I don’t want to visit Chris in the hospital. It’s not just seeing my hero fallen and injured. It’s going to be more intense than that. Chris wasn’t just my role model. I don’t know how to describe it. He was my inspiration. He was proof that you didn’t have to do what everyone else did. He was proof you could get away from all the shit they throw at you at school and just do your thing, just have a good time and live life.
“Same trick again?” said the florist to me.
I just nodded my head.
He knows me and knows what I’m up to. But he doesn’t care. He’s a guy in his fifties, married now, with two kids. But he strikes me as the type of guy who was a serious lady’s man back in his day. Plus, he’s getting my business, so what does he care?
I couldn’t stay at home today. I couldn’t be around my dad’s sorrowful faraway look, as he remembers Chris and his own fallen comrades from his days in the military. I’m much more comfortable when he’s just grumpy and yelling at me. I can’t take it when he just sits there and looks sad.
So I’m just cruising around town slowly in my Mustang. I’ve already dropped off the card and the flower. It’s going to work. I know it’s going to.
My cock swells in my pants as I think about what’s it’s going to be like tonight with her. She’s got that perfect look. Perfect tits, a perfect ass. Perfect everything.
The day is getting hot, but I’ve never been into air conditioning. I’ve got the windows down, enjoying the feeling of the heat washing over me.
Everyone complains about the heat. But my attitude is: so what? Just deal with it. There’s worse stuff in life than living through a bit of hot weather.
I get to thinking about where I’m headed in life, what I’m going to do.
I keep talking about wanting to really strike out and make a difference. Maybe my dad’s right, though. I haven’t even made any decisions. I haven’t actually done anything.
The only thing I’ve done is reject. I’ve rejected the scholarship, college, various jobs, and various lifestyles.
It’s about time I just fucking do something.
Almost without realizing what I’m doing, I find myself driving to a local mall where I know there’s a Navy recruitment center.
Parking the Mustang, I kill the ignition, and sit in the car for about thirty seconds, just staring at the building in front of me. The building doesn’t look like much. It could be just another small store in this strip mall.
The words Marine Corp & Navy Career Centers are bolded, red. They look careful, methodical, but intense.
Those words seem to represent something to me. I’m not sure what.
This small, unassuming building, to me, means: action, adventure, purpose.
That’s what I’m lacking: a purpose. A purpose is what I’ve wanted all along. It’s what I’ve been craving, what I’ve been living without for too long.
What will they say at school, if the famous Noah Strong joins the military? They’ll say he’s a fucking hero, that’s what they’ll say. They’ll say he rejected everything, a life of comfort, fame, and fortune. And for what? For a life of uncertainty, of danger, of responsibility.
This is the shift I need.
But I’m not just going to be any old deckhand on a big boat.
No, I’m going to do something more.
Maybe it sounds cliché. But I’m not afraid to be a cliché.
Getting out of the car and walking towards the squat, plain building, I have a weird sensation. As if I know my life’s about to seriously change, but I don’t know how. It’s going to change in unimaginable ways. I’m going to become someone else.
But that’s what I want. I want a change. I need a change.
The inside of the building is simple. There’s a desk with a man with short hair behind it. He sits up straight. He’s surrounded by pamphlets.
He gestures for me to have a seat.
“What can I do for you today?”
“I want to become a Navy Seal,” I say.
I hadn’t thought of these words before coming in. They just tumble out of my mouth automatically. But the minute I say them, I know they’re true.
“I want to be the best of the best,” I say. “I want to do something different.”
The man breaks his serious expression and grins at me.
“We have a lot of young men coming in here every day,” he says. “And you know what they all have in common?”
I shake my head.
“They all want to be Navy Seals,” he says. “But do you know what the statistics are?”
“The statistics?”
“More than 90% of recruits drop out of training within the first week. This isn’t something you just decide to do on a whim. This is a life changing decision, and very few can hack it. Very few have what it takes to put up with what will be thrown at them in mere training. And out in the heat of things, out in the action? That’s where courage and character really shine through. That’s when you know if you have what it takes.”
“I’m ready for it,” I say simply.
I could tell him of the trials I’ve been through with football, of the injuries I’ve overcome. I could tell how I’d work out at 3 in the morning five days a week. I could tell him how I’d run 10 miles a day, just to be the best of the best.
But I’m not that kind of person. I prefer to show rather than tell. I’ll let my actions speak for me.
“Very well,” says the man. “Just so you know, there’s going to be a lot of testing. First come the paper tests. You know, intelligence, that sort of thing. Psychological tests. Criminal history… all sorts of evaluations. You can’t just be a strong idiot and be a Seal. You’ve got to have brains too.”
The afternoon passes quickly. Most of the day I spend here in the Navy office, just filling out routine paperwork. I give them permission to check all my history.
I leave with an armful of paperwork that I need to fill out.
