Down and Dirty

by Sandra Hill

  Chapter 16

  Mead turns men’s minds to sex…the same throughout the ages…

  Right off, she told the oaf what she thought of him. “You are an oaf!” she said.

  “Yeah, but a loveable oaf.”

  “Why did you tell that man we are betrothed?”

  “Quickest way to get rid of the jerk.”

  “Jerk?”

  “Loser.”

  “Loser?”

  “He was unworthy of you.”

  “Oh. And you are not?”

  “Nope. I’m very, very worthy of you. I deserve you. We are a match made in heaven.”

  “So, now we are betrothed?”

  “Well, no. Not unless you wanna be.”

  She laughed. “I release you from that false promise.”

  “What if I don’t wanna be released?”

  She laughed again. “Zachary, to become betrothed, you would have to be smitten with me, which you clearly are not.”

  “Hah! I’m smitten all right.”

  “So you say!”

  “Ask anyone.”

  “The boy, he is smitten, all right,” Cage said, and the others, all of whom were listening with great enjoyment to their conversation, nodded their agreement. The woman whom Zachary had introduced as Linda did not look happy.

  “Besides, I was rescuing you from a guy with a very bad reputation,” he told Britta.

  She arched a brow with disbelief.

  “Ask Linda. He makes his sex partners do perverted things.” She could tell that Zachary regretted making that statement. But Linda nodded.

  “More perverted than incline sex?”

  Zachary red-faced, gawked at her as if he could not believe she had said that. She realized why when she saw all the men go silent with interest, waiting.

  “So, Zach, mon coeur, exactly what is incline sex?”

  “Is it on an inclined plane, like a skateboard ramp?” Merrill the Geek asked.

  Before Zachary could speak, she said, “It is rather like upside-down sex. Well, not really that. More like a wheels-barrow. Hmmm. How would you explain it, Zachary?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Do you blush, lout? Odin’s breath! You do,” she hooted.

  Everyone at the table was laughing, so hard some were holding their sides, even Linda, who seemed to have moved her affections from Zachary to Luke the Slick, who paid her no nevermind.

  “Zach, Zach, Zach!” JAM said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “And here we were all thinking you’d lost your touch!” This from Sly.

  “It would appear that our pretty boy has a bit of the nasty in him. Hoo-yah!” Cage teased.

  “And you guys make fun of my penile glove!” Geek added with affront.

  Linda turned slowly to gape at Geek. “You wear a glove on your penis? Do you mean a condom?”

  “No, I don’t mean a condom, and that’s all I’ll say on the subject in mixed company.” He glowered at his friends.

  Zachary was looking pleased that the attention had moved away from him.

  But then Sly said, “Back to sexual perversions. What other kinky stuff does Pretty Boy do, Britta?”

  “Well—”

  Zachary slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Spoilsport!” JAM complained.

  She had no idea what they were making such a fuss over.

  “You wear a glove on your penis?” Linda persisted with Geek.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Sometimes it gets cold. And lonely. You want me to show you?”

  “You men are crude and rude. I’ve heard that SEALs are nuts, and now I believe it.” Linda rose from her chair and walked away.

  No one seemed to care much. Leastways they did not try to talk her into staying.

  But then JAM said, “We were crude. Maybe you should go after her, Pretty Boy.”

  “Hah! She was feelin’ up my family jewels under the table. She can’t be too offended by crudity.”

  Britta turned to Zachary. “You have family jewels?”

  Once again, everyone at the table laughed, presumably at a joke she did not understand.

  “Oh, yeah,” Zach replied.

  “Can I see them?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  The laughter increased.

  Zachary leaned close to her ear. “Family jewels refers to my…uh, package.”

  She frowned. “Package. What package?”

  Zachary rolled his eyes, took her hand, and placed it over his manpart, which began to grow under her fingers. She jerked her hand away.

  “Linda was correct. You are all crude.”

