Twin Tempt_An MFM Menage Military Romance

by Jess Bentley

  He looks me up and down again, and I can almost feel his eyes circling the outline of my nipples underneath my T-shirt halter.

  “Well, you sure are doing a good job,” he grins. “Looks like you’re a natural.”

  “Oh, you think so?” I smile, pleased at this little bit of encouragement.

  “Yeah, girl,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “Keep it up and I can have all kinds of work for you. Didn’t Mona tell you?”

  “Oh!” I murmur, flinching back.

  I definitely didn’t see that coming. What is wrong with me? How did I fall for that?

  But he doesn’t seem to mind that I am visibly trying to get away from him. He presses in even closer. I can smell the whiskey on his breath.

  “We just have to find the right position for you, you know what I mean? You got any other skills that I should know about?”

  I shake my head tightly. I’m sure there are words that I could say, but they don’t want to come out.

  “Tammy?” he persists.

  I glance at him blankly before remembering that he thinks my name is Tammy. Oh yeah. Right.

  “I think this is all I can handle,” I mutter quickly.

  My eyes search the bar frantically. Where the hell is Mona?

  “Oh, you are just being modest,” he continues, his voice snaking into my ear hole. “You don’t gotta be shy with me. We are like a family here. Hasn’t Mona told you that?”

  My hands are starting to twitch from the cold, and I realize that I keep nervously clutching ice cubes.

  “Well we are,” he insists. “Mona is like a daughter to me, you know what I’m saying? I taught her everything she knows. You’ll see. Are you looking forward to the show?”

  I glance at him, blinking. I really don’t know what to say. What would my dad tell me to do? Probably I should retreat. And if I can’t retreat, crack him in the jaw with my elbow.

  “Yeah, you are,” he continues, leaning in even closer. He’s backing me in the into the corner, making it half impossible for me to get away.

  “Ty!” Mona barks, appearing suddenly on the other end of the beer cooler.

  She glares at Ty threateningly until he stands up straight and takes a half step away from me.

  “Can’t you see that you are making her uncomfortable?” Mona continues, stabbing the air with her lacquered fingernail. “Jesus! Give that girl some room, why don’t you?”

  Ty sucks his teeth and shrugs, shuffling a few steps away and pouting the whole time.

  “We are just getting to know each other, Mona. Don’t be jealous, girl. Christ.”

  “As if!” she huffs. “Yolanda is asking for you. Why don’t you go see what she wants?”

  He narrows his eyes at her. “Yolanda? Are you shitting me?”

  Mona shrugs. “You better go see what she wants.”

  I am not sure what just happened, but he actually does go away. He is so skinny that his narrow, light-wash jeans practically hang off his hips. He looks like a carnie. Or a meth head. Not what I always assumed a business owner looks like, anyway.

  “Oh wow, thank you,” I breathe. “I was looking for you! He is so weird!”

  “He can’t do anything to you,” she shrugs.

  I make a mental note that I didn’t say he could do anything to me. It is sort of weird that she would just bring that up out of the blue.

  “Well, I didn’t say he could do anything to me,” I sass back. “I was just saying he is weird and kind of in my personal space. What’s up with you? Are you okay?”

  She is not looking at me, so I can’t really tell, but then she suddenly snaps her attention back to me and I see her cheeks are flushed. She leans toward me conspiratorially.

  “You see him? Over there?”

  I follow her gesture and scan the bar. There are an assortment of guys sitting there, most with their chins tilted up toward the TV and the assortment of sports that are being played right now. There are a couple of guys in shorts and flip-flops. A couple in T-shirts and camouflage pants.

  “Do I see who? Where?”

  She swallows, hard.

  “Carson is here,” she whispers, leaning even closer.

  Her eyes are wide with excitement, and I can practically see her pulse in her throat. Her cleavage heaves out of the low-cut V of her skintight dress.

  “Carson? Are you serious? Which one is he?”

