She screamed, but no one came to her aid. The constant, lapping waves made fun of her and didn’t give up a soul. Checking to the right and then the left, she knew she was all alone with the powerful gulf. Gazing back toward her house, the fireplace lights welcomed her to the warmth of her bungalow’s interior. She rose, soaking wet and full of sand.
Tomorrow was another day, and she vowed to make it stress-free. The wedding was two days after that. In the meantime, she was just going to concentrate on the primping, plumping, plucking, and tanning herself to perfection.
She was going to be the most perfect maid of honor who ever walked down a sandy wedding trail, intending not to pay even the tiniest bit of attention to a man who had his chance once and blew it.
Martel was going to make sure he paid for that mistake with unrelenting coolness a snowman would envy.
She was the last to join Kaitlyn’s wedding party mani and pedi. All eight of them sat in their motorized backslapping, butt-squeezing captain’s chairs with the bubbly jets so fierce she couldn’t hear the local gossip. The Vietnamese attendants shouted commands at each other while they worked.
“I’m having a Brazilian,” Kaitlyn announced to her court. “Who’s had one?”
Martel was the only one who didn’t raise her hand.
“You’re getting one too. It’s on me!”
Whatever a Brazilian was, Martel was getting no clues from the faces of the other bridesmaids. “Just what exactly is a Brazilian?” she finally asked.
The titters were so thick they nearly stuck like spaghetti sauce on the walls of the little salon.
“They make you hairless. You get waxed, Martel, down there,” one of the ladies pointed to her lap and then gushed a mischievous smile.
“That sounds like it would hurt,” she answered the group.
The attendants were carrying on a conversation all their own, interspersed with laughter. She suspected the bridal party discussion translation was great entertainment for them.
“Oh no. Not really,” said one of the ladies on her right. “They use special wax; even softer than the stuff they use on your lips and chin.”
Martel felt her upper lip and chin to see if she could find any witchy hairs and didn’t. “Never done that either. My part-Native American heritage comes in handy. I don’t even have to shave my legs.”
“Yeah, but just wait until they turn you smooth as a baby’s bottom. It feels quite sexy, honest,” Kaitlyn announced with a wink.
An hour later, her red fingers and toes looked spectacular. She was called to a small broom-closet type space Kaitlyn had just emerged from for her waxing experience.
“You take eberything off from the waist down. Put this on top,” she said as she handed Martel a blue paper sheet. “I be right back.”
She did as she was told. When the young girl returned, she spanked the massage table.
“Up. You sit here.”
Martel hoisted herself up, modestly covering her bare private parts, and lay back, her head on a pillow provided. The attendant nearly tore the sheet from her clenched fingers, pressed the soles of Martel’s bare feet together, and then pushed her knees down to the sides as far as she could stretch.
“You hold down. Press knees hard and out to the sides. Make a big smile.”
A big what?
Having a strange woman standing over her, staring down at her fully exposed clitoris and lips of her sex, while she applied warm wax with a tongue depressor was embarrassing as hell. But this soon went flying out the window when a gauze strip was pressed over the warm wax and, after a few seconds, ripped away.
Martel sat straight up. “Oh. My. God.” It was everything she could do not to scream.
“Only bad the first time. Each time better. You’ll see.”
At this point, Martel was positive this visit would be her last. The attendant gently pressed her head back to the pillow so they could finish. With each successive rip of the gauze, the pain grew, since much of the sensation was caused by the anticipation and not necessarily the sting itself. And then the humiliating task of having the girl pluck stragglers not picked up by the waxing was the cherry on top.
She was covered with an antiseptic of some kind then powdered with something medicated. Martel imagined her now pulsing private parts looked like a gaping pear-shaped beignet covered in powdered sugar.
“Well? Wasn’t that divine?” Kaitlyn asked as she handed the attendant a credit card.
“You are the biggest liar,” Martel said to the bride. “All of you are liars!” Martel scolded as she glanced into the faces of the laughing ladies.
The bride whispered in her ear, “Yeah, but you’re going to be touching yourself all night long unless you get some help with it.” Her eyes flashed. It was hard for Martel to remain angry for long.
“No pain, no gain,” someone else commented.
Martel wanted to slap her.
Chapter 3
Even though Damon was technically a sailor, ships had always made him seasick. He doubted he could ever go on a cruise. He used beers to hydrate between heaves. It didn’t help that the six other guys who went out on the fishing charter were remarking all morning how quiet the ocean was.
Fuck them.
He was so miserable he nearly threw himself overboard just to get it over with.
They pulled up to the pier after their successful day, everyone carrying a bucket filled with fresh fish they were going to have a local bar prepare and serve for dinner. Damon was empty-handed.
“Hey, that’s okay, dude,” one of Greg’s friends said. “My dad was an ironworker in New York when he was young. He told me those buildings used to sway back and forth and not many could handle it up forty stories. He had the kind of stomach to watch a bullfight and eat a tuna fish sandwich at the same time. But take him out on the ocean? Forget it. He would puke his guts out for days.”
