Air Force Hero

by Weston Parker

  “Dancing?”

  I nodded and stirred my teabag around in my mug. “Yeah. Dancing is fun.”

  Brett patted my ass and made a sound in the back of his throat. An unimpressed sound. “What’s got my girl talking about dancing all of a sudden?”

  “Nothing.” I shrugged, now wishing I hadn’t said anything at all. It was easier to just agree with him. “I just saw a couple dancing tonight, and it looked like a good time. It’s been a long time since I—”

  “Since you danced with someone?”

  I nodded.

  “Who?”

  I sighed and squeezed out from between his big frame and the counter. “It was a long time ago, Brett. When I was still in the Coast Guard.”

  “Oh. Good. I don’t need any guys putting their hands on my woman. Fuck that. You’re all mine, baby.” He reached for my hips and pulled me back against him. My tea sloshed over the rim of my mug and burned the side of my hand as he stooped down to press a sloppy, drunk kiss to my cheek. “I’m off to bed. You going to bring that sexy little ass of yours into the bedroom soon?”

  I forced myself to smile. “I just want to drink my tea and read a couple of chapters of my book. Then I’ll be in.”

  “All right,” Brett said, patting my behind again as he let me go. He grabbed his beer and finished the last quarter of it in two massive gulps. Then he left it on the table instead of putting it in the recycling at the back door ten feet away. He headed down the hall to the bedroom and called back to me, “I can’t believe I fell for a book nerd.”

  I waited for him to close the bedroom door and then went to my son’s room. I pushed his door open softly, and the warm light from the hallway spilled across the pale blue carpet and the foot of his bed. I could hear Sam’s soft breathing as I closed the door behind me. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark before moving to sit on the edge of the bed to run my fingers through his soft reddish-brown hair.

  I hated that I worked nights. It took precious time away that I could be spending with Sam. I meal prepped his dinners and his lunches before work almost every day so that he wasn’t eating whatever Brett decided to order or burn, and we spent our mornings together, but it wasn’t enough. I was missing out on precious time that I would never be able to get back.

  When my dad was at a point where he was willing to pass the bar over to me, I would have the flexibility to create my own schedule and maybe reduce my night shifts to only one or two per week. Right now, it was five days, sometimes more if someone called in sick. Sam had told me on numerous occasions that he wished I was home more often, which broke my heart.

  Ryan was a great uncle and took Sam on Thursdays and kept him overnight. They usually went to the pool or the arcade, then made an obnoxious dinner of chocolate chip pancakes or something of the variety. Afterward, when they were both stuffed to max capacity, they would watch a movie while lying on pillows and blankets in Ryan’s living room. It was rare that either of them made it through the entire film. Usually, they’d fall asleep and re-watch in the morning before Ryan brought Sam back home.

  I didn’t know what I would do if I didn’t have Ryan and my dad helping me through this. Even though I had Brett, I still felt like a single mom.

  I leaned over and kissed Sam on one chunky cheek. “Sleep tight, kiddo. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Waking up and having breakfast with Sam was the highlight of my day, and I was already looking forward to waking up and giving him a big hug.

  Part of me hoped Brett had to work early so we could have a mother and son half day.

  11

  Zach

  Jo was there, lying on her back on the hotel bed, her strawberry blonde hair splayed out all around her. She was smiling and wearing a green lace camisole and matching panties. Her arms were above her head, her wrists were crossed, and her eyes followed me as I walked around the side of the bed and went to my elbows beside her. She stretched up, her eyes falling closed as she placed the softest kiss on my lips.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked. Her voice sounded far away, like she was underwater or in a separate room.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  She giggled. “Liar.”

  I kissed her this time, suckling at her velvety soft bottom lip. When I pulled away, her bright green eyes darted back and forth between mine. “I’m thinking about you,” I whispered, running a thumb along her cheek. “I’m always thinking about you.”

  She lifted herself up to lean on her elbows, and her hair fell behind her like a curtain to the bed. “Thinking about what you want to do to me?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Like now?”

  “Yes.”

  She reached for me, hooking her hand behind my neck and guiding me down to her. “Then do what you’re thinking about,” she cooed into my ear.

  My alarm went off, ripping me from the dream that was just about to get good. I reached for my phone on the nightstand and fumbled around for a good ten seconds before I found it and turned the alarm off. Then I pressed my hands to my face and groaned into them.

  My dick was rock hard.

  Josephine Hart was going to be the death of me.

  I ripped my blankets off and went to the bathroom, which was small but clean, and grabbed the hotel shampoo and mini bar of soap. I turned on the shower and stepped under it while the water was still cold. It bit into my skin, but I didn’t care. I needed to shake off how fucking horny I was. It was torture, and the cold water wasn’t helping.

  So I did the next best thing. I gripped my shaft and leaned against the shower wall. I began working myself over, hard and fast, as I closed my eyes and thought back to that night in the hotel room back in San Antonio.

  Flashes of Jo’s naked body played in my mind like a movie reel.

  I clenched my jaw as Jo’s breathless moans whispered in my ears alongside the patter of water hitting the bottom of the tub. Curling in on myself, I grunted like some sex-crazed beast. I hated how badly I craved her. She was a drug I’d only tasted once; a high I’d only felt for a brief flicker of time.

