Page 8 of The Soldier

I wish he’d stop doing that.

“WHAT?” I snapped when Briar didn’t reply again.

“Do you...like him?” she asked carefully, lifting her brows.

I gasped dramatically a second time. “Like him? Briar, I can’t stand the guy. He’s a giraffe. And I hate blue eyes.”

Silence again as I stared back and forth, like a crazy person, between Briar and the road.

“You have blue eyes,” she finally says.

Damn her.

What kind of friend doesn’t go along with you when you’re clearly having a mental breakdown?

“Exactly. I can hardly fuck someone with the same colored eyes as me,” I muttered, losing steam.

“That doesn’t make any sense," she continued.

I knew I was running out of arguments, and she did too.

“You’re being ridiculous. At best he’s six foot six. And Marshall is a very good-looking man.” Briar shakes her head.

“I thought you loved Aidan?” I snapped, attempting to end this uncomfortableTrina likes Marshalldiscussion that was causing me to dig myself deeper into a hole.

I don’t.

That was all that mattered.

Yes, I was aware he was flirting with me and found me attractive. I’m a beautiful and confident woman. No point in pretending I’m average. I’m not.

Like Marshall, I could hit a bar and pick up someone to spend the night with.

It’s different when it’s someone in your friend circle. Unfortunately, that’s the situation we are in. He works for, and is friends with, Briar’s, Savannah’s, and Cassy’s husbands. Well Briar and Aidan aren’t yet married, but with twins on the way they will be soon after.

Let me spell out what would happen if I decided to go digging and discover if that tattoo exists.

First...one hell of an orgasm. I have zero doubts about that.

Then I’d spend the rest of my life watching thatadmittedlygorgeous man-whore sleep with the rest of the female population.

No. Thank. You.

Anyway, I don’t sleep with men in uniform. It is a rule. One I set many years ago.

“Marshall is just being playful. Give him a break,” Briar had responded.

“Playful.” I snorted as if the idea was completely unreasonable. “Alice should sleep with him. She could do with a good rogering.”

Briar sprayed water across my dashboard, then lowered her bottle. “Rogering?”

“It’s a British expression. I’m reading a new author. It means—”

“Yeah, I get it. Alice might not—”

“She needs a good fucking and you know it. The fun box is meant to be used, not protected like the crown jewels.”

More British references. I’m currently reading a steamy historical romance and my god, it’s horny as hell.

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