Trap: A Salvation Society Novel

by Jennifer Rebecca

  The guy smiles at me as he takes me in, and then he and his friend make their way to the bar, where I’m all but a memory when they’re greeted by the young cocktail waitress waiting for them there.

  Feeling a little embarrassed that I was so distracted by a guy, I turn back to Hooter and Cinco and hope they didn’t see me almost fall all over myself for a dick with legs. Too bad I’m out of luck. My granny used to say that if I had any luck at all, it was probably bad, and she wasn’t too far off base here, because when I turn back to my friends, they’re both eyeing me with evil, shit-eating grins on their faces.

  “All right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Get it over with.”

  “Look at you,” Hooter starts. “Just like a real girl.”

  “Screw you.” I laugh. “I am a real girl. I just have bigger balls than either of you do.”

  “Gross,” Cinco says with a shudder, making me laugh.

  There’s one thing you learn real fast when you’re a woman in a man’s world, you never let them see you sweat, and if they do, just give them as good as you get or better. I can hang with the big boys and everyone knows it even though I’m not one to rub my accomplishments in their faces. Hooter and Cinco, are my closest friends. They are my brothers in every sense of the word but blood.

  “A dream is a wish your heart makes….” Hooter starts to sing and I groan because this is actually pretty embarrassing. Now if it was one of them, it would be hilarious.

  “Fuck me,” I groan. “Would you shut up?”

  “Fine, fine,” he says, wiping away a fake tear. He’s really laying it on thick over here. I hope no one notices.

  “I hate you both,” I gripe, draining the last of my beer from the bottle and wishing it was something stronger, but I usually save the whiskey for when I’m home all alone and I can’t quiet my mind.

  “No, you don’t,” Cinco says with a knowing smile. “We’re the only friends you have.”

  If that ain’t the truth. Don’t get me wrong; I’m part of my team and I pull my weight. I have a family I love and adore, but other than my brother and his family in D.C., they’re all back in Texas. Not to mention our sister is who knows where. But these two idiots are the only friends I’ve made in years. Somehow, we just click and we have since day one of flight school. The three of us bonded immediately over an idiot who thought women didn’t belong in the program and liked to voice those opinions all the time including what he thought we were good for.

  Hooter and Cinco wanted to take him on for me, but they didn’t need to. I proved my worth and the asshole washed out of the program. The guys and I became a tight-knit crew then, but I have never let anyone else in. It hurts too much when you discover that they didn’t deserve how much you cared for them or wanted their approval.

  I’m lost in my pathetic observations when a tan, muscular hand with a watch the size of a sewer cap thrusts a beer under my nose, and I know exactly who these guys are and where they’re from.

  “Buy you another round?” a deep voice asks from standing just beside me.

  “Thanks,” I reply, sliding the cool bottle from his hand, and I try my best to ignore the zing that tingles up my arm when his hand brushes mine. I never feel that. In fact, I’m not sure I have ever felt an attraction like that before.

  “Anything for such a beautiful woman,” he says, laying it on thick, and Cinco and Hooter smile wide at the sheer ridiculousness of it. I’m going to catch hell for this embarrassing encounter first thing Monday morning in the ready room for sure. I’m not exactly positive it’s going to be worth it either. If the chemistry wasn’t already off the charts, I’d put this guy out of his misery immediately. Guys like this want a woman ready to jump on their dicks and not one who can handle a state-of-the-art aircraft with confidence every day. When he realizes what he’s chasing, this guy will tuck tail and grab the first sorority girl he can find. After all, they’re all the same, right?

  “So what brings you boys around here?” I ask, letting out my southern drawl. I’m from Texas, and not only that, I’m from deep East Texas, so deep that you could spit and hit Louisiana. So there’s a twang that’s like a bastard stepsister to a Cajun drawl that comes out every so often. My siblings have all but dropped theirs and replaced it with what I like to call “generic southern” but mine has hung on and, truthfully, I have no intention of trying to rid myself of it. It’s me. It’s part of my heritage and where I come from.

  “We’re just a couple of pilots,” he answers and he clearly doesn’t read the room right because if he did, he might had tweaked his lie just a bit. I let his words hang in the air before I respond.

  “You are, are you?” I ask. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “We’re new to town,” the big one adds. He sways on his feet just a bit and I’d think he was a little drunk if he hadn’t have just gotten here. To my knowledge, you can’t become intoxicated just by walking into a bar.

  “And you’re pilots, you say?” Cinco prompts as he eyes them suspiciously. It was all fun and games when the guy was flirting with me, but now that they are blatantly lying, all bets are off.

  “What?” the man asks startled, making me narrow my eyes. Goodness, they can’t even keep their story straight. “Oh right, yes. We’re pilots.”

  “That’s fascinating,” I tell them with a wide smile before I set my trap. Aviation is a small network in any location and San Diego is no different. The boys and I know most pilots in the area and if we don’t, we know who runs their squadron. “What is it you fly?”

