Lieutenant Commander Stud

by Carter, Chance

  “The usual.”

  “Meaning?’

  “My mother’s being a total bitch,” she said, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Doesn’t want me to work on the base because I’m somehow losing her store business.”

  “Her store?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought it was your store,” I replied. Man, how much did I know about this woman? Not enough to have slept with her twice and enjoyed every fucking minute of it.

  “No, it’s hers. I’m just her employee.” Chanel’s jaw worked. “I don’t want to unload my burdens on you.”

  “Talk if you need to talk. I’ll drive and you talk, and –”

  A guy appeared at her window, blonde hair, tan despite the lack of summer sun. He raised his fist and rapped on the glass.

  Chanel jumped and let out a yelp. She scooted away from the window, then spotted the dude and exhaled. “Timothy, you scared the crap out of me.” She rolled down the window and glared out at the kid.

  Okay, he wasn’t a kid, he was Chanel’s age, but I couldn’t help thinking of him as one, even if the same rule didn’t apply to her. This Timothy dude hadn’t seen a day of hard labor. Probably moisturized every night.

  He leaned on the door, and gave me a mock salute. I bristled instantly.

  “Evening, Sir,” he said. “Mind if I interrupt the conversation?”

  I didn’t return the greeting and the awkward atmosphere intensified.

  “Uh, Timothy, we’re about to head out,” Chanel said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Timothy’s gaze shifted from me to her, then back again. Oh yeah, the boy had his suspicions. “Nah, I just wanted to say hey.”

  “You wanted to say hey. What are you even doing around here?” Chanel asked. “You live a block away.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to check in on you. I heard that you weren’t home today. See, I came to see you, Chanel,” he said, and brushed his fingers through his ridiculous hairstyle. It stood upright like he’d been electrified.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m busy with work stuff.”

  “At night?”

  I started the engine to cut off the conversation.

  “Yeah, I’m working on a big project,” Chanel said.

  “What kind of project? Something up at that base, right? You mentioned it, didn’t you? Is that why you were hanging out with soldiers the other night?”

  “What? How did you –?”

  “Oh come on, everyone knows about that. The whole town is talking. Everyone thinks you’ve got a boyfriend up at the base.” Timothy’s words took on a sharp edge.

  “Enjoy your evening, Timothy.”

  “Chanel, wait. When will you be back in town? You and I should hang out sometime,” he said, “you know, get to know each other a little better. Especially since you don’t have a soldier boyfriend, right?”

  The jealousy beast roared in my chest, threatened to claw its way out into the open. I had to remain professional. I was a Navy SEAL first and always.

  “I think we spoke about this before, Tim. No, thank you.” She made to roll up her window, but he stopped her by placing his palm over the slit.

  “Come on, it could be fun. Surely, you won’t –”

  “No means no, kid,” I grunted, then took off down the street.

  He whipped his hand back just in time to avoid losing it.

  Icy wind whipped through the open window, but didn’t cool my temper. I detested losers like that. Guys who pushed too far and too hard, who thought they were entitled to pussy whenever they wanted it.

  “What was that about?” Chanel asked, and rolled up her window.

  The cold air cut out. “We’ve got to get back to base before curfew. Rules are rules.”

  “Right,” she said, and folded her arms.

  “Also, that guy was a jackass. He didn’t take the hint and he interrupted our conversation.” I turned the corner and the anger slowly seeped from my skin. Shit, I couldn’t afford to get involved here. It couldn’t be too late.

  “A jackass,” Chanel said. “I’ll have you know that Timothy is the most eligible bachelor in Meek Springs.”

  “Oh yeah? He blow the dust off a couple pussies?”

  Chanel choked and swallowed. “What?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” I said.

  She laughed – an awkward giggle which couldn’t have been cuter.

  “So,” I said, because curiosity and dumbassery had dug talons into my skin, “did you go on a date with this most eligible bachelor and his hair?”

  Chanel chuckled again. “No, never. I’m not interested in him or his hair. There’s something about him I just don’t like. Something I can’t place.”

  I grunted but kept my opinion to myself. “Forget about him,” I said. “We were talking about your mother, right?”

  Chanel sighed and looked out of the window. For a time, the only sounds were the wheels of the truck on the macadam and the occasional sniff or shift of gears. If she didn’t want to talk, I couldn’t force her.

  No, I wouldn’t.

  I respected what it was like to have something sitting beneath the skin. An emotion or memory controlling you from the inside out. The world saw your actions and movements, but it didn’t see the turmoil within.

  The roiling mess of crap that had ruined everything. I was a different person before I lost control. I listened, shit, I even dated a woman or two.

  “I don’t know why, but she doesn’t want me to have a life. I think it’s because she hates me. Or she hates what I’ve become.” Chanel’s words sliced right across my morose reflection.

  “That doesn’t sound right,” I said.

  “I don’t know what else to think. She’s been angry with me ever since –” She cut off and gulped. “Ever since dad died. I think she blames herself or him, and if she blames him she blames me.”

  “Why?”