  As soon as I say the words, I realize who he must be. At the far end of the bar, a man sits astride a barstool, backward so his legs jut out. He is half in shadow. Piercing gaze. A jaw so square you could slice paper against it. Shoulders the width of the door.

  Special Forces. I’m almost sure of it. I’ve seen that look before.

  “Oh… Wow!” Is all I can get out.

  Mostly what I am thinking is, Carson is a real person?

  “I know, right?” she answers excitedly.

  “I didn’t even know he was around. Didn’t you just tell me he was out of town for a couple of weeks? So you didn’t have to shave your pubes into a heart or rhombus or whatever?”

  “I know!” she squeaks, and it is clear she is barely listening to me. “I can’t believe it either! So…this is great, right?”

  I smile supportively. “Yeah! Totally great! You must be so excited!”

  Mona has been talking about Carson for as long as I have known her. In fact, she talked about him so much that at first I was convinced he didn’t exist. He sounds like a fantasy some adolescent girl makes up, not like a real person. Mysterious missions. A man of few words with a secret life. He can’t talk about his past or his future. The sort who arrives suddenly and sweeps her off her feet for a few breathless days, then disappears again with barely a word.

  That’s not totally weird around here, with all of the military shenanigans going on. But until this moment, I was not 100 percent sure that he was anything more than a daydream.

  “You didn’t know he was coming?”

  She fans herself with her hand. Tiny tendrils of hair fluff out around her face, which is so red I can see it, even in the half-light.

  “No! I’m totally shocked! Like… totally shocked!”

  “That’s so great!” I say, because I am an awesome friend.

  She gives me a scared, strained smile. “So, hey, can I ask you a favor?”

  “Sure,” I shrug, handing off a couple of Bud Lights to a townie with a long ponytail.

  That’s another two dollars for me in the apron. Ka-ching.

  “Seriously? Oh, you are amazing.”

  I shake my head. I do not understand.

  She shrugs her shoulders almost to her ears. “See? The thing is? Carson wants to get out of here. Normally I would be stuck, you know? Like with nobody to cover my shift?”

  “Okay?”

  She claps her hands. “So you’ll do it! That is amazing!”

  I raise my palms. Wait.

  “Hold on, what are you talking about? What is amazing?”

  “That you will cover for me!” she squeals. “You are the best! I knew I brought you here for a reason!”

  “Wait, Mona! I can’t do that!” I object immediately. Now it is all making sense. She wants me to cover for her so she can leave with Carson. So she can go do whatever with Carson, while I am stuck here.

  “But you just said you would!” she pleads.

  “No! I mean… I was just being nice. I don’t know how to do that! I’ve never been a bartender before. I don’t know how! And I don’t feel comfortable trying it out this way, with Ty being all creepy and stuff. I wish I could, Mona, but I just can’t.”

  She grimaces and wriggles her nose. “Actually… I don’t need you to bartend, though. Like, if that’s the problem, you don’t have to do that.”

  “What? I’m confused. So what are you asking me?”

  She shifts uncertainly from side to side, tapping her fingernails against the plastic of the beer cooler. Another country song comes up, louder than the last one. I have to lean in to ev
en hear what she is trying to say.

  “What was that? I can’t hear you!”

  She rolls her eyes in frustration. “I said I need you to do the modeling, Libby. You don’t have to tend bar.”

  Even though the bar is super loud, I feel like it falls almost completely silent.

  “Hold on. Just wait a second,” I start.

  She just stares at me as though we have some kind of psychic connection, which we do not.

  “Mona? Explain it to me like I am twelve years old, okay? What is it that you need me to do?”

  She stretches a little bit back and forth, clearly uncomfortable.

  “You know how you picked out that nice bra and panty set tonight?” she begins again.

  I just nod.

  “Okay, so you are all set!” she explains, yet does not explain anything. “And you did shave all your nethers. And you did tan everything else. And of course you are gorgeous just the way that God made you…”

  “Mona! Just spit it out!”

  I am starting to catch on, but by golly, I want to hear her say the words out loud.