  The men, including Zachary, grinned as if she’d given them a compliment.

  “The best sex I ever had,” Sly related, as if that had aught to do with the subject at hand, “was with a showgirl who could stand against the wall on one leg and lift the other leg straight up in the air, perpendicular to the floor.” He paused. “Naked, of course.”

  Zachary looked at her.

  “Not in a million years!”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We will not see.”

  “That’s nothin’,” Cage added to the conversation. “I got it on one time with a gymnast who could stay in a backbend position, like forever, and—”

  “What did you say about gymnasts?” Terri asked. She and Britta’s other friends had just walked up to the table, waving to Britta and the others. “I used to be a gymnast.”

  “No kidding!” Cage smiled, but before he could say more, JAM said, “Have a seat, honey.” He gave her his chair, saying something teasingly to Cage in the process, something about ‘You snooze, you lose, bow-zo.’” Soon the men were pulling another table closer so that their now large group could sit together.

  Even Dill-land, whose name was actually Dylan, came over to join them, much to Zachary’s displeasure, even though Dylan gave most of his attention to Donita, which seemed to annoy Sly, who had done naught but goad and taunt Donita in the past. In any case, Dylan greeted one and all by saying, “How-dee,” and winked at Britta. That, too, brought a growl out of Zachary’s tight mouth.

  They all dined then on a feast. Two large rounds of manchet bread covered with a red sauce and cheese. Wings—and only the wings—of a chicken, but so hot one needed tons of ale to wash them down. A large tray of salted sticks called French fries made from the potato, a vegetable she’d never heard of afore, although it apparently came to this country from Frankland. A big platter of notch-hose, which were crispy thin chips covered with melted cheese. And two racks of pig ribs swimming in a sweet and sour red sauce, which was very messy to eat but delicious.

  After that, the musicians began to play again. First off was a raucous song called “That Old Time Rock ’n’ Roll,” which prompted Cage to yell across the table, “Yo, Marie.”

  She glanced up with surprise from a conversation she’d been having with Dylan.

  “Wanna show these Yankees how ta dance?”

  She looked skeptical.

  “Yer Cajun, aintcha?”

  “Yeaaaah.”

  “Enough said! We Cajuns have an extra dance gene, ain’t that so, chère?”

  She smiled. “Oh, yeah. My mama, she was dancin’ in the cradle, and Papa, that man been playin’ the washboard since he was knee-high to a crawfish.”

  The two of them did not walk out onto the dance area; they danced out.

  “Wait till you see this,” Zachary said in her ear.

  And what a show Cage and Marie put on! One song ran into another and yet another. No longer about rocking and rolling, but one about a love shack. Do they have special shacks for loving here? Then, another with the oddest lyric, “honky tonk badonkadonk.”

  “What is a honky tonk badonkadonk?” she asked Zachary.

  “Female ass.”

  “That remark is sorely lacking humor.”

  “It’s true.”

  She glanced around the table, and those who had overhe
ard nodded their heads.

  Not for the first time, she thought, What an odd country! As ribald as Viking men were wont to be, even they did not sing about arses. Leastways, not in mixed company.

  Cage and Marie were doing the most suggestive dance moves, all to the rhythm of a pounding beat of music. They circled each other, never quite touching, sometimes undulating in unison, with Cage spooned up to her backside. Britta could only describe their movements as a game of seduction. And she didn’t think Marie even liked Cage all that much.

  Then, one of the band of musicians yelled out, “Have we got any cowboys in the crowd?”

  There was a wild roar of yeses and yee-haws.

  In response, the musicians launched into a song called “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” and Marie actually appeared to be riding Cage’s extended leg as if it were a horse. Still not touching, but everything but.

  Britta shook her head at the absurdity and outrageousness of it all.

  Other couples moved onto the dance floor, too, including everyone at their table. Dylan and Donita. JAM and Terri. Sly and Geek, with other ladies. Omar and Slick had already left, claiming other places to be.