  “The F-35 Lightning,” he replies and I barely hold in my disappointed sigh. He was fun to toy with, but now the game is over and it’s time for them to go. I am going to keep the new beer, though. I earned it after that load of bullshit he laid at my feet. What a letdown. I was hoping that his tall tales would be more creative, but they’re not. Sure, he couldn’t have known that he approached actual F-35 pilots in the Under Dog. There are all different MOS calls out of Miramar. It’s a huge base, but still. It’s an air base that houses the F-35. He’s a jackass and now it’s done.

  “That’s lovely,” I reply, my East Texas twang taking over. It thickens and lengthens the words as they come out of my mouth.

  “Oh shit,” Hooter says with wide eyes while Cinco just laughs. They know what the sounds of my hometown dialect can mean and it’s usually no good. “It was nice knowing you.”

  “Why’s that?” the man asks. He clearly doesn’t know that he just stepped in it with me, but also, we’ve just met. We haven’t even exchanged names so he can’t be all that heartbroken when I walk away.

  “Because you just blew it with our girl,” Cinco explains.

  “How’s that?” His brow furrows. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “It’s what you said, not what you did,” Hooter chimes in.

  “What?” Cinco asks. “Now you’ve lost me.”

  “One,”Hooter answers, “when her twang hangs out like that, she’s either drunk or pissed, and she’s not drunk.”

  “Why would she be pissed?” the lost little sailor asks the guys like I’m not even here, even though he’s looking right at me. Which is odd to say the least—that, and I don’t like being discounted.

  “You lied.”

  “She doesn’t know me. How would she know if I was lying or not?” This mysterious guy is not mad or douchey; it’s like he genuinely wants to know what he did to fuck things up two seconds after walking over to our table.

  “Because we’re with the F-35 squadron,” Hooter replies as he circles his finger around our table, indicating the three of us. “And we’re the pilots.”

  “Oh shit,” the big guy says, his baby blue eyes go comically wide like a drunken cartoon character.

  “You got that right,” Hooter agrees, his smile spreading across his handsome face.

  “My bad.” The guy cringes and has the balls to look chagrined. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I say with a tight
smile. “I’m not really in the mood for company tonight, so why don’t we just chalk it up as a mulligan and move on. I’m sure those women who just walked in would be more likely to believe your tall tales.”

  “Sure,” he says quietly as he looks around like he’ll grab onto any out he can find with both hands. He’s desperate for an excuse to move on. “If you’ll excuse us….”

  And then the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on is gone. Just like that.

  Chapter Three

  Kyle

  Well, fuck

  Well, fuck. That did not go well at all.

  All I wanted was an anonymous night out where the women weren’t looking for frogmen conquests. So that I could cut loose and have some fun, blow off some steam, and I ended up screwing the pooch big time.

  “That could not have gone worse.” Sean laughs from beside me at the bar. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

  I roll my eyes. I’m glad he thinks my crash and burn is so funny. I’ll remember this moment when the tables are turned. And they will be turned some day because karma is, as they say, a bitch.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking at him from the corner of my eye. “I kind of got that when her friends laughed in my face.” At least he has the good manners to wince at that.

  “Too bad about that one,” he mumbles as he orders another beer from the bartender. “She’s hot as fuck.”

  I slap him on the back of the head, which is a little bit of a reach for me, because he’s freaking huge. But still. That was uncalled for.

  “What was that for?” he grumbles.

  “Don’t talk about her like that,” I say and take a sip of my beer. He turns around and looks out at the room, letting my comment go. It’s not like me to be quick to lay claim to a woman, any woman, but there’s something about this one that called to me from the minute I saw her. I don’t know what it is or what it means, but I can’t bat it away as easily as Sean did my comments.

  “What about that one who just walked in with her friends?” he asks me, and I look over my shoulder to see a dye bottle redhead eyeing me like a prime rib. She’s got a great body, I’ll give her that, and she does little to hide it with her black lace bra, white tank top, and cut-off shorts, but there’s something about her that just doesn’t click for me. She’s too obvious when I’m in a mood for understated. I can’t help but compare the see-through tank to the layered tanks and skinny jeans that the blonde from earlier is wearing—showing off her curves without giving it all away. Or the way gold hoops winked in her ears from under the mess of blonde curls. The entire package was sexy as hell and has my body tightening in unexpected ways.

  I don’t want fake red when real blonde just slipped through my fingers.

  “Nah, man,” I tell him. “You go for it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Totally.” I laugh. “Have fun.”

  “Think you’ll hit the ball this time with the pretty pilot?” he asks, eyeing me.

  “I don’t know,” I respond with a shrug. “But I’m going to try.”

  “I thought as much.” He chuckles before heading toward the redhead and her friends. “Have fun.”

  “Make good choices!” I call out, laughing, and he flips me off over his head. Still chuckling to myself, I turn back to the bar. “Two more,” I say, holding up my fingers.

  The bartender pops the cap on a couple more beers and places them in front of me with a smile on his face and a knowing shake of his head. I drop a couple of bills on the battered wooden top with a thanks and scoop up the fresh bottles. With my mea culpa in hand, I make my way back over to my pretty pilot and her two friends.

