I smile coldly. “Then this means war.”
He laughs at me. The cocksucker actually laughs at me. “Don’t you people practice nonviolence?”
I lift one eyebrow. “First you call me honey, then you people? Did they find you in a fucking cave?”
His jaw tightens. “You could say that. Have a nice day.” He waves the knife in my direction, dismissing me.
I briefly fantasize about knocking that knife out of his hand and slapping the shit out of him.
But nonviolent, right?
“You sir, can go fuck yourself.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how the war started.
Caleb
If she hadn’t been a raging lunatic, she would have been smoking hot. Like the kind of hot that would make a man beg for her to let him do filthy, dirty things to her in the dark.
But I don’t fuck crazy.
I don’t need any help in that department, thank you very much.
When Sam asked me to take over the barbecue place for a few weeks, I said yes, because, well, I didn’t exactly have a lot going on. At least not anything really positive.
It was more…treading water. Kind of holding steady at the not killing myself phase of the operation.
So even though I know jack shit about running a business, I’m in business school and I figure it would give me an interesting case study to work on while I avoid doing all the grip and grin ass kissing that’s known as networking these days.
Turns out people don’t want to give you money when you get raging drunk on a cruise where you’re supposed to laugh at the old man’s money, not puke on his shoes.
There are very few ways for life to go much lower than that.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
So now, I’m running a barbecue joint for the next couple of weeks. I’ve mostly got the hang of the food prep piece. Brisket takes the longest. It has to cook slow and long to get it to fall off the bone level of done. Sam has a few tricks to speed up the process but the best way is to drag my carcass into the restaurant at five am and start the cooking for the next day.
I’m not sure I’d have the stamina to do this long-term.
I glance up as the door slams shut behind the crazy woman.
I wipe my hands and shoot Sam a quick text. You have any suggestions for dealing with the yoga studio owner?
He’s on the west coast, so I’m a little surprised when he responds. What yoga studio owner?
The one who just declared jihad on your barbecue because she says the smell is interrupting her flow or some shit.
The little bubbles tell me he’s typing. I finish loading the last of the brisket into the smoker while I’m waiting for his response.
What the fuck does her period have to do with barbecue?
I choke on my own spit and double over laughing. “Clearly you’ve never been around women and yoga,” I mutter, still laughing.
It’s too bad me and the yoga instructor got off on the wrong foot. In the thirty seconds it took me to restart my heart after she scared the shit out of me, I remember being awestruck by damn near everything about her.
Her hair was long and black, her skin a rich saffron that looked soft and warm.
In that thirty seconds before she started going off, though, I remember it was her eyes that captured me. Dark and rich, for a brief moment, I was lost, the bullshit of my life faded to black.
She was a goddess.
And then she started talking and well, my balls shriveled up and died.
I finish up the brisket and set the timers on everything else. We open every day at ten, which means I’ve got to get my ass to the gym if I’m going to make time for a workout today.
I’m getting better about not skipping workouts. And sleeping. That’s pretty fucking important these days.
But I don’t mind getting up to run the shop.
Funny how that works.
I lock up, glancing down the front of the strip mall to where a few stragglers are dragging their corpses into the yoga studio. The light falls onto the stamped pavement, illuminating the pre-dawn darkness.
Getting up that early takes some devotion, I’ll give them that. I’m used to early mornings. It got ingrained in me during my plebe year at West Point and, well, I haven’t been able to shake the habit.
My nemesis walks to the window. The light casts her skin in a golden glow. Her body is tight and she moves with a smooth energy that’s smoking hot.
Too bad she’s fucking crazy.
Continue Reading…
About the Author
Jessica Scott is an Iraq war veteran, an active duty army officer and the USA Today bestselling author of novels set in the heart of America’s Army. She is the mother of two daughters, three cats and three dogs, and wife to a retired NCO.
She’s also written for the New York Times At War Blog, PBS Point of View Regarding War, and IAVA. She deployed to Iraq in 2009 as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF)/New Dawn and has had the honor of serving as a company commander at Fort Hood, Texas twice.
She holds a Ph.D. in morality in Sociology with Duke University and she’s been featured as one of Esquire Magazine’s Americans of the Year for 2012.
Photo: Courtesy of Buzz Covington Photography
For more information, please visit her on the web
jessicascott.net
Also by Jessica Scott
THE FALLING SERIES
Before I Fall
Break My Fall
After I Fall
Catch My Fall
Until We Fall (2018)
When We Fall (forthcoming)
After We Fall (forthcoming)
HOMEFRONT SERIES
Come Home to Me
Homefront
After the War
Into The Fire
NONFICTION
To Iraq & Back: On War and Writing
The Long Way Home: One Mom’s Journey Home From War
COMING HOME SERIES
Because of You
I’ll Be Home For Christmas: A Coming Home Novella
Anything For You: A Coming Home Short Story
Back to You
Until There Was You
All for You
It’s Always Been You
Catch My Fall: A Falling Novel Page 23