Page 1 of A SEAL for the Weekend
1
PAIGE
As music thumps through the thin walls of the restroom, shaking the posters stuck to the walls, I stare in the mirror at the woman looking back at me. Short blonde hair, trimmed in a severe cut, blue eyes rimmed with thick eyeliner and rusty eyeshadow to try to hide the redness. Concealer covers the dark smudges under my eyelids.
Pulling a lipstick from my purse, Blood Red Ruby, I apply a fresh coat to my lips.
Make-up is armor, Paige. Use it wisely.
My mother’s voice jumps into my head so clearly I gasp and turn around to check the stalls behind me, certain she’s going to come out of one, lean on the stall, and shake her head at me.
Instead, the door to the club bathroom bursts open, and two women stagger in. One of them wears a red dress cut well above the knee, and the other is in a tight-fitting black number that her boobs almost spill out of.
“...deploying next week.”
Mid-conversation, they don’t even spare me a glance as they slip into stalls next to each other, their conversation continuing as the doors lock into place.
“I like the one with the dark hair,” Red Dress says. “He’s got a nice smile.”
“As long as he’s got a nice dick, I don’t care,” her friend responds, and they both cackle.
They come out of their stalls at the same time, their actions synchronized. I scoot over to give them access to the sink, and Red Dress smiles at me. “Thanks.”
There’s no competition here. The number of men outweighs the women by at least three to one, which is why I chose a bar close to a military base. There’s plenty of choice.
I watch as Red Dress pulls out a lipstick as bright as the fabric of her dress. We’re all wearing armor tonight.
Finally, after the women leave the restroom, I take one final look in the mirror, slip my lipstick back into my purse, and run my hands through my hair. I hardly recognize myself, which is exactly what I want.
I pull out my compact and dab powder on my forehead, my hand shaking slightly.
You don’t have to do this.
My mother’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
“But I do.” Snapping my compact shut, I take a deep breath and head out to the bar.
The bass is so loud it feels like the whole building is shaking as I make my way through the crowded dance floor to the bar. With every step, I feel my heart beating a little faster, but I force myself to walk slowly as if I’ve done this a hundred times before. Spotting a stool at the end of the bar, I slip onto it and get the bartender’s attention.
I order a beer and drink it straight from the bottle. I’m not going to pretend I like cocktails. I can only fake my way through so much.
Taking a large gulp, I survey the bar. Groups of men congregate around tables, chugging back drinks and laughing too loudly. I spot the women from the bathroom laughing by the pool table with a group of men in uniform.
I see a few other women, but it’s mostly men. Their short, cropped hair and smooth jaws give them away as military. Even if I weren’t a hundred yards from a military base, I’d be able to spot them.
The young men in training make the most noise as they sling back shots. Then there are the older men, back between deployments or working on base, drinking for a good time or to forget. And at the other end of the bar, a man drinks alone. He sits in shadow, nursing a beer, his gaze on the bottle. I consider him for a moment, then turn away. Intriguing but too morose.
Taking another sip, I scan the crowd, looking for a good candidate.
I’m not sure how this works, but something tells me if I wait on my stool, I’ll find what I’m looking for.
I don’t have to wait long.
I’ve barely had half of my beer before a man approaches. He’s young—fresh out of high school would be my guess—and he staggers toward me with a huge grin on his face.
“Can I buy you a shot?”
He’s got a pleasant face, a boyish grin, and he’s wearing a skintight t-shirt. I take a sip of my beer while my heart races. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? A stranger. This is why I stopped at Fort Bragg on my way home from college.