  “The lingerie show!” she finally blurts out. “I need you to cover for me for the lingerie show. Okay? I don’t know why you want me to say it! You already know what I am going to ask!”

  “No way!”

  “Oh, come on!” she bawls. “It is no big deal! It’s just underwear! That’s it! All you have to do is strip down to your skivvies and walk around the bar real slow. The guys are going to give you a couple dollars here and there. You will probably make an extra hundred bucks!”

  “Mona, if my father knew that you were trying to turn me into a stripper, he would find a way to have you used for target practice!”

  Her expression darkens. “You know that is not funny.”

  “Exactly!”

  “But he’s here!” she whimpers, twisting around to stare at Carson who is now looking directly at us.

  He really is handsome, and she’s practically vibrating with desperation.

  “Besides, your dad doesn’t know where you are. And nobody here knows who you are! You know you’re kind of a freak. Isn’t it just a little bit exciting?”

  “Mona, no.”

  She turns back toward me and huffs, then narrows her eyes. “Come on. Be honest,” she insists. “It is exciting. I know it is, because I do it. It’s not like gross or anything. It’s just attention. It’s just compliments and money. You might like it!”

  I look around the bar, trying to imagine walking around in just this bra and panty set I just bought. Oh my God, and these heels. Really? Is she serious?

  “Come on… You’re gorgeous. It’ll be just like one of your porn fantasies, only in real life. As a matter of fact, pretend that is what it is! Act out one of your favorites, you know what I mean? Make it your own!”

  I roll my eyes at her, though I have to admit instantly I am thinking of a video montage of my favorite scenes. I mean, she does have a point. This is kind of like a stage, away from my real life, kind of anonymous. Fake name and everything?

  “And then what? Ty is going to try to hire me? Lock me up in the back or something?”

  “I don’t think he has any chains in the back,” she mutters.

  “Wait, what? I was just kidding about that.”

  “Oh, I was just kidding too! You don’t have to worry about Ty. I won’t be gone all night. I’ll be back before closing time! Maybe even just a couple of hours!”

  Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I try to tell myself that there are a million reasons this is a bad idea. My father. Shame and humiliation. A total lack of experience. The general sense of grossness.

  Then again, porn is all about self-expression, right? Liberated fetish? Letting your freak flag fly? It really is just running around my underwear… I mean, I was running around in a bathing suit earlier today, and that is pretty much the same thing. What’s the big difference?

  She stares at me, her eyes wide, until she finally nods. “You’re going to do it,” she smiles knowingly. “You’re totally going to do it. You’re the best, Libby! I mean… Tammy!”

  I point at her as another customer comes up, just to make my point. “You’re coming back for me,” I insist.

  She holds her hands up innocently. “You bet I am,” she smiles, and that is the last time I see her for almost two weeks.

  Chapter 7

  Will

  The best thing that I can say about this place is that it is dark. Even though the lights in the corner pulse like crazy, I can barely make out anybody else’s face. That means they can barely make out mine. So I hope the chances of being recognized here are practically zero.

  There are some places soldiers are not supposed to go. Famously there’s a shopping center that is completely off-limits—and yet doesn’t go out of business. We’re supposed to show a certain sort of decorum. This bar is not technically one of those places on the list, but it probably should be.

  Maybe at one point it was reputable or at least clean. There are framed pictures screwed into the walls. Vintage photos of farm plots and fishing contests. Ladies in Victorian dress on wide summer porches. That is the sort of thing I wouldn’t mind taking a closer look at.

  But now it’s just a dive bar with modernized lights and televisions. Cass must have come here at some point and had a decent time, and now he’s trying to loop me in. I appreciate that. It’s not his fault I’m in a sour mood. I just have a lot on my mind. Plans. The future. Our enlistment is drawing to the date where we have to sign up for another tour or take new postings.

  We need a plan. And he’s been skittish, avoiding my eye and avoiding the topic every time I bring it up. Maybe he has something in mind. Something I won’t like.