It’s not until I’m back in my Mustang, cranking the engine, that I realize what I’ve just done. I’ve just changed my life forever, and I have enough wherewithal to realize that.
If all goes according to plan, I’ll be shipping off to training in a month.
One more month, that’s all I have.
Everyone will be getting ready to leave for college. And I’ll be getting ready to leave for what’s sure to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. I won’t have the comfort of dorm rooms. Instead of the mild discomfort of exams and term papers, I’ll be risking my life. I’ll be pushing my body and my mind to the absolute limit.
In the meantime, I’m not going to stop enjoying what I can still enjoy.
And that means the chick from the pharmacy, Hana.
I’m going to enjoy her tonight, and I already know she’s going to enjoy every minute of it as much as I will.
She’s texted me her address, but I’ve still got an hour to kill.
Sighing, I realize I need to go home to change for tonight. That means facing my dad and his sad face. That means possibly talking about Chris and his missing legs.
“Where have you been?” grunts my dad when I walk through the door.
For once in my life, the TV is off. The room is eerily silent. No war movie is blasting from the speakers. It’s a strange sensation, seeing him sitting there in silence.
His face is unreadable.
“Out,” I shrug.
“You going to visit Chris tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say.
“I wouldn’t want to think you’re the type of man who avoids his responsibilities.”
“Why would you think that?”
“That’s what you’ve always been doing. This whole not going to college thing… You’re just scared you wouldn’t make it. You’re just scared you wouldn’t make the pros.”
I was expecting my dad’s mood to have changed, given the news about Chris. But I thought he’d just be sitting around in his own sadness. I didn’t
expect him to become more aggressive in his attacks on me.
“I joined the Navy,” I say, suddenly deciding to tell him of my decision. “I’m going to be a Navy Seal.”
“You?” spits my dad. “A Navy Seal? You won’t last a day.”
“Are you kidding? I have what it takes.”
“You won’t know what it takes until it’s too late. You think you’re better than me? Look what happened to me. You think you’re better than Chris?”
I simply walk away.
I don’t need to take his bullshit.
Why has he never been on my side? He’s always against me, always trying to put me down. He never went to a single one of my football games. Not that I give a shit, but he also never said a single good thing about it all. He just gave me shit all my life. Maybe because he felt bad about not doing shit with his life.
Who knows.
At least I have tonight to look forward to. At least I’ll be caressing Hana’s sweet curves later tonight…
I head up to my room and throw on a new shirt for tonight. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realize I look fine. She already wants me. I don’t have to do anything fancy. The rose should have done the trick. It always does. Not that I need that trick, but it helps to seal the deal.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I’m heading out the door. I don’t bother saying bye to my dad. Or tell him where I’m going.
It’s a text from Hana.
“So I heard you send the same rose to every girl,” reads the text. “With the exact same note.”
Damnit.
She’s pissed. I can tell even from the text.
But I’m not going to give up so easily. It’s not like me to give up without a fight. I hop into the Mustang and start driving over to her place anyway.
Hana
“I thought you were going out tonight,” says my mom.
I shrug. “Nope,” I say. “Change of plans.”
“That’s too bad,” says my mom.
I’m sitting in the den watching something mindless on TV. Honestly, I’m not even paying attention to what it is.
“You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
Twenty minutes go by and I sink into my own thoughts. By the looks of it, I’m never going to have sex. I’m going to go off to college without ever having had a boyfriend, without ever having had sex. I’m going to be out of place there. Everyone else will be far more experienced than me. I won’t have anything to talk about…
I should have known Noah Strong was only interested in one thing… I mean, in a way, I did. And I was OK with that. It’s not like I was really expecting a solid relationship to come out of going to a party with him. I mean, maybe in my fantasies.
But in reality? No, I know better, despite how inexperienced I am. But I should have known that he’d pull the same tricks on me as with the other girls. Somehow, reusing the flower and note trick seems so… cheap.
Am I overreacting? I don’t think so.
The perfect person to ask would be my mom. She understands people. She’s knows all about the ins and outs of dating. But I’ve never talked to her about this kind of stuff. And it would seem too strange to talk to her about it now.
The doorbell rings.
I don’t pay any attention to it.
But I can hear my mom’s voice at the door, talking to someone who sounds like Noah.
What? My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest.
He’s here? Why would he come here? After what I told him? He’s going to try to sleep with me anyway? He doesn’t care that I know about the note? Or is it not a big deal to him?
“Honey,” says my mom, coming into the room. She speaks to me delicately, as if she’s worried she might upset me. “There’s a nice looking guy here to see you.”
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I say.
“He came all the way over here. Why don’t you just go to the door and say hello.”
Damnit. I know it would be unreasonable not to at least go to the door to talk to him.
This is why I’m over living with my parents. I can’t wait to be on my own, in my dorm at college, able to do what I please.
“Fine,” I say.
Instantly, I feel bad about speaking curtly to my mom. She just wants to help, after all.