The visions and just the mere suggestion of eating fish and being sick again was too much for Damon to handle, and he dashed for the bar’s restroom, heaving all over the dumb shit who was just coming out of the men’s room.
As a result, he fell on the slippery floor and nearly concussed.
Disgusted with himself, he attempted to clean it up, after crawling to the kitchen and stealing a wet rag he found until a buxom barmaid quietly helped him. Her soft, scented chest and gentle demeanor made him almost propose to her on the spot. She placed her hands on his shoulders and sat him back against the hallway wall. She had a Tinkerbell tat on her left breast.
“You’re in no condition to do this. Just take some deep breaths, close your eyes, and let me fix all this.”
He couldn’t speak, he was so grateful. Her little name tag bounced on her chest as she quickly worked.
“Julie. You’re Julie,” he muttered.
“That’s right, sugar. All day and all night.” She blushed.
He thought that was funny and started to laugh, until Greg and Renny appeared. The next thing he knew, he was posing for cell phone photos with the girl. He didn’t even have the energy to protest.
“How the hell did you become a SEAL if you can’t hold your cookies on a calm day?” Greg asked.
“You’re a SEAL?” the barmaid whispered, reverence thick in her throaty voice.
He was getting snarkier by the minute and wanted to strike back at someone. Greg seemed like the best target.
“Because, asshole, I spend most of my fuckin’ time jumping out of airplanes at night, getting shot at, or capturing bad guys who like to prey on women and children.” He followed it up with the best glare he could muster, until he felt his eyes cross.
“Oh. My. God. Thank you for your service,” Julie whispered, following it with a wet kiss and a little tongue action inside his ear. He felt somehow violated but couldn’t remember why. The day was just going to continue into one big nightmare that would never end.
He’d learned long ago that when things were going from bad to worse, the best thing to do was
just go with the flow. When he got back to the table, he took his shirt off and rinsed it in the pitcher of ice water they’d been served at the table, much to the horror of his drinking buddies, who separated like oil in water. Spreading the wet T out on the back of his chair, he sat bare-chested, showing off his new African tats, including the one with Charlene’s initials. He drowned his sickness and his shame with the hoppy pale ale he was growing to love.
The men in the wedding party started introducing him to every female who walked past their table. Despite his protests, they told every one of them that he was in the process of getting divorced and was looking for a hot lay.
“Fuckers!” he finally said as he finished off the pitcher, letting excess beer run down his front. He sat back in the chair and nearly had a heart attack when his warm back hit the ice-cold T shirt he’d rinsed.
“Arrgh!” he yelled. He didn’t have to look up to see the heads turning all over the bar. The corners of his eyes caught every one.
He wanted to go home.
“Should we call you an Uber?” Renny asked, stifling a grin.
He started to answer when he heard Julie interrupt behind him.
“I get off in about fifteen minutes. I can take him home, if you like” She leaned over, her face and lips too close for him to focus. “It would be my honor.” Her timbre got very low and sounded a little stormy. Dangerous.
His insides were telling him it was a bad idea. His brain was telling him that his strength was that he could just accept life the way it had been dished to him. It also was the reason he probably would never be promoted. They would always want him as a valuable and creative part of the Team, but he’d never make a leader they would follow into battle.
He decided to embrace his faults.
“Thank you, Julie. I’ll be right here, waiting for your chariot.”
He knew all of this was going to get back to everyone else on Team 3 when he returned to California, and he decided he didn’t care anymore. He reminded himself of his lofty goals in coming out to Florida in the first place.
Expunge the memories of Charlene from his brain.
Like the conquering hero he wasn’t tonight, he got a standing ovation by the entire audience at the Catfish Bar and Grille as Julie helped him out the front door, her arms around his waist as she whispered, “You’re doing fine. Just a few more steps.”
It was going to be all over Facebook tomorrow. Not his account, because they couldn’t have an account due to what they did. But it would be plastered everywhere else, from Florida all the way to California.
He hoped Charlene saw it.
He couldn’t remember the house number of their cottage on the beach, so Julie suggested he sleep it off at her place. He was unable to protest much.
She lived in an ocean-front condo, about four floors up from the sand. It was an older building but had been remodeled, and, thank God, it had an elevator, or he’d be sleeping on the beach like a vagrant.
He headed for the door to the balcony overlooking the bay, but she quickly redirected him to the bathroom.
“You’re not to get anywhere near that balcony until you sober up some.”
He wasn’t going to argue. She was cute and probably ten years younger than he was. Well, she had to be twenty-one at least to work there, so nine younger then. He loved basking in the attention she poured over him. There was a story there somewhere, he thought as he allowed himself to be dragged to the shower that was already running warm and steamy.
“You get those smelly clothes off, and I’ll put them in the wash for you.”
He was liking the opportunity to mess with her. “Then I’ll be naked. I’m shy when I get naked.”
She grinned, unbuttoning his jeans and expertly sliding her hand inside to massage his package. “Well then, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”
Her eyes locked hard on him as she stripped his pants all the way to his ankles. His red, white, and blue starred boxers went too.
