A Few Good Men

by Cat Johnson

  “Or we could review the good dates over my eggs benedict, but yes, we can, Ms. Pessimist.”

  Hmm. Even better. Peter loved to cook. She’d get a gourmet breakfast and a bitch partner. This was sounding better every minute. Adult sleepovers, the platonic kind, were highly underrated.

  “And can we drink mimosas?” she asked hopefully.

  He laughed. “You know I never pass up champagne, and after your dating track record we may need the alcohol.”

  Maureen would have protested except it was true.

  “So when do we start?” he asked.

  “How soon can you find us men?”

  “Is that a challenge I hear? Don’t you worry, Miss Doubtful. I’ll get the balls rolling, no pun intended.”

  She shot him a doubt-filled look.

  “Well, maybe intended a little bit. Anyway, I’m not going to do all the work, so let’s make this a little more interesting. I’ll get us the first set of men, however long it takes me, but you have to find us the next two in the same amount of time or less.” He raised a brow. “Unless you don’t think you can do it…”

  Now Peter was playing on her competitive streak, and it was working, dammit. Let the games begin. She narrowed her eyes.

  “I can do it. You’re on.” She thrust out her hand. “Let’s shake on it. To our dating partnership.”

  Peter grasped her hand and shook. “To our dating partnership. Long may it reign. No, scratch that. May it be short and sweet and end in both of us walking down the aisle so I don’t have to spend another Saturday night babysitting you.”

  “Or I you,” she countered with a nod.

  “Amen,” Peter added.

  And the more Maureen thought about this crazy plan, the more she realized praying couldn’t hurt.

  Chapter Four

  Maureen wandered through her workday, bracing herself both physically and mentally for the task at hand. Peter had secured them dates for this weekend, and he had done it in a mere few days. The damn guy had an entire flock of gay men to call. They all stuck together and ran in packs, like rats.

  Did rats run in packs? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he only had to make a few phone calls and they were, amazingly, both set. She had an impossible deadline to match his record and no one with expertise in her dating pool to draw from except her nemesis, the dreaded Tiffany.

  Since it was already afternoon, she couldn’t put it off any longer. Maureen strode up to Tiffany in the copy room. “Do you know any single men, straight or gay?”

  She cringed inwardly at being reduced to groveling before Tiffany for a favor.

  “Sure. Tons. Which one do you want? Gay or straight?” Tiffany frowned, looking a bit confused. Although to be fair, Tiffany looked confused often.

  How to get around this? She didn’t want the Tiffster to know just how desperate her dating life, or lack thereof, had become. Time for a good lie, or at least a stretch of the truth. “It doesn’t really matter. Either or both. It’s for a bet. I bet my gay friend that I could get us both dates in less time than he could.”

  “Ooo. That sounds like a fun game. I can’t believe I never thought of it.”

  Leave it to Tiffany to not see how wrong using live men to win a bet was. Good thing you could always count on her to be predictably superficial though. That made things easy.

  “Come to my desk. I’ll get you a few names from my contact list. Are you actually going out on the dates or do you just have to get the date?”

  Maureen sighed as she got herself in deeper with Tiffany, the shallowest person she knew. “We’re actually going to go.”

  “I can give you a rundown on each one of them if you want. That way you know who to choose and what you’re getting yourself into. Is there another part of the bet too? Like who gets the guy to buy them a present first or who gets him to say I love you first?”

  Jeez. Does her cruelty have no bounds? “Um, we haven’t really worked out all those details yet.”

  “Well, you should think about upping the stakes a bit. It might be fun.” Tiffany sat absorbing this new pretend game as she scribbled names and numbers and in some cases email addresses on a pad of paper and then handed it to Maureen.

  “Okay. Some of them have web pages with photos on them so I marked that down so you can see for yourself. But I assure you, they are all cute. The ones with G next to their names are either gay friends of mine or guys I dated who should be gay in my opinion.”