I’m just wearing my around-the-house clothes, tight cut off jean shorts and a t-shirt. I didn’t bother getting ready. I didn’t bother putting on the outfit that I’d picked out for tonight, a cute summer dress that shows off my new cleavage. It’s one of the few outfits I actually have that I bought for my new body, for all these curves I’ve only recently developed.
The truth is, the t-shirt and jean shorts I’m wearing now barely fit me at all. I feel uncomfortable in them, like my body’s about to burst through them, tearing them to shreds, leaving me naked.
But there’s no time to change. Anyway, the way the house is constructed, I’d have to walk past the front door to head up the stairs. Noah would see me anyway.
My mom retreats to one of the back rooms, probably to visit my dad. He, of course, is still working on one of his art projects. I can’t keep track of them anymore at this point. They’re too numerous to count, and too long lasting. He hasn’t finished one in at least a year, so far as I can remember.
I walk to the front door with my heart pounding in my chest.
The reason I’m so nervous? I’m both pissed and… intrigued. I want him, and I know it. My body knows it.
“Hi,” I say, stepping outside, opening and closing the storm door quietly.
“Hey,” says Noah.
His eyes don’t leave my body. He gazes at every inch of me, looking me up and down. I suddenly feel both self-conscious, and, at the same time, sexy. After all, I can see it in his eyes—he wants me.
“Sorry about the rose thing,” says Noah. “I just, I don’t know. I got in the habit of doing it. I thought it was something nice, and I didn’t mean anything by… you know, sending you the same note.”
I nod my head slowly.
“It’s no secret I’ve been with a lot of women,” says Noah. “But I thought there was something between us, something a little different.”
“We just talked for a couple minutes,” I say. “I barely know you, and you don’t know me at all.”
“Even so,” says Noah. “I have a feeling…”
“You probably say that to all the girls,” I say.
Noah laughs. “You may be right,” he says. “But this time I really mean it.”
I let out a little derisive laugh.
“Come on,” says Noah. “Let’s go enjoy the party. No expectations or anything. Let’s just have a good time. When’s the last time you did anything fun?”
Honestly, I have no idea. Leah and I went to a movie a couple weeks ago, but it wasn’t that good. It was one of those action movies, and I found myself completely lost by the end of it.
“Come on,” says Noah, turning the tone of his voice in that way guys can do that’s incredibly sexy.
I should go, shouldn’t I? I mean, even if the only reason Noah is bringing me is that he thinks he’ll get laid, is that really so bad?
Maybe all I want to do is get laid too? That’s OK, right? My mom’s always talking about how unfair the expectations about men and women’s sexuality are. Women have sex drives too, but we’re just not allowed to talk about it as much as men are.
“OK,” I say, suddenly deciding to go.
Noah grins at me.
“I just have to get changed,” I say.
“You look great,” says Noah.
“These clothes barely fit me.”
“Even better,” says Noah, winking at me.
I laugh, a little uncomfortably. But, honestly, I’m just flattered.
I go inside to grab my keys and phone out of my purse. I don’t bring it, since I don’t want to worry about losing it at the party. I call out to my mom that I’m heading out, but I leave before she c
an even respond. I’m basically already out the door before she even gets a chance. That’ll probably make her happy, though—I’m acting more like a young woman heading out to a party than I ever have before in my life.
Noah opens the door for me on his Mustang. I’ve seen this car around school and around town for so long it’s almost surreal to be stepping into it. All the girls’ heads would turn when Noah’s Mustang would drive by, making a hell of a racket with its modified engine and its strange exhaust pipe.
Noah gets in and starts the car. I suddenly realize I’m alone in the car with Noah Strong, the football god. And I feel incredibly nervous. I’ve never even been on a date like this… and now I’m with the guy that everyone dreams about.
“So,” I say. “What’d you get up to today?”
Sometimes I do this. When I’m nervous, I try to make conversation, even if it doesn’t make sense for the situation.
“Oh,” says Noah, sounding weirdly vague. “I joined the military.”
“What?”
He said it so casually that I wonder if it’s a joke.
“Are you serious?” I add.
“Yup,” says Noah.
We’re driving down the tree lined streets, with the windows down. The air feels good on my skin. It’s one of those beautiful, perfect summer nights.
“You joined the military?” I say.
I already know the news, that Noah didn’t take the football scholarship he got. So there’s no point in asking him about that.
But I do anyway. “I thought you were going to play football.”
Noah shrugs. “I didn’t want to do what everyone else was doing,” he says. “I wanted to do something different.
“Were you planning this?” I say.
Noah isn’t joking around now that we’re talking about something serious like this. But for me, it calms my nerves and helps my anxiety, to talk about something concrete like this. I’m good at school, and I’m good at logical discussions. I may not be great at “socializing,” or chatting about nothing. But I can analyze any topic or theme to death. That’s probably why I did so good at school.
SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance Page 3