  I worked myself faster. I was about to blow. I imagined myself back between her legs, lapping at her juices, sucking on her clit, and running my hands up and down the insides of her thighs. I remembered how she quivered beneath my touch like the fragile thing she was most certainly not.

  I groaned when I came and braced myself against the shower wall. Pleasant dizziness washed over me and then vanished as fast as it came, taking with it all the pent-up tension my orgasm had extinguished.

  Feeling immediately less burdened by my longing for Jo, I enjoyed the rest of my shower. I took my time drying off and getting ready in the steamy bathroom. Once my cologne and deodorant were on and my hair was slicked back, I went back to the bedroom where I grabbed my phone from the nightstand to check if I had any missed calls.

  I was getting antsy waiting for the Air Force Personnel Center to call me about the Humanitarian Assignment I had applied for almost two weeks ago. I understood that they were busy, and there were several other candidates, but I had never been a patient guy. I appreciated instant gratification, especially where work was concerned. I knew how impractical that was.

  Eager for something to occupy my mind, I left the hotel and took my bike out for a ride. The wind whipping over my shoulders and the roar of the engine beneath me was as close as I was going to get to being back in my plane.

  I geared up and took to the road, opting for the windiest route I could find with challenging corners opening up into long straightaways. I liked the combination of skill and speed. In some corners, I leaned so far that my knee hovered an inch or so above the asphalt. On the straight stretches, I opened the throttle and pushed my crotch rocket over two hundred miles per hour.

  In those moments, the wind roared as loudly as the engine, and I was as close to flying as I would ever get.

  I stopped at my mother’s condo to check in on her and found her sipping tea with an
other woman from the building on her deck. She invited me in and introduced me to the other elderly lady, who was called Francine, and then insisted I have a cup of tea. I wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but I also wasn’t much of one to say no to my mother.

  So I sat on the deck with them and drank English tea with milk and sugar out of a small floral patterned china cup.

  Afterward, I helped move a few more boxes out of the hallway closet and into the living room where my mother could easily access it and unpack a few more things over the next couple of days. I made sure none of the boxes had anything heavy in them. Mostly, they were full of photo albums, linens, clothes, and trinkets. My mother loved collecting little items to cover every surface in her home with.

  She sent me off with another container of food. This time, it was homemade macaroni and cheese, and I asked her if she was trying to fatten me up. She insisted she was not but mentioned how I could do with a bit more meat on my bones.

  Leave it to a mother to think a fit physique earned from hours upon hours of training and diligent diet was malnourished.

  So I took the food, hugged her goodbye, and went back to my bike where, like a total clown, I used a bungee cord to strap the Tupperware container onto the tiny back seat.

  As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, I decided to indulge myself in one more ride around town. Maybe I would stop and pick up a case of beer to bring back to the hotel where I could enjoy it with my macaroni and cheese.

  Instead of ending up at a liquor store, I found myself pulling into the parking lot of Hart’s Pub. It wasn’t intentional. It just sort of happened, like my subconscious was guiding me to her.

  Son of a bitch, I thought, unimpressed with my own inability to shake this girl from my mind.

  I parked the bike in a stall across from the entrance, and as I went to get off, an old pickup truck tore through the lot and came to a grinding halt at the front door. Dark smoke billowed out of the tailpipe, and the driver left it running as the passenger hopped out and walked around the hood.

  It was Jo.

  She was dressed in form-fitting black pants that made her ass look like a million dollars. Her top was a black button down, just like the one she’d been wearing the other night. It must be her uniform. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, and she had black and white sneakers on.

  The driver of the truck rolled down his window and banged his hand on the outside of his door to call her over. She stopped and went back to him, resting her hands on the window frame. I watched the two of them talk for a few minutes. One of Jo’s hands fell from the frame, and she leaned back. Her body language suggested that she was not enjoying the conversation.

  The man behind the wheel tipped his head like he was beckoning her toward him. She responded by stepping in close and popping her head through the window. They exchanged a brief kiss, and she made to walk away. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the side of the truck.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  She braced herself against the door as he spoke sternly to her. I could see that his grip on her was firm. Her hand was in a fist in his grip, and her brow was furrowed. If he couldn’t see that she was uncomfortable, he was a bigger ass than Ryan led me to believe.

  When he released her, she pressed her shirt flat and pulled it down self consciously, especially at the back. Then she walked away, and the guy in the truck, who was undoubtedly her boyfriend Brett, catcalled her.

  She hurried up the front steps to the front doors of the bar and slipped inside without looking back.

  Brett reversed from the doors. When he put the truck in first gear, he stalled it. The truck swayed as Brett punched at the steering wheel, then started the thing up again. The engine sputtered, and he blew out of the parking lot, tires screeching as he took to the main road and sped off.

  I watched him go until he disappeared around a corner a good ten blocks or so down the road. After he was out of sight, I found my gaze drawn back to the bar.

  I contemplated going inside. I wanted to see her. I wanted to ask what the hell that had been about, and I wanted to know what he had said to her. By the looks of things, it hadn’t made her happy. It had made her uncomfortable and unsure.