  Maureen bit her lip to keep herself quiet. Most likely those should-be-gay guys just didn’t fall for Tiffany’s shit, and that made her consider them gay. Maureen should call them first. At least they would have lots to talk about on the date. They could share Tiffany horror stories.

  It had taken just minutes, and she was now holding a list that covered one side of a single page of lined legal paper. She had to admit, it paid to go to an expert. As much as she hated it, Tiffany was that.

  “Wow. Thank you so much, Tiff. I mean, I really appreciate this.” Maureen glanced down again at the page now clutched in her hand and realized she had a lot of work ahead of her if she was going to start calling all these guys after work today.

  “Anything for you, Maureen. Or should I say Summer.” Tiffany smirked.

  Uh oh. “Why are you suddenly calling me Summer?”

  She smiled. “Because I went to your soldier website, the one where your ID is Summer. I now have not one but two single, hot, young, muscle-bound military guys just for me.”

  Maureen nearly choked. Tiffany had actually gone and gotten them without her help. “But I haven’t given you the information yet.”

  “I did it all on my own,” she announced proudly. “Remember last November when you were collecting Christmas cards and letters for the troops?”

  She remembered. She also remembered that Tiffany hadn’t given her even one.

  “Well, back then you hung a flyer in the break room. So I went and looked and guess what?”

  Maureen cringed, knowing the answer already. “What?”

  “It was still up there buried under a few other things. There were two websites listed so I checked them both out and I joined one.”

  “And? Which one did you find these guys on?” Maureen already knew the answer to that too.

  “Well, one of those sites required paperwork and a waiting period before you could email any of the guys so I went to the other one. I got to see pictures of the men and read their posts. That way I could tell by what they wrote if they were married or not. So I found a bunch I liked and emailed them.”

  At least Tiffany hadn’t picked married guys to flirt with. That was something. But if Maureen knew Tiffany at all, she hadn’t just looked at their pictures, but had also sent them a picture of herself. Probably the one of her in the bikini. The one she kept as the screensaver on her own computer. Vain much?

  “Two wrote back right away. One is in the Army and the other one is in the Marines. And FYI, Marines don’t like it if you call them soldiers. Apparently there’s a difference. Who knew?” She shrugged. “I mean it’s very misleading. All those support sites have soldier in the name like they’re all called that. They should be more clear.”

  Maureen nodded. “You probably shouldn’t call anyone in the Navy or the Air Force a soldier either.”

  Tiffany raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. On second thought, it was probably a perfectly waxed eyebrow, knowing how often she left work early to get a bikini wax.

  “Good to know. Thanks.” Maureen stifled a big sigh as her coworker continued. “So anyway, you were totally right. They are really friendly and so sweet. One already told me he wants to meet me when he comes home. I told him about Fleet Week here in the city, and he was all into coming and getting together.”

  Of course he was. Because everything always worked out for Tiffany. That was just the way the universe aligned.

  Maureen suddenly noticed Tiffany had stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly. She jumped to fill
the silence. “Wow. That’s really great.”

  Her sentence was interrupted by a chime from Tiffany’s computer announcing a new email.

  “Ooo. That’s him. It’s like nighttime already over there where he is, and he likes to say good night to me before he goes to bed.”

  Of course he did. Besides Peter, Maureen hadn’t had any man want to regularly say good night to her in probably years.

  Maureen wandered back to her own workstation so Tiffany could have some privacy to say goodnight to either her soldier or Marine, she didn’t know which. Feeling rather bitchy, Maureen allowed herself to think that Tiffany probably didn’t know which was which herself.

  She sat at her desk and placed the list of potential dates in her purse to call later from home. What had seemed so exciting moments before looked far less so when she realized firstly that she would be choosing from a pile of Tiffany’s dating rejects and, more importantly, that not one of them would live up to the ideal that had been set by the military guys she had been corresponding with. Even Tiffany was smart enough to see that, and that was saying something.

