We already live together and if we don’t agree on the woman, it doesn’t happen. As for the last bit, well, it hasn’t come to that. Yet.
Right now, we’ve all agreed on no relationships. Nothing that can tie us down or pull us away from our work. No one to leave behind in case we eat lead overseas seems smart. In reality, there’s an ache inside for more. But I keep my mouth shut. For now.
A little skin-on-skin time with a pretty waitress from our favorite watering hole was just another one-night stand in a string of unmemorable flings. The only difference about that night is the time we spent with the nameless beauty kept us from following our fallen brothers into an early grave if you know what I mean. Grief isn’t easy to overcome at any stage. We’ve lost a lot of brothers and sisters.
As I said, the cost of our life choices isn’t blood, it’s our soul. Now, do you believe me?
All that said, I’m growing tired of not having someone soft to hold, to care for, and love. Maybe I’m just tired of getting shot at and sent home only to be brought back in to do it all over again like a machine.
“You’re wrong,” I say to Rush. “It’s been seven months. Not five or six since the pretty waitress. But who’s counting,” I give a dry smile and knock the ashes off the end of my Maduro.
Gage grunts and signals for me to pass him a cigar too. “I don’t think he can count that high, Aziel. Don’t break the last brain cell he’s working with.”
Rush shoots us both an annoyed look. “Fuck you both.” He grabs the bottle from Gage and I slide my empty tumbler across the table for a refill.
We’ve all gathered in the game room which is a laid-back way of describing the massive open-floor basement that has been gutted and outfitted to make any grown man weep with joy.
The main features are the three large screen TVs—Gage’s idea, not mine—a well-stocked bar, a billiard table on one side, and this—a massive hand-carved table big enough to sit twenty.
I claim all the credit for the top-shelf liquor.
Smooth, hardwood floors and soft overhead lighting make it a comfortable room to regroup after missions.
We’ve shared the lakehouse since we enlisted, not seeing the need in each of us keeping up with our own places and this table has been witness to more than I care to rehash tonight.
We tossed our suit jackets over the large sofa on our way to the hard liquor about an hour and a half ago, all of us avoiding the very big white elephant that followed us downstairs.
Gage rolls his sleeves up while Rush pours us a fresh round of Black Label Johnny. Not the most expensive but I like how the burn feels when it hits the back of my throat.
I take a peek at my cards. Ten, Jack, and Queen of spades. Well, shit.
I pick up a couple of orange chips and toss them in the middle of the pile after looking at my hand again.
Across from me, Rush wiggles his eyebrows like he can see through the glossy paper in my hand. “Feeling lucky, tonight, huh?”
I give him a stiff middle finger. “Fuck you, Rush. Why don’t you stop running that mouth and put in your chips.”
To my side, Gage grunts, throws his cards down, and pushes up from his chair.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
Jesus H. Christ. I was getting tired of everyone dancing around the main event.
Standing behind his chair, Gage puffs a couple of times on his Maduro. “Are we really going to do this?”
Raja, a close friend, asked us over tonight and slapped a very unique offer on the table the second we walked into his office at Club Sin. And a timely one, to be honest. We could use the distraction. Back-to-back missions are rare but happen. And this time it’s left us not only tired but on edge. There’s no one right way to settle back into civilian life but holed up in the basement is not it. By a long shot.
I turn my eyes up to meet Gage’s. His grim expression matches mine. He’s caught on the finer details instead of the simple solution of reconnecting with the living.
“You’re overthinking it, brother.”
“Maybe,” he counters after a long drag on his cigar. “Raja hasn’t given us much time to do too much thinking.”
I nod. Our friend helps the owners of Club Sin get fresh talent into the adult club to keep the members happy and apparently, he’s tapped out at the moment. According to Raja, he needs three men willing to do a show with one woman for a few nights over the summer and possibly fall.
“Adult sex clubs have never been our thing.” Rush tosses his cards down and plants his elbows on the table, locking his fingers in front of him.
I roll my shoulders in a shrug. “True. Raja knows this which means his back is against the wall for him to call us.” Performing isn’t our thing, but sharing is.