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AFTER I FALL: CHAPTER 3
Parker
The Pint isn’t what I expected. Something loud and grinding is blasting from an ancient jukebox that actually has flipping discs to scroll through. The brick walls are accented with black and white photos and small flags of different colors. I’m sure they represent something but I’m not sure what.
Despite the dark interior, it feels homey, not cold or threatening. There are small candles at each table, nestled in glass jars and low-hanging lamps over a pool table near the jukebox.
I stand there for a moment, taking in how utterly stark the contrast is between this place and the Baywater where I usually hang out. Mostly because my father lets me run a tab there and doesn’t complain because I rarely run it up too high.
But here, there’s a different atmosphere all together. Here there’s no uptight piano music, which I actually love. There are no waiters in stiff white shirts that disappear as soon as they take your order.
Here is bar food and loud music. Laughter that’s both too loud and comfortable all at the same time.
I am not at home here. It’s too unrestrained. Too unsettled.
But I’ll be damned if I chicken out now. I spot the girl from the quad behind the bar and make my way to her, dodging at least three eye-fuckings along the way.
Some things, sadly, are remarkably the same.
Her face lights as she spots me. “Hey, you made it. I honestly didn’t think you’d show.”
I smile at the welcome. “Why did you offer me, then?”
She shrugs. “Figured the worst that could happen was you wouldn’t show. If you did, you’d make my boss pretty damn happy because he’s been looking for an intern for a while.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Kelsey, by the way.”
“Parker.”
Kelsey eyes me for a second. “I know why you’re here,” she says quietly. She holds up her finger, then starts pouring different liquids into a glass. A shake over one shoulder in the mixing glass and then a cherry on top and she slides it toward me. “Had a fight with the other half, didn’t you?”
I grin and take a sip of the drink. “What’s this called?”
“Breakup Sex.”
I try not to choke. It’s fruity with a bite of vodka behind it. “It’s really good.”
“I know. I was inspired the night I came up with it.”
“Bad breakup?”
She lifts her own glass in mock salute. “Just one of many that I’d just as soon forget.”
I sip the rest of my drink. “So did you find the financial aid office?”
“Yep. Now if only they knew how to access the GI Bill without requiring seventeen dead trees, I’d be okay.”
I frown. “Does it really take that many?”
“Maybe only one tree. Or a sapling. Who knows? All I know is that nothing is easy these days.”
“So you’re a soldier?” Something about her mannerisms doesn’t surprise me at all. “You’re too pretty to be a soldier.”
Kelsey shoots me a side eye that I’m pretty sure means I should drop dead. “There’s this meme out there of stupid shit that civilians say to female soldiers.” She winks at me and pours for the guy next to me who is trying not to look like he’s staring down my shirt. “Google it some time. Eyes up here, honey,” she says to Peeping Tom.
I flinch, completely ignoring the guy next to me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know. That’s why I’m still talking to you.” There’s no animosity in those words. Which surprises me. “The most difficult thing about being in this town is that every college student I encounter swears they know more about military life than me.”
“I bet you hear all kinds of stupid things,” I say. I’m suddenly remembering my class last semester. Where I was the know-it-all college student who knew more about life and violence than my classmate who’d been deployed.
I suddenly feel two inches tall.
“You know what’s great about being in the Army?” Kelsey slides a glass of water toward me. She points at a few of the guys scattered around the bar. “Every one of these dudes doesn’t know me from Adam. But I feel more at home around these men than I do with my own family.” She points a straw at me. “That’s powerful stuff right there.”
I look down into my glass. I wouldn’t know. But I don’t say that. Because this is not the Poor Parker Party.
She taps the edge of my glass. “Hey. You know what solves all the world’s problems?”
“Please don’t say whiskey.”
Kelsey laughs. “Well, I was going to say whiskey but since you took that off the list I’ll say penis. Like really good, grinding sex to get out all the aggression and frustration, you know?”
“No, can’t say that I do,” I mumble. She is seriously talkative. “I’m not really sure how I feel about you sharing your penis fetish. I mean, it’s cool and all but this is only our first date.”
Kelsey promptly laughs her ass off. “Oh my sweet Jesus. You’ve never been well and truly fucked, have you?”
“I’m quite sure I have no clue what you’re talking about. And that sounds really painful, to be honest.” I toss back a large gulp of my drink, needing something to wash down the flames on my face.
She hands me another drink. “Bottoms up, honey. Sex should never hurt. Unless you want it to. Then, like, game on and all that. Get spanked to your little heart’s content.”
I choke on my drink and valiantly try not to spew it across the bar. It burns a little as I try not to laugh. “That’s a hell of a visual.”
Why am I even having this conversation? “The last time I had to talk about sex was the morning after I lost my virginity. And I didn’t exactly get good advice on how to make the burning stop.”
“Burning? What the fuck? Is your other half like Lucifer or something? Or,” she pauses. “He didn’t give you a—”
“No! No. It just…wasn’t very good. I wasn’t really ready, that’s all.”
Kelsey leans closer. “Here’s the thing. Sex is power. It’s powerful. And we control that power. Men will do anything to get it.” She lifts one eyebrow. “You should try it. There’s nothing better than breakup sex. Someone new. Something to get you back in the game.” She bites her bottom lip and nods. “Try it sometime.”
I smile and shake my head. “I’m not that uninhibited.”
She slides my second drink toward me. “Keep drinking and see where the night takes you.” She winks at me once more. “I won’t even introduce you to Eli until you’re sober. That way you can make a good first impression and all that.”
I drink because I can. Because tonight is about me and what I want.
And I want to stop hurting. To stop feeling trapped.
