Page 77 of The Soldier

I am not going home with him.

I don’t want to sleep with anyone after being with Marshall. If I wasn’t so messed up about losing my dad, I might be in Marshall’s bed right now enjoying more of the carnal passion we shared.

Ugh.

But I am who I am, and I’m not dating him with his background, which clearly is still active somehow or paramilitary.

Their jobs are dangerous.

So, I need to move on. Forget him. The party tomorrow night is a great chance to make that point loud and clear.

To everyone.

I notice Roger has talked to a few people—both women and men—and it’s taken my edge off, wondering if he’s some kind of lonely loser. It doesn’t appear he is. Perhaps he’s traveling for business. Or here on vacation.

“We’re heading out,” Megan and Sarah, who are always joined at the hip, say. They stand, reach for their handbags and head out.

“We should go, too.” Bob, my boss says, nodding to his PA. I’ve often wondered if there’s an affair going on despite both being married.

Not my business.

But I’m ninety-nine percent certain.

The three IT guys and Jacob throw back their drinks and follow suit.

“Me too,” I say and then thumb over my shoulder. “After going to the ladies room. See you all tomorrow.”

I wander slowly toward the bar and then slip onto the stool beside Roger. I don’t look at him as I order a glass of water and wait for him to say something.

“So.”

“So.” I smile and turn.

“Are we getting a dog?” he asks without breaking a smile. I watch as he glances around the bar, then back at me.

I can’t help my giggle. “Maybe you should ask me on a date first.”

“Ah.” He seems disappointed as he adds, “So, you’re a dinner and flowers kind of girl.”

I hide my reaction.

Roger’s a bang ‘em and leave ‘em guy. A player. I should have known when he chose not to join the rest of my party for a drink. Why get to know me when I’m probably a sure thing. And if I’m not, he didn’t waste all night on me.

I know his type.

Well, the player is about to get played.

“I hate flowers—I get hay fever. But I do eat. You?”

“I love eating.”

The comment hangs in the air, and I swear, if he wasn’t good looking it would’ve made my skin crawl. It gave total Jeffrey Dahmer vibes.

Whatever. I’m not sleeping with him; I just need a date for tomorrow night to make my position clear and keep me away from Marshall.

I slide off my stool and drop my business card on the bar, nudging it in his direction.

“I have a friend’s party tomorrow night. If you want to come with me and eat”—ugh—“then message me. If not, it was nice meeting you, Roger.”

---