Page 3 of Green Ravens

“I knew you’d show about this time. Here, the waiter brought this a minute ago.”

Dusmeyer pushed a mug of ice-cold Yuengling Black & Tan in front of him.

Oakley grunted his thanks and downed half of the dark brew in one gulp.

Fuck, that’s good.And just what he needed.

He noticed several of his guys were gone, and a couple of others had girls they were cozied up to, no doubt trying to convince them to make a bad decision for one night.

The few already committed to partners stateside were taking turns at the dart board.

Chuckling, Oakley elbowed his friend in his side and tilted his head toward a brunette with pretty skin, wide hips, and a nice chest, bent over the pool table, setting up a one-in-a-million shot that she banked like a shark.

“Action pretty good in here tonight, huh?”

“If you say so.” Dusmeyer shrugged, his eyes on one of the televisions tuned to Sports Center. “None of these thirsty broads can hold a candle to Miranda.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ done.”

“And happy to be.” Dusmeyer sighed. “Finding a different set of legs at every port is getting old, man. I’ve outgrown that shit, y’know. I wanna have kids, a fuckin’ family before my balls start shooting dust when I’m up in it.”

Oakley barked a gruff laugh.

His best friend was crass as fuck, but Oakley would kill and die for him. He was happy Dust had found someone. But damn, it made him take a long, hard look at his own life.

At thirty-eight, he wasn’t getting any younger, and the job had a way of tacking on an extra ten years.

Dusmeyer met Miranda six months ago—a Navy judge advocate with brains that could run circles around all of them—and he’d had stars in his eyes ever since.

His senior chief wasn’t the only one on his crew with a steady girl—White had a pretty cool guy—they were thinking of settling down with.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Chief. I’m gonna marry that woman as soon as I get the nerve to ask her.”

“Never thought I’d see the day the Dust Man found his match or a woman who could hold your interest for longer than three months.”

“Yeah, well…the game has to end at some point, yeah.”

Oakley left their conversation at that. It was getting a bit too real for him.

When he searched for their waiter to order another beer, he was surprised to see Chief Sawyer sitting alone on the last stool on the other side of the bar.

Because of the lack of lighting and the distance from the action, not many ventured over there.

But there he was, in a tight white T-shirt beneath a worn brown leather bomber jacket, with half his stern face and blond hair concealed by the shadows.

As if Sawyer could feel Oakley’s eyes on him, he slowly lowered his gaze from the television mounted over the bar and locked eyes with him in a way that was damn near challenging.

Chief Aiken Oakley

Oakley nodded once, then went back to drinking his brew, but now he was hyperaware of the green eyes that continued to dart in his direction. Every couple of minutes, a chill would run down his spine, and he’d have to fight not to glance back.

Dusmeyer started rambling about the stats the Braves pitcher had during last night’s game, but Oakley wasn’t listening. He was agreeing, but he didn’t know what to.

“Yo, ain’t that Sawyer over there giving that brunette you were admiring the brush-off?”

Oakley finally had a reason to turn around, and sure enough, the pretty woman was standing close enough that her round breast caressed Sawyer’s upper arm.

Oakley tried to play it cool. “Yeah, I think it is. And I wasn’t admiring her. I just noticed her.”

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