I want what Kelsey has. The easy smile. The confidence to control everyone at the bar with a flick of her hair or the flash of her eyes.
She’s sharp.
She’s free.
In ways that I will never be.
Eli
I stop at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to my apartment over the bar. There’s a small blonde standing there, staring at the Army photos lining the wall and holding a glass of something peach-colored and fizzy.
My first instinct is to dismiss her as just another rich girl in Durham for her Mrs. Degree.
There’s an expression on her face that I can’t read. Something quiet and laced with curiosity.
She’s reading a small certificate I had framed years ago. After my first tour in First Cav, before I was shipped back east to the 82d at Fort Bragg. But she wouldn’t know that.
Her eyes are dark and laced with curiosity. “What’s the Fiddler’s Green?”
I pause next to her in the narrow hallway. There’s no reason for her to be back here. The bathrooms are on the other side of the bar.
I’m not sure how I feel about her standing here, looking at the history that is meant for me and mine.
It’s personal.
“It’s where cavalrymen go when they die.”
She looks up at me. “Cavalrymen?”
“The guys who used to ride horses in the Army but now drive around in tanks.”
A small line knits between her brows. “Is everyone at this bar in the Army?”
I almost smile at the incredulity in her question. “Not currently. They tend to frown on facial hair. But once upon a time, yes.”
A lifetime ago.
I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m standing here talking to her. She looks like every other sorority girl in this damn town. Perfect golden hair, perfect lips in the perfect glossy pout, perfect body that’s tight enough to make a blind man weep.
She’s got “trouble” written on every curve attempting to break free of her clothing.
But there’s something in her eyes that catches my attention. It’s not curiosity, exactly. It’s something more. Something…hungry and searching. At least a little bit.
I have a rule about fucking the customers, especially ones who look like her. She’s got a rich daddy somewhere who’s probably connected enough to make my life a living hell for touching his daughter.
Granted, it’s a recent rule that started off as a lack of interest, but it’s still a rule.
My bartenders can do what they want. They’re grown-ass adults, and one of the perks of working at a bar is getting laid any time they want.
But lately…lately it’s just not fun. A few weeks ago, I was sitting in the hospital as Caleb tried not to drop dead on us, and the futility of it all hit me like an Abrams tank. The Pint. The trying to build a space for us. It’s stupid. I’m not a company commander anymore. The guys who hang out in my bar are not my soldiers.
And I need to stop acting like they are. My Army life is behind me, and it’s not coming back.
The very thoughts feel blasphemous, like Gary Owen himself is going to reach out from the grave and rip my heart out of my chest.
I study Trouble for a moment, weighing whether to answer any more questions. “I don’t like talking about my time in the Army,” I admit quietly.
“Isn’t that a little ironic?” She motions toward the wall lined with pictures.
“My life is a study in contradictions.”
She lifts one brow, letting the silence hang for a long moment. “I took a class on violence this semester,” she finally says. “I don’t understand why anyone would sign up for the Army. Why you would sign up to go to war.” She narrows her eyes at me, studying me quietly. “Why did you go? Why did you sign up?”
It’s a bold question, I’ll give her that. And thank god it’s not “was it like Call of Duty,” my personal favorite conversation ender. My cock is definitely interested in answering her question but maybe later. He’s not really a fan of my new rule or guideline or whatever it is.
But my heart and my head have different ideas. Ones that start and end with oh hell no. She might be slumming in my bar tonight, but she’s definitely not my type. And her questions about violence hit a little too close to home. Questions I’m not interested in entertaining from a complete stranger. “It’s complicated,” is all I say instead, opting to let the conversation slide into something less raw, something more carnal.
She shifts then to turn a little more toward me. I catch a glimpse of a shadow on her arm beneath the edge of her top.
I don’t ask permission. I nudge the lace edge of her top higher, revealing what looks suspiciously like where fingers might rest if they were grabbing someone.
I brush my fingers over her skin and my fingers are dusted with concealer. Just a hint, careful not to cross any lines. “Where’d you get these?”
She’s tried to hide the damage, but she’s not doing a very good job. Or maybe she is, and I just can’t miss these things.
I’m like a magnet for the walking fucking wounded.
I can’t help myself, but I can’t turn away when someone is hurting. It’s been ingrained in my DNA since I was eighteen years old.
Even a complete stranger.
I’m going to regret this. Of that much I’m sure. But the question is already hanging in the air between us.
She shifts then, folding her arms over her chest, angling her bruised arm away. The movement has the effect of physically blocking me. I’d have to be a dead man to not react to that much perfection as the motion presses her breasts against the edge of her low-cut top.
I’m a little annoyed at how easily distracted my dick is these days.
“That’s a long story,” she says. Her voice is thick and low. Sultry. Perfect for a late-night rendezvous in a bar. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. Some stories aren’t meant for telling.”
I’m not a eunuch, and I’m damn sure not a warrior monk, but it’s been a long time since someone at my bar caught my attention.
Her eyes flicker with disappointment then drop down to my beard, then down my arms and slowly, slowly back up, her gaze licking my senses as much as if she were actually touching me. Slowly. I’ve been mentally undressed before, but there is something completely erotic in the way she’s eye-fucking me.
And the more she watches me, the more I realize I am in just the right frame of mind to let her do what she wants.
Because tonight, I don’t want to remember my rules or my fucking honor or my purpose for being here. I want to get lost in sensation and touch and hot gasps and tight, wet bodies. Forget the hurt, forget the loss, forget every dark nightmare and twisted daydream.
What better way to forget than to lose myself in mindless sex for an hour or two?
ONE CLICK TO KEEP READING…
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