  Jazzy had been alive when the medevac helicopter took him away, but now that John knew he would be fine, he was pretty sure he wanted to kill him.

  John ran his hands over his face. “Why can’t you wait to email her when you get out of here?”

  “Because the docs say I can’t leave this hospital bed for almost a week, and then I have to go straight to my bunk and not move for another week except to go to the head. So you have to do it. I can’t be wandering around the MWR. I might collapse and injure myself.” He held a hand to his ribcage and looked pitiful.

  “Look. I have no problem calling your wife for you. Hell, I’ll even contact your grandmother and dear old aunt if you want, but I am not emailing your sex-writer pen pal, Summer Winters.” John was sticking to this resolution even though Jazzy was giving him the hurt puppy eyes.

  He watched the man in the bed before him shrug and then wince in spite of the large number of painkillers John knew was coursing through his veins. The areas covered with white gauze bandages outnumbered those without, making the concussion and contusions seem worse. But John was well aware that with explosions it was the internal injuries that could kill you, no matter how good or bad the exterior looked.

  “That’s okay, sir. It’s not like I got injured following an order you, my superior officer, gave me or anything—oh wait. It is exactly that.” Jazzy couldn’t suppress the grin that crossed his lips.

  He was trying guilt now? Dammit, though, it was the truth. Jazzy had been out of that tank and in harm’s way following his order.

  John growled, a low rumbling sound of frustration and defeat. “I really hate you right about now. You do know that, don’t you?”

  Jazzy smiled wider. “Yes, sir. And might I add you’re not the first superior officer I’ve had say that. So her email address is summer at summer winters dot com. Do you want me to write that down?” Jazzy picked up the pad of paper and pen he kept on his bed so he could write his wife daily.

  “No, thank you. I believe I can remember that very complicated address.” John scowled until his lips formed one tight line.

  “What are you going to say in the email to her?”

  Now Jazzy was going to try and tell him what to say too? Although, what exactly did one say to a granny sex novelist? He desperately did not want to do this.

  John sighed, defeated. “What would you like me to say?”

  “You should probably thank her for the coffee since you liked drinking it as much as the rest of us. But I think first you should introduce yourself. She knows who you are because I talk about you.”

  “You talk about me? To her?” John frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I love and respect you so much, sir. Of course.” Jazzy smirked and John seriously considered smacking him and adding more damage to what the car bomb had accomplished. “And if you could email her today I would appreciate it. I’ve been in here for three days already, and she tends to get worried when I don’t respond to her for a while. She always assumes I got blown up.”

  The guy never did know when to leave well enough alone.

  “Yeah, well, this time you did get blown up,” John reminded him, feeling mean.

  Jazzy hung his head dramatically. “Yes, sir, I did. But I got blown up happy in the knowledge that my fellow crew members and my commander were safely inside the tank.”

  Another growl followed that comment. “Damn you, Jazzy.”

  He had the nerve to laugh, and John decided he would have far rather been the one blown up than the one having to email Jazzy’s do-gooder porn-penning pal.

  Damn. He’d give anything for a good stiff drink right about now.

  A knock on the room’s doorframe caused him to raise his head to find Morales and Gonzo standing there. “Sir?”

  He looked up at his driver. “Yes, Morales.”

  “Permission to blatantly break the rules, sir?”

  Hmm. What could this be about? John raised a brow then laughed bitterly. How bad could it be? “Sure, what the hell. Go ahead.”

  “I’ve been saving this for a platoon toast the day we leave this hell hole. But I think now might be more appropriate.” The large Texan pulled a small hipflask-sized glass bottle out of his back pocket. “Bourbon, sir?”

  John laughed. Ask and ye shall receive. “I would love some.”