  But we aren’t going to figure that out today, I tell myself. So what’s the harm? Here we are—might as well try to make the best of it.

  Cass suggested beers and burgers. That sounds like a great idea. I’d like to get fed and get out. I was looking for a way to wind down, and this hillbilly roadhouse isn’t it.

  The lights go down suddenly, and the voice of that sketchy-looking bouncer comes out over the sound system. He says a show is about to start.

  Cass refuses to meet my eye.

  “Hey… what’s going on here?” I ask as steaming baskets of fried food are dropped in the middle of the table.

  To be honest, those fried pickles look amazing. The scent of hot oil coats the inside of my nose. I realize how hungry I am.

  “Cass? Are you listening to me?”

  But he isn’t listening. He’s looking at the girls circling our table who are dressed in… practically nothing. One is in a nightgown sort of thing, and the other in a close-fitting bodysuit with sparkles around her cleavage.

  “Cass? What is this? Are these strippers?”

  “Oh, honey, we’re not strippers!” a woman says, pivoting to face me directly.

  Her nightgown slips off her shoulder but I am more interested in the look in her eyes. Hungry, haughty. No nonsense. It’s a look that says she might flirt if I paid for it. But it’s not sincere.

  “This is a lingerie show. Haven’t you ever been to a lingerie show?”

  Cass is chowing down, totally engaged in the French fries and girls. Since I don’t answer her, the woman in the nightgown just moves off to another table. I wait for Cass to glance my way again, so I can get a feeling for just how committed he is to this show. Yeah, I get it now. He thought I would like it once it started. He thought it would be funny and out of the ordinary. Nice try, but this isn’t my scene and never will be.

  But now his attention is focused on the far wall. He tenses, clenching his jaw.

  I follow his sight line to the back of the room. A woman stands there, swaying self-consciously back and forth. She is different than the others. She doesn’t have that hardened look. She doesn’t seem practiced.

  She’s wearing a simple set of bra and panties, pale pink, with shiny crisscrossed bits and patches of
lace. Simple. Kind of modest. She’s tall and strong. Not hard like a soldier, but not soft like a civilian. Somewhere in between. I can see the outline of her core muscles as she breathes deeply, closing her eyes and swaying with the music uncertainly at first, then with more commitment.

  Her first steps kind of wobble on her tall, baby-blue heels, but she settles in quickly to a cat-like stride. She lowers her chin and squares her shoulders before she reaches the first table. The transformation is remarkable: from awkward and tentative to confident and determined. It’s like she is an actress, committing to her role.

  But still, there is something authentic. As she circles the first table and heads toward us, I can see it in her eyes, maybe in the way she brushes her hair back with the heel of her hand. This is not someone who takes her clothes off for a living. This someone who is enjoying herself. Maybe forcing herself to enjoy herself, but yes. There is definitely some kind of sincere pleasure there.

  When her eyes flicker past our table, she stops up short and pauses, taking a visible breath. She looks at Cass and me, a sly smile twisting the corner of her lips. For a few long moments she stands there, country music pulsing in the space between us, her breath held beneath her swelling bosom, her eyes glittering.

  “Fuck, yes,” I hear Cass mutter under his breath.

  Her strides are long and slow as she approaches, and I can barely look away. There’s no trace of hesitation now, just a playful look of mischief in her deep brown eyes. When she’s close enough, she reaches out and brushes her fingertips against my bicep, then walks behind me, dragging her fingertips along my shoulders.

  Circling the table, she reaches Cass and touches him too, in exactly the same way. It’s as though she wants to make sure we are really brothers, and really twins. The delight on her face is unmistakable.

  “Hello,” she grins, dimpling her round cheeks. “How are you tonight?”

  Cass doesn’t say anything. He’s breathing through his nose. His hands are frozen against his knees.

  “How are you?” I answer for both of us.

  She turns her chin toward me slowly, apparently relishing even that small motion. Her smile is sincere, practically surprised.