  She flopped her hands into the air. “I don’t know, maybe because I remind her of him? Maybe because she thinks I’m reckless and she’ll lose me too?”

  I nodded. “Maybe. But it’s not like you don’t have options, Chanel. You’ve got a marketable skill. If you really wanted to leave Meek Springs behind, you could.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “God, why am I unloading all of this on you? It’s not fair. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “No, it’s okay. If you need to talk I want to be here for you.” And it was true. I wanted to hear her sob stories and pressures. I wanted to be a support for her.

  “Why?”

  I couldn’t answer that properly. Not without risking everything again. “It’s what friends do for each other,” I said.

  The mood in the truck did a 360. Oh yeah, I’d fucked that up.

  “Friends. Right.” She dragged her overnight bag over and dropped it into her lap, then folded her arms on top of it.

  We spent the rest of the ride to the base in a silence so fucking absolute it settled in my soul. The term ‘friends’ had effectively iced all potential for conversation. It didn’t help that Chanel’s perfume intoxicated me, that I would have given anything to park the car and take her again, right on the side of the road.

  Man, wouldn’t that be a perfect silence-breaker. Her screams filling the cab, her legs around my waist and my dick pounding into her, again and again. I’d last longer this time, we wouldn’t have to rush for fear of discovery. I’d make her come at least twice, then eat her out for as long as it took to get the third time.

  And then, we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms, her head on my chest.

  Yeah, it was better if she stayed pissed at me.

  We parked at the base, and she didn’t give me the opportunity to open the door for her. She hopped out and walked for the entrance.

  “Wait,” I called out. “Chanel, wait a second.”

  She stopped, and tossed her hair. Those beautiful blues cut right through to my core. How could she be this beautiful, even when angry?
“What?”

  “You don’t know where your quarters are.”

  “Oh.” She sagged. “Fine. Could you show me, please?”

  “Yeah, follow me.” The base didn’t have guest quarters, but we weren’t at maximum capacity in the officer’s section. She’d be close to my room in case she needed something and didn’t know who else to ask.

  I walked her past the mess hall, down the long gray corridors and into the officer’s section of the building. It didn’t look any different from the quarters those of the soldiers under my command, apart from a few extra potted plants.

  “This is you,” I said, and halted in front of her room. The door was open, the single bed neatly made, overhead light on. A steel desk sat in the corner, a lamp atop it. That was the end of it. All the decoration.

  “Thanks,” she said, and entered the room. She dumped her bag on the bed, and busied herself with its zip.

  “I’ll have your suitcase and notes brought over from my office.” That was where she’d left them after our rendezvous in the helicopter. “Does that suit you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Chanel?”

  She faced me at last, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah?”

  “If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right down the hall. You can eat in the officer’s mess hall with me, as well.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hesitated, caught on the brink of asking her again if everything was all right. A ridiculous idea. Of course, everything wasn’t all right. Calling her a friend had insulted her. She wanted more than friendship and I just couldn’t give it to her.

  It would probably be for the best if we didn’t fuck a third time. My gaze tracked down the front of her blouse. “I-uh, thanks for trying to help the base and the men. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Please close the door behind you. I’d like some privacy, now.”

  “Sure,” I said, and backed off. I shut the door and stared at its plain front. “Shit,” I muttered. I shouldn’t care that she was furious with me, but I did.

  I walked off down the hall and toward my room, burning to turn back again. To make her mine, over and over again.

  It couldn’t be. We weren’t meant to be together, no matter how much I wanted it.

  Chapter 13

  Chanel

  I shifted the portfolio in front of me, paging through the completed designs, the rooms, the swatches of fabric used in each. Most of them were too fancy or homely for the base, but there were hints of style in each that I could draw from and use.

  I’d been allocated a small office in a quiet hall. The tiny window let in natural light and a view of the outside of the base, complete with chain link fences and a tank. An actual tank.

  The atmosphere should’ve made me uncomfortable, but I felt right at home. This reminded me of my father – I couldn’t possibly be uncomfortable with him in my thoughts.

  I turned another page and tapped the end of my pen on my notepad. I’d already chosen a light, yet pleasant color scheme. I understood why the base had to retain an air of neutrality, but gray was just… depressing.

  “Blue,” I said. “Shades of blue for calm, touches of cream.” I noted that, then moved to my next book of samples – fabric. I could source all of this in the quantities I needed from a supplier out of town, especially since I had the backing of Ryan and the friggin’ Navy.

  “But blue sofas?” I scratched the end of my nose with the pen. “No, not that. Cream wouldn’t work either.”

  “Talking to yourself?” A man’s voice came from right in front of my desk.

  I jerked my gaze upward. “Holy crap,” I half-yelled.

  Jack Whitmore, the very same dick who’d given me trouble yesterday, grinned at me from the entrance. His hand rested on the doorknob. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Then maybe knock first?” I leaned on the portfolio, arms folded. “What can I help you with?” I didn’t want to help him with shit. He was friends with Ryan, from what I’d gathered, but I couldn’t fathom why.