  There was no drinking at any time at camp, not that any of his men would be stupid enough to want a drop of alcohol in their bloodstreams before going out into the hell they faced daily. But today was different. First, they weren’t at the camp, they were at the military hospital. Second, today was a maintenance day and they had already finished all their assignments, even with one man short, so they could visit Jazzy. John’s section was not due to be called out again tonight. And because of Jazzy’s injuries and the fact they were down a man, even in an emergency they would be the last ones called. It was a hell of a fucked-up way to get the day off from missions, but you took them how you could get them.

  John shook his head at himself. Sometimes you just had to break the rules. Celebrating Jazzy not being dead, even though right now he wanted to kill him, was one of those times. “Get some cups.”

  Gonzo jumped to do just that as Morales looked relieved he wasn’t about to be written up or worse for this breach of conduct. John decided he didn’t want to know where the booze had come from. It was enough the bottle was full and sealed. He chose to assume it really was for their going-home party and not for Morales to nip on nightly. He could live very happily with that belief.

  Gonzo returned quickly with three tiny, hospital-sized water cups and closed the door tightly.

  “Only three? Hey. What about me?” Jazzy whined with a shocked expression on his bandaged face.

  “You have enough happy juice running through you right about now,” Morales told him as he poured three large shots and the trio of men stood motionless, disposable cups in their hands. It had been a very long time since any one of them had partaken of anything stronger than coffee. John stared down into the amber liquid, whose pungent aroma had already assaulted his nose.

  “Would you like to make the toast, sir?” Morales asked, holding his little bourbon-filled cup awkwardly in his huge hands.

  John nodded, raised his own blessed liquor and recited the tankers’ toast they all knew so well. “Here’s to cheating, stealing, smoking, fighting and drinking.”

  John watched Jazzy raise his ice water with a pout and wait for him to finish the toast.

  He went on. “If you cheat, may it be death. If you steal, may it be a woman’s heart. If you smoke, may it be a fine cigar. If you fight, may it be alongside your brothers in arms. If you drink, may it be with me. And may you get to Heaven before the Devil knows you’re dead.” The last sentiment they would probably all need when that time came. He concluded with, “To Jazzy, who has the hardest head I know.”

  “A
ww. Thanks, sir. You do care.” Jazzy smirked as John shook his head and laughed.

  “To Jazzy,” the two other men echoed, and then all three swallowed the liquor faster than was wise.

  Chapter Five

  John walked into the MWR, pulled his helmet off and looked around. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. Five machines shared between one hundred soldiers and wouldn’t you know it, for the first time in his time here, the place was a ghost town. No line of men waiting to get on. Two machines available and not one excuse left for John to use to avoid writing this email.

  He spied the coffee pot. The good coffee had already run out—even a case didn’t last too long once a hundred caffeine-addicted soldiers heard about it. With Jazzy laid up and unable to solicit more, they were reduced to the crappy stuff again. John couldn’t even use pouring himself a cup now to procrastinate getting on the computer because this stuff was barely worth drinking.

  John sighed, hearing in his head Jazzy’s voice saying, You could thank her for the coffee. Summer at summer winters dot com.

  “Okay, dammit.” He sat at the nearest available console as the three men on the other computers glanced up to see what all the mumbling was about. John was not about to tell them that he was arguing with his friend in his head.

  John logged into his military email account, the only one he had, the same one he’d had since joining up so many years ago. Jazzy always teased him about the fact he’d never opened a personal email account. Not a Hotmail or a Yahoo or whatever the hell else everyone used nowadays. Why should he? The army.mil address the military had provided him when he signed on worked just fine for his purposes, that being the few times he needed to send official correspondence, such as now. He justified writing this message to this pen pal—he hated even saying the words—as nothing more than an official duty of a superior officer to help out his injured crewman.

  John had written too many letters of condolence to the families of fallen soldiers, twenty to be exact. It was a dreaded but necessary part of war. This, however, would be John’s first email to a pen pal. He sighed, bowed his head, thought for a minute and then set to work.