  The men watch me move toward them from over her shoulder. The darker-haired of the two nods to me, and she turns to look at me from over her shoulder. Her green eyes shine bright as she watches me but otherwise gives me no reaction. I simultaneously love it and hate it. I want to know what she’s thinking but right now, she’s cold as ice.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, placing the beer in front of her. “I was an ass.”

  “Yes, you were,” she replies quietly.

  Damn. I didn’t think she’d be so, I don’t know… blunt. She’s honest, I’ll give her that. I get the feeling that, with this woman, you always know where you stand with her.

  “I could give you my reason why, and I will, if you want to know,” I say, giving her the same level of honesty she gave me. “But just a warning, it does not make me look good.”

  “And why are you telling me this?” she asks.

  I can see why she wouldn’t trust my word or my excuses right now.

  “Because I want to get to know you.” It’s the truth and it’s out of my mouth before I can think of a cooler answer. So she at least knows the truth, but I hope I didn’t just come on too strong—again.

  “Why?” she asks me and I pray that the twinkle in her jade eyes is more than just a little interest because on my end of things, the initial attraction is off the charts. Now knowing that she’s both beautiful and intelligent has me wanting to get to know both her mind and her body and I haven’t felt like that about someone in quite awhile.

  “Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met in a long time, and I can’t walk away from that.”

  “So you’re back to apologize? And then what?” she asks, her eyes narrowing on me, and I get the feeling she doesn’t think very much of me. “Get in my pants?” And, it would turn out, I was right. Though, she is too. I do want in her pants, but I also want more. How much more, I’m still not sure.

  “How about, for now, we just talk? If you don’t hate me, maybe I could take you out to dinner this weekend.” And as I say the words, I realize they’re the truth. I do want to get to know her, and I do want to take her out. The thought surprises me, because I haven’t wanted to expend the effort to carve out the time in my busy life for someone else in some time.

  “And if I said I wanted you to take me home and fuck me?” she asks pointblank.

  The words sound harsh and unfamiliar on her tongue, even though I know she’s a tough marine. Something about this woman tells me that she doesn’t talk like this often. I like that. I like knowing that she doesn’t prevaricate, but she also doesn’t chase after every man and I love the knowledge that she said those words to me.

  “As much as I’d like to say I’d be a gentleman and wait, I wouldn’t,” I admit. “Because I get the feeling that a woman like you doesn’t come around often, and if I let the chance to be with you, even for one night, slip through my fingers, I would regret it.”

  She eyes me thoughtfully for a moment, and I barely hold in the urge to squirm like a new recruit. Finally, one of her friends takes pity on me and also reminds me that we’re not alone. “Oh for fuck’s sake, would you put the frog out of his misery already? This is embarrassing.”

  She rolls her eyes at him but then looks back to me. “Would you like to join us?”

  “I would.” I set my beer down on the table and pull up the remaining bar stool.

  “So what’s your name?” one of her friends asks me.

  “Kyle, and yours?”

  “I’m Cinco,” the darker-haired man answers before pointing to his buddy. “And this is Hooter.”

  I smirk. “Nice call sign.” It’s a terrible call sign, but then again, we don’t get to choose them, they’re usually handed out for more embarrassing reasons.

  “What’s yours?” he asks me.

  “Not yet,” I answer before turning to the pretty blonde. “You first.”

  “Why should I tell you my call sign?” she asks. Her voice is a throaty alto, and it sends chills up my spine and then straight down through my cock.

  “You already know my name and what I do,” I tell her. “I don’t know what to call you.”

  “Maybe you won’t be calling me at all,” she says quietly, and I’ll admit that stings a bit, but I deserve no less. And I can take it. “And actually, I don’t know what you do. I know what you said you did
and we’ve already established that that was a lie.”

  “Ouch,” I wince.

  “So…”

  “We’ll see about the phone call,” I reply, redirecting us back to the topic at hand, because I’m not ready to let go of the idea that this woman will be mine for any length of time yet. “I bet I can convince you to give me your number.

  “So what do you actually do?” she asks me.

  “What is it you think I do?” I reply and wonder what her first impression of me was. I can use a little ego stroke from time to time.

  “Well,” she starts. “The polo shirt, shorts, and sandals are a dead giveaway for sailors.”

  “Good guess.”

  “You have a great body,” she blurts out and then flushes a pretty pink again. “But your tan isn’t fake enough to be a gym rat. And that giant ass watch on your wrist says diver or SEAL. My money is on SEAL because you have a cock-of-the-walk air about you so… how close am I?”

  “Alarmingly accurate,” I laugh. “Now what’s your callsign?”

  “I didn’t say I would tell you,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?”

  “If you tell me your callsign, I’ll tell you what you can call me,” she says. She’s quick. She’s also baiting me into a trap but that’s all right. I can take that too.

  I think about it for a minute and then nod my head and answer, “I’ll take it.”

  “So… what do they call you?”

  “Tarzan,” I answer immediately.

  “You’re lying.” She laughs, rolling her eyes. She thinks I’m so predictable. Just an asshole out to get his dick wet and while that description could apply from time to time it most definitely does not now.

  “I am not.” I lean around her and call out to Sean. “Hey, Tube!”