  “Wanna dance?” Zachary asked her.

  “No.”

  “That was blunt.”

  “If you think I am going to engage in sex in public and call it dancing, I have a longship you might want to purchase.”

  He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. His arm was draped casually over the back of her chair, and his fingers played with the edges of her newly shorn hair.

  Why was it that she was so aware of him when he merely smiled at her, whilst Dylan, and any other men in the tavern, could be stumps for all she cared?

  “I have not talked with you for sennights.”

  “Not for lack of my trying. If I recall correctly, you pretty much told me to go do something physically impossible to myself. More than once.”

  She had to think a moment to figure what he meant, then said, “Tsk, tsk, tsk! I ne’er said those words. Besides, every time you attempted to talk to me it was after having nigh drowned me in those bloody rub-her boats, or in the midst of dousing me with sand, or mostly after a brutal assault on my body by excessive exercising.”

  “I warned you how hard it would be, Britta. It’s my job to push you and the other WEALS as hard as you can stand. I haven’t treated you any differently. Besides, you can always—”

  “—ring out,” she finished for him. “I have not struggled this far to quit now.”

  He nodded. “How are the tutoring classes going?”

  “Very well, but as much as I learn, there is so much more I realize that I do not know.”

  “Hey, that’s life.”

  “Do I have you to thank for the classes?”

  “Me and the commander. Next month WEALS will go into half-day sessions in the classroom. We knew you’d never make it with your…background.”

  “I feel so lackwitted.”

  “No, don’t say that. You’re just in a new culture. Anyone would be the same. In fact, you and Sammy are in the same boat. He’s being tutored, too, but on a rudimentary level. Reading, writing, basic numbers. Even at his age, he’s aware that he’s different from other kids. He should be okay by the time school starts next semester, though, assuming he’ll be able to go to school.”

  Yea, there are similarities betwixt me and the boy. Lost souls in a new land. Struggling to fit in. Not sure what the future will hold.

  “Who cares for your son tonight?”

  “Danny.”

  “Does your brother come to help you often?”

  “Actually, no. I usually don’t see him for months on end. He’s probably worried about me.”

  “Because of the danger?”

  He grinned. “Nah. Because having a child is crimping my social life.”

  She smacked his arm for making jest with her.

  “Still having the dreams?”

  “Yea, but they vary now. Betimes the blood and carnage I see is from the good nuns. But, in other dreams, it is my father and brothers and their evil cohorts who lie lifeless at the hands of a band of warrior nuns, led by one particular nun.”

  “Like Boudicca?”

  Britta was familiar with the Celtic warrior queen, as she’d once told Mother Edwina. “In some ways, but Boudicca was not a nun.”

  Zachary stiffened. “Is that nun in the dream you?”

  She understood his dismay. If she saw herself in that dream, it must mean she would be returning. “Nay, ’tis not.”

  He relaxed visibly.

  “Still, the dreams are horrifying and confusing. And they are pulling at me.”

  “Pulling?”

  She nodded. “As if I could be pulled into a dream.”

  “I still say that you need to talk with Madrene and Hilda. They might have insight, having traveled the same path.”

  “I will…when I get a chance.”

  He stood, took a big swallow from his long-necked bottle, placed it on the table, then took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, let’s dance. The music is slow now.”

  “I cannot dance.”

  “You were dancing with the dickhead.”

  “Who?”

  “Dylan.”

  “I was just standing still. He did all the moving.”

  Zachary made a growling sound low in his throat. “Do the same for me, then.” Without waiting for her response, he led her out onto the dancing arena. He put both arms around her waist, then advised, “Put your arms around my neck, sweetie.”

  She did.

  He then yanked her hard against his body so they were aligned breast to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, and some interesting places in between. With her high-heeled shoes, she was eye level with the rogue.

  “Surely this is not a dancing position for normal folks.”

