But he was serious about her not expecting anything more from him. It seemed a good way to let her down.

Her smile rewarded him with reassurance his message was delivered. He gave her a good pat on the rear then a squeeze on that fine ass of hers. “Laters, baby.”

She started to walk toward her car then turned around, her eyes filling out round. “Seriously? You into that, too?”

He placed his fingers on his hips and shook his head, examining the tips of his boots. “Not really. But I saw the movie.”

Her warm smile cheered him long after she left, swaying back and forth in the late morning air, a thing of beauty and something he’d seriously enjoyed. He was also glad it wasn’t going to get complicated.

Jameson was surprised to see Thomas’s pickup still in the parking lot. It occurred to him the man might have spent the night on a cot in the men’s rest room, like he’d done a time or two. The club owner’s older light violet Cadillac with the longhorns welded to the grill was also still there.

He found the front door to the club open. Reed, the club owner, was sitting at a table counting money.

“You knocked ’em dead last night, Jameson. You only got two more nights. How about extending a bit for me? The boys said they were available.”

“Hell, Reed, they’re always available. They work for you, not for me. Besides, I might be a signed recording artist by then. One can never tell.”

“Shit, Jameson, you should just enjoy the money and the tits and ass while it lasts. I know Thomas did.”

“Well, I’m not Thomas. You should know that by now. He in the bathroom?”

“Shit, no. You should have seen who he went home with last night.”

Jameson smiled at the wily manager who always seemed to come out on top. “So you didn’t pay him yet, otherwise he’d have brought an expensive one home. His truck is still here. So where’s the asshole holed up this time?”

“No, goddammit, I didn’t pay him because I thought maybe that one might steal from him. She rode in on a Harley, and do you see a black Harley outside?”

“I sure don’t.”

“That’s because she took him on
her
bike. The lady, if you can call her that, has more tats than Thomas has. Indian gal nearly three hundred pounds. I can’t even imagine the kind of war games she took out on his sorry ass.”

They heard the unmistakable sounds of the Harley in question arriving outside the club.

Thomas ran through the opening as they heard the sounds of the bike fade behind him. “Whoo hoo! Now that was some kind of fun! That woman can suck the rockets off a space ship!” Thomas’s enthusiasm was double any Jameson had seen in the past several months.

“Glad to hear it,” he chuckled as he fist bumped his old friend.

“Reed, can Jameson and I bum a beer? I’m starved.”

“You need breakfast, Thomas, not a beer.” Reed continued counting without taking his eyes off the money, his lips forming a thin line. “Maybe lover boy can take you out for something. If you come back in an hour, I’ll have your money.”

“Ah, just one beer, Reed. Come on.”

“What are we celebrating?” Reed asked him, stopping to give Thomas attention. “You celebrate gettin’ laid now? Is that how it’s gone for you, son?”

Jameson could see that cut a little close to the bone for Thomas. “Come on, I’ll buy you some breakfast, and we’ll pick up a six-pack on the way back.”

“Okay.” Thomas headed toward the door then turned back to Reed. “See you in an hour or less.” After they were in the parking lot, he asked, “So, what are you hankering for?”

“I not hungry. But I’ll get a cup of coffee with you. Tell me about your sexual exploits.”

“My lips are sealed, but man, hers? Hers were divine!” Thomas smirked, his eyes wild and twinkling. “Can I ride along?” he asked, pointing to Jameson’s truck.

“That bad, huh?”

“Some would call it good, my man.”

“So did you stop drinking at all last night?” Jameson smelled the alcohol on Thomas’s breath, the clove cigarettes in his clothes.

“I did several things all night long, Jameson. You’re not the only stud in Nashville.”

“So Reed says she rides a Harley. Most of those girls have boyfriends who don’t talk much, but love to pound on white boys any chance they can. You thinking straight?” Jameson squinted, shaking his head. They’d arrived at a twenty-four hour coffee shop.

“Never better.”

It was probably a boost to Thomas’s ego, plastered and beat down by a long series of rejections from agents and record producers. Jameson knew his old friend had more talent in his little finger than most everyone else in this town. Thomas was also one of the busiest singer-songwriters in Nashville, but only because he was cheap, practically free to hire, and didn’t have a personal life. Hanging out in bars for the odd chance of meeting a biker chick, or making enough to satisfy his bar tab, was the trajectory he was on.

“Don’t you ever think all this might be ruining your chances of making it big time? You know the A&R guys don’t hang out at some of the places you play.”

“Well, there were two there last night,” Thomas objected. He sat across from Jameson while their waitress, Dottie, came over and placed a couple of sticky menus in front of them.

“Just coffee, please, ma’am.”