Under the spray of the shower, he began to sober up. He scanned everything that had happened over the past hour or more, and something made him tear up. Where was all this sadness coming from? His chest hurt.
He was really good at his job, and he loved being a SEAL. It was everything else in his life that was fucked up. He attracted women for all the wrong reasons. The women he was attracted to wouldn’t have him. And the real gems, well, the ones worth loving, he didn’t want to disappoint, so he just walked away. Yes, he was good as a SEAL. He was an outstanding Team Guy. But that was all he was. Everything else scared him into inaction.
The water turned ice cold, he’d been standing there so long thinking.
This is a bad sign, Damon. Thinking will get you killed. And on top of being sick, you’re crying like a pussy.
Tonight, he was finding it hard to run away from things that just kept coming back again and again.
This must be what they call Karma.
He turned off the water and grabbed a pink towel Julie had left for him all folded and smelling like flowers on the toilet lid. He dried his hair and looked in the mirror.
Do I look harder? Who was it said that?
It was Martel, dancing under the twinkle lights, the band guitarist watching her every move as she carefully replaced Brian’s hands into more appropriate locations. The guitarist smiled, and so did Damon.
He remembered those hands on his body, the big brown eyes staring up at him, terrified as he took her across the threshold into womanhood.
“Love you, sweetheart,” he’d said.
“All for you, Damon. Take me. I want it to be you. Make me a woman.”
He never got tired making love to her. He could go all night long, because it made him feel so good. He’d forgotten how wonderful she made him feel. Her little kisses and sighs, how her body tasted, and how she asked him to teach her…
He looked back into the mirror. God, he’d been a fool. She’d made him feel so good he didn’t ever consider her feelings. He knew she expected more than he gave. He knew that’s what he was going to do all along, and he just couldn’t stop.
He intended to touch base after Basic. After he qualified. After his first work-up. Each time he thought about coming back to see her, and yes, apologize.
Until it was time to leave for Africa. That changed everything. That four-month deployment wound up being nearly an eighteen-month tour. Half the time he wasn’t sure they’d make it out alive. He didn’t want anyone waiting for him. He had to push out all distractions to stay alive.
So, to avoid breaking her heart, he broke it anyway.
He let the tears stream down his cheeks and drop onto his chest. He let himself see the raw pain that, even though he’d done his job, he wasn’t a real man inside. Common, ordinary men could fall in love and take care of their women.
He could not.
He wasn’t sure what he’d tell Julie but taking advantage of her wasn’t something he wanted to do tonight.
He slipped into her sheets, pink with little dark pink and rose-colored flowers along the hemline and smelling like a Spring day in a flower shop. A light shone from the hallway, illuminating the picture of a young man in a Marine uniform on her bedside table. Beside it was a picture of Julie with her parents and this young Marine.
They appeared to be nice people. Their faces were decent, the photographer obviously posing people not used to having professional pictures done. They were uncomfortable with the process, he could tell, but making a memory to last for generations to come. Making a statement, “We were here. We were all together here.”
These were the people he was sworn to protect. He looked into the eyes of her father. He couldn’t take advantage of this man’s little girl.
He’d never thought this way before.
It was dark when he awoke, hearing Julie’s quiet sobs. He moved toward her in the bed and found her also naked.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
She jolted at first.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I have nightmares. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him like a scissors between her thighs. He brought his arm up around her shoulder and let her soft cheek feel the beating of his heart.
“It’s okay. You’re safe with me. No one’s going to hurt you while I’m here, Julie.”
At first, she inhaled sharply, then let it out, and then gulped in air again.
He placed his palms at the sides of her face, pulling her up so he could see her eyes and her glistening cheeks and rubbing her temples with his fingertips. “Shhh, it’s okay. Honest.”
“I’m so sorry. I just get sad sometimes,” she whispered tentatively.
“I do too. I think about all the dumb stuff I’ve done, did tonight, and I don’t—”
He stopped, pulling her down to his lips and gave her a gentle kiss. He rubbed his palm over her forehead, petting her silky dark hair. “You’re beautiful, Julie. I imagine you make your father proud.”
She sat up. He traced down her spine with his forefinger.
“You okay?”
“That’s the third time you’ve asked me that.” She sighed. She was fiddling with her fingers, looking down at her lap. “I need to come clean with you.”
Damon’s antennae shot up, and he suddenly worried he’d miscalculated everything. Another exercise in being a jerk. With one arm covering his forehead, he gently patted her back.
“Tell me, Julie. Just say it.”
She rolled onto her belly beside him, her arms out in front, resting on her elbows. “I’m a virgin, and I thought—”
His heart raced. This was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. Again, his head was screaming, “Run!”
He took several deep breaths and found the strength to ask her, “You thought what?”
She looked at him, even though most of her face was in shadow. “I thought that maybe if you were drunk enough, you’d agree to be my first. It would be my honor.” She examined her hands again. “And I thought you’d be gentle with me.”
Second Chance SEAL: The Girl He Left Behind (Sunset SEALs Book 2) Page 3