  No wonder she was so different from what I remembered. The guy was a total jackass.

  But I knew going in and asking her prying personal questions was not the right move. She hadn’t wanted to see me last night, and tonight wouldn’t be any different. She wanted space, and I could give her that.

  At least, I could try to.

  12

  Josephine

  “How many tequilas?” I asked, pointing down the line of my bar at the smiling faces beaming up at me.

  Every single one of them put their hands up.

  Thursday nights were a lot of fun to work. Our tequila shots were on special, as were our appetizers and beer, so almost all of our regulars showed up to partake in a night of drinking and eating. My favorite patrons always parked themselves at the bar, and I’d spend the entirety of my shift shooting the shit with them.

  Which was exactly what I needed in order to get my mind off of Zach and his return to Houston.

  Big Al waggled his eyebrows at me as I passed him his shot. “You going to do one with us or not?”

  “No.” I laughed. “I’m working!”

  “We all know who your boss is, Jo. Come on. Live a little. Have a drink with us. One little shot won’t hurt.”

  The others at the bar joined in, goading me into pouring myself a shot glass full to the brim with tequila. I passed out lime wedges, and a couple of people claimed salt shakers. I lifted my shot above my head. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!” they all cried back.

  Together, we tossed back our shots. The grimacing faces and winces made me chuckle as I wiped my rag across the bar. As I collected the shot glasses, Rosie popped in behind the bar. She grabbed her grenadine and coke, which I had already prepared for her, and convinced me to pour her a shot as well. She crouched down behind the bar to take it and smiled up at me as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Thanks,” she said. “This will help me put up with those young guys at table six. They’re so annoying and think they are too cool for school.”

  “Too cool for school?” I asked quizzically. “Are people still saying that?”

  “People maybe not. But I am.” Rosie grinned. She chased her shot down with a few mouthfuls of her favorite drink and got to her feet. “I’m gonna go let my tables know that the kitchen closes soon. Want me to put in an order for you with Moe?”

  Moe was our chef who stopped cooking at exactly nine-thirty every night. If you missed his cut off by even thirty seconds, he would turn you down.

  I glanced at the clock behind the bar. “I could do with some fries, maybe?”

  “Sure thing. Want to share some fried pickles with me, too?” Rosie walked out from behind the bar.

  I nodded and turned my attention back to my customers. I went about mixing and pouring more drinks and laughing with them as we teased Big Al about his soon to be Santa Claus beard. He stroked his long whitening whiskers and chuckled, sounding very much the way I imagined Saint Nick might when he laughed.

  About half an hour later, Rosie and I were picking at the remaining fries and deep-fried pickles in red baskets behind the bar. A lot of people had cleared out, and the evening was winding down nicely. Five people still sat at the bar, sipping their drinks and chatting amongst themselves, and I was happy to stand and talk with my friend in between topping up drinks.

  Then Brett walked in the front doors and made a beeline to the stool at the middle of my bar. His steps were staggered, and his balance was off. He was hammered, and watching him try to get on the stool was painful. When he finally righted himself, he clutched the edge of the bar and gave me a crooked, drunken grin. “Hey, good lookin’,” he drawled, winking at me. “Fix me a drink, will you?”

  This was a recipe for disaster. Brett was w
ell past the point where he should have stopped drinking. If nights like this ever happened, they were more likely to happen on a Thursday because Sam was at my brother’s. Brett would sit at home alone and drink his ass off, and then when he got lonely, he’d go off somewhere. Normally, he wouldn’t come to my work, but it seemed that tonight, luck wasn’t on my side.

  Ever since I’d made the dancing comment the night before, he’d been off and more possessive than usual. I should have kept my mouth shut. He probably wouldn’t be sitting in front of me, half sliding off his stool, if I’d never said anything.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Surprise me, baby.”

  “You sure you don’t just want a glass of ice water? Maybe sober up a bit before—”

  “Did I say I wanted water?” he asked, his voice darkening. “I said fix me a drink.”

  I leaned in close and dropped my voice to a whisper so the others at the bar couldn’t overhear. They were already shooting us curious and concerned looks. My cheeks were starting to burn with embarrassment. “Brett, this is my workplace. You can’t come in here and drink your ass off. Please. Just have a glass of water. There are more beers in the fridge at home you can drink when we—”

  “No there ain’t,” he slurred. “I finished them. Now pour me one, woman.”

  Deciding it wasn’t worth the fight, I did as he said. I poured him a beer and passed it to him, then moved along to help my other customers. I had no interest in trying to talk to him right now. He would be completely unreasonable and irritable.

  Rosie seemed to have the same idea because she walked out from behind the bar and busied herself with chatting with customers at their tables and sweeping. Nobody liked to stick around when Brett was already too many beers in. He got nasty, and his temper wasn’t something to mess around with.

  As I helped customers, I could hear him muttering under his breath. “Thinks she can say no to me. Pfft. Woman has no clue who she’s talking to. Stupid. Don’t she know who I am? Don’t she see all I do for her? All I asked is for a damn drink and she says ‘no,’ like she’s better than me. Bitch.”