  The guy gave me every type of creepy crawly feeling imaginable. On the outside, he seemed handsome and valiant, and all those thing Navy SEALs should be, but I wasn’t fooled.

  His core was rotten. I always trusted my gut, another piece of advice my father had given me growing up, and it hadn’t failed me yet.

  “Help me,” Jack said, and grinned. “What makes you think I need your help?”

  “Charming as always,” I replied, and tilted my head to the side.

  “I’m just kidding,” he replied, and slapped the air. What a weird gesture. Dude had anger issues. “I wanted to have a serious talk with you about the base.”

  “The base. What about it?”

  “Mind if I sit down?” He shut the door, then grabbed hold of a chair and dragged it out from behind the desk. He plonked down before I could give him an answer, so apparently, we were doing this. Whatever this was.

  “What about the base?” I repeated.

  Jack thumbed his nose, then placed his palms together and rested the steeple on the edge of my desk. “Things are going to change around here, right?”

  “Yes, that’s the idea,” I said, and gestured to the portfolios. “It’s what I’m working on, right now.”

  “Right, and you’re sure you’re equipped to handle that change?”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, it’s going to be a lot to take on.”

  “I’ll have help,” I replied. Ryan promised there would be no end to the hands available. It was a base full of soldiers, after all. They were used to taking orders and keeping things neat.

  “Ryan’s help.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Baker has promised me help with the implementation of my designs and ideas, but I still have to create a presentation. We’re not quite at that stage yet,” I said, in my best professional lingo. What was this guy’s deal? What the hell did he want, anyway?

  “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll give you all the help you need.”

  The implication wasn’t lost on me. “Why are you really here, Petty Officer Whitmore?”

  “Call me Jack.”

  “I’d rather not. And I’d really rather have you come out and say what you want to say. I can sense there’s something on your mind.”

  Jack laughed, then bit his bottom lip and winked at me.

  My cringe alarm flew into overdrive. Red lights flashing. God, I’d need an allergy shot after this. Were my ears ringing? Had I traversed into another dimension? “Uh – wh-what do you want? I mean, what are you here for?”

  “I think you know,” he said, and tapped the desk.

  “Honestly, I don’t.” Other than to freak me the hell out.

  “Oh come on, girl, don’t play dumb. You and I both know what happened between you and Ryan in that hotel room, and it wasn’t playing spin the fucking bottle. Get what I’m saying?”

  “I don’t see how what you believe is relevant,” I snapped, then measured my tone. This guy was older than me, and he probably thought he was smarter too. If I showed anger or emotion, he’d capitalize on it.

  Shit, having spent years with my passive aggressive mother might actually pay off for once.

  “Touchy.” He smirked. “I know you think you’ll get to spend more time with Ryan now that you’re on base, but trust me when I say he didn’t hire you because he wants you.”

  This was highly inappropriate. I didn’t want to hear it either. “You’re absolutely right. I was hired because I’m good at what I do, and I’ll prove that in my presentation.”

  “Right. I’m sure you will,” Whitmore said, then ruffled his hair. “Listen, I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s why I’m here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ryan’s great. You and I both know that, but if you continue down this road, you’re going to wind up hurt.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Jack snorted. “You don’t need to pretend. He’s
an eligible bachelor. A military man. I know you’re physically and romantically interested in him, you two spent the night together.”

  “This is none of your business.” I rose behind the desk.

  He put out his palms to placate me, but it didn’t do much to quash the anger in my gut. How dare he come in here to talk to me about personal shit like this? And he’d winked at me too. My mind was all over the place thanks to this conversation.

  “I’m not trying to pry. Ryan was my – he was my best friend,” he said, and for a second a hint of sincerity crept into his tone.

  I lowered myself into the squeaky, uncomfortable receptionist’s chair again. I didn’t know much about Ryan and I did want to know more, despite his weird and ever-changing attitude. Baker reminded me of that Katy Perry Hot n’ Cold song.

  “He’s not your best friend anymore?” I asked.

  “Not really. Well, we’re friends, right, but we’re soldiers first. I guess, he’s just not the man I used to know.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t help myself. I was in a desert, thirsty for information, and Jack had control over the oasis.

  “He was normal before he was deployed,” Jack said. “A regular soldier. I wasn’t happy we were separated but what could I do, right? And then he came back from Iraq and it wasn’t the same anymore. He was a broken man.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to think of what he might’ve seen out there. My father had served and been in action, but he never came home ‘broken’ per say. He had PTSD, he got help, and he suffered, but he survived.

  Ryan must’ve experienced something terrible to be ‘broken.’ Was it right for me to ask what that was? I shifted. “Perhaps, it’s better if we don’t –”

  “You see, Ryan was in charge of men out there. He was a commander,” Jack continued, and ignored the look of horror twisting my features. It wasn’t right to talk about this. “But he made a bad decision and he ended up getting them killed.”

  “No.” I pushed my chair back.

  “Yeah. He was the only survivor. He hasn’t recovered from it since,” Jack said. “To make matters worse, there was an investigation into his behavior, whether he compromised the troops willfully or not. Naturally, he didn’t, but the review took it out of him.”