  “It is for lovers.” He put his face against her cheek and began to sway from side to side.

  “We are not—” she was about to say.

  “Don’t you dare belittle what we have between us.”

  “I was about to say, we are not lovers anymore.”

  He chuckled softly. “Sweetheart, you are so full of it.”

  They remained quiet then, just swaying and occasionally turning. It was like a soft embrace, with the backdrop of music. He smelled good, like mint and his distinctive manscent. She liked the feel of his arms enveloping her possessively, especially since she was enveloping him just as securely. And his ardor, blessed Frigg! His ardor for her was enough to turn a saint lustsome. What woman wouldn’t feel complimented by that?

  “I missed you,” she murmured before she had a chance to stop herself.

  “I know,” he said, drawing his head back to look at her and smile.

  She smacked his arm. “Your ego far exceeds your worth, lout.”

  “Ya think?” He leaned forward, a hairsbreadth from her lips, and whispered, “I missed you, too, baby. So much it scares me.”

  And then he kissed her.

  When smart women turn the tables on clueless men…

  Women were right. Slow dancing was foreplay to a guy. Not the best kind, but still, a prelude to sex…or at least a chance for seduction.

  The question was: Who was being seduced? Him or her?

  There was no explanation for the way he felt about Britta. She had him from the moment she’d called him a lackwit. Didn’t matter that it was two years ago, or that she’d been holding a big-ass broadaxe at the time.

  Every time he kissed her, like now, he felt an incredible sense of rightness…that he’d been dog-paddling all his life to reach this woman. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let her go.

  “Come home with me,” he urged, breaking the kiss but not his hold on her.

  She shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “Don’t you want to be with me?”

  A choked laugh escaped her lips. “I want to. Too much.”

  “Then why?”

&nb
sp; She sighed. “Zachary, why do you pursue me?”

  “I don’t know. I just know I have to.”

  “I but wish…”

  When she didn’t immediately continue, he prodded, “You wish what?”

  “I wish I had met you long ago. Afore my life path was set in another direction.”

  “What life path?”

  “The one that dictates I be a warrior. Not a wife or mother. Oh, do not get your loincloth in a twist. I am not suggesting you would want me for a wife.”

  “Don’t make assumptions about me, Britta. And I don’t accept that life paths, or fate, or destiny can’t be changed. In fact—”

  Just then, he felt a vibration in his back pocket. He pulled his beeper out and couldn’t believe his eyes. He was being called to active duty. Glancing around the bar, he saw his fellow SEALs doing the same thing. It must be something really critical if they were willing to overlook his recent transgressions.

  “Uh, I have to go, Britta.”

  “Go? Where?”

  “That was my beeper. I’m on active duty, as of this minute.” He took her hand and led her over to the table.

  All the guys were there watching JAM, who was already on his cell phone to the command center. JAM was nodding his head and saying, “Yes, sir. Sly, Cage, Geek, and Pretty Boy are here with me. I understand, sir. Right away, sir.” JAM handed the phone to Zach. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “What’s your home situation, Lieutenant?” the XO asked him. “Are you able to go on a live op?”

  “Yes, sir. A contingency plan is in effect.”

  “Good. See you in two hours for the predeployment workup. Geared up. No uniform.”

  Zach closed the cell and handed it back to JAM.

  He was elated. He was back on call. Maybe his life would get back to normal now.

  The guys were already leaving, paying their bills, saying good-byes to the women, and heading for the door.

  “What is happening?” Britta asked him.

  He realized that he was still holding her hand. Lifting their clasped hands, he kissed her knuckles. “We’re to report for duty. Walk me out to my car?”

  She nodded.

  With his arm over her shoulder and her arm around his waist, they walked outside and toward the back lot. Since he’d arrived late, he hadn’t been able to find a parking space anywhere close to the entrance. She was a little wobbly on her feet, the high heels digging into the gravel, so he held on extra tight, inhaling the smell of her apple shampoo.