“Make that two, and I’d like some eggs and toast.” Thomas growled, frowning into the menu as she snatched it from his hands.

“Thomas, one guy was there because
I
invited him. He was there to see me.”

“Didn’t stay very long.”

“They never do. I’m feeling good about this one, though.”

Thomas nodded, lowering the corners of his lips and raising his eyebrows. “You wind up with the little high schooler?”

“She’s not in high school. She’s twenty-two.”

“Ah,” Thomas said, and winked. “Well, shit, I’m happy for you.”

“I don’t do it for the girls, Thomas.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Well, I mean, what kind of a life would that be? I’m working hard to get discovered.”

Thomas gave him a glare straight from hell. Dottie brought his eggs and toast just in time. He softened his look after taking his first bite. “I seriously hope it happens for you, man.”

Jameson sat back and took stock of his old friend. “You givin’ up on the dream, Thomas? Is that what this is all about?”

“You know, for such a smart kid, you sure say the dumbest things.” Thomas was pointing his fork at Jameson’s nose. “I fuckin’ work hard at it every day, same as you. I show up. I play the gigs people like you and old Reed give me. I don’t go begging for work. I
find
it. Sometimes I find work that actually pays enough to make my rent. I don’t complain. You ever hear me complain?”

“No. I don’t. But—”

“Just shut your pie hole.” The fork was in the air again. “I’ve never given up any more than you have. But you know as well as I do, your chances in this town are just not very good. We work our butt off. We show up and try not to get too drunk or booed off the stage and try
not
to go home with someone else’s wife—” The fork went down, but Thomas leaned into the table and whispered, “Which is more than I can say for another someone in this establishment.”

“Didn’t know she was married until after.”

“Listen to you justify yourself.”

“How the hell do you know Tawanda Amazon with the Harley out there isn’t married?”

“Because I fuckin’ asked her.”

“Oh, and you believe her?”

“Did you even ask the lady?”

Jameson said nothing, staring down at his coffee cup.

“No. The answer’s no. You just let her into your room when she dropped by; am I right or am I right?”

“Thomas, where is this going? You did the same fuckin’ thing fifteen years ago when you first started out. You told me yourself.”

Thomas threw his fork down on his now-empty plate, sat back, and showed Jameson both of his palms. “I rest my case.”

Jameson was so pissed off he was about to leave and let the old singer walk or take a taxi, except he figured Thomas didn’t have money for the taxi and he might get arrested for being drunk in public if the right kind of asshole cop were to find him.

Thomas was really his only friend, or at least the only person in Nashville he could trust with anything other than a bottle, he saw perhaps his own future. Was this where he was headed?

No. I’m special. I have what it takes. I’m not giving up on this dream of becoming a big star. Not everyone makes it. Most don’t. But I can do it. Maybe Thomas didn’t want it bad enough.

He scanned the lines on his friend’s once-handsome face, the well-worn shirt collar he couldn’t afford to replace, and the white tee shirt underneath that was starting to turn yellow. He noticed the calluses on the man’s fingertips from years of playing, the knuckles that were starting to swell from early arthritis that shouldn’t happen to a man in his forties. If Thomas took better care of himself, would these things show up? If he didn’t drink so much? If he rested more, took care of himself? If he was happier?

No, Thomas wasn’t going to give up, but it might kill him.

‡

A
ssad sat across
the table from the new recruits the prophet in Chicago had sent him. These were children. One of them had lost a brother in the little Nashville raid when the SEALs took over their compound. Several others knew brothers-in-arms who had been arrested, which was a blessing. The work would continue from the prison, if it was God’s will they should spend time there. A congregation of the believers was growing every day inside prison. They had everything they wanted, including conjugal visits with their ‘wives’ since most of the guards couldn’t keep them straight.

The only thing Assad had missed out on was the sex with the Nashville girls. He would have wanted to do that. Smoke some pot, have sex with an infidel, make her think she should be the vessel for his seed, try to impregnante her, and then sell her to the sheikh’s supporters in Oregon or better yet, in Iraq or Syria. She’d be bearing what they called an “anchor baby”, an automatic ticket to obtaining a U.S. Passport.

The American girls were so gullible. When his friend had written him about the deflowered infidels, one he’d deflowered himself, his dick got hard. He wanted a young American virgin; a blonde, or, better yet, some fiery red-head, like the whores in Pakistan. Except these American women would be blonde or red all over. He wondered what that would look like, red or yellow hair between their creamy thighs, not black, like he’d seen in the pictures of girls at home. Black hair wasn’t sexy. He wanted them young and ripe, before they had any hair at all, or blonde. That was his dream every night before bedtime.