I spot him sitting at a booth near the back corner of the room. His back is to the wall and he faces the door, and I can’t help but snicker a little as I make my way toward him. You can take the man out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the man.
“Hi, Casey,” a bright voice says from the bar to my right.
I turn, catching sight of Devin Powell. She and Alex used to be together a long time ago, but they broke up when Alex’s job started getting really intense. I can’t speak for Devin but I know for a fact Alex has never, ever gotten over her.
Devin has always been something of a big sister to me, and even after she and Alex split, we still kept in touch. In fact, she helped me find a waitressing gig at the college bar I work at a few nights a week.
“Hey, Dev,” I call with a wave. “Any specials today? Black bean burger?”
She winks. “I’m sure I can whip up something special for you.”
The pub is fairly busy but also chill over the lunch hour. I see a lot of military uniforms representing different branches and some suits—most of the people here will be heading back to the base when they’re done, just like Alex.
He stands up when I reach him—ever the gentleman, even with his little sister—and folds me into a hug. “Hey, sis.” He pulls out my chair for me before taking a seat. He’s always been that way. Our father taught him well. I haven’t dated a ton, and most of the reason why is because I measure every guy I meet against my brother. He and my dad set the precedent for how I require being treated by a guy, and that will never change.
“So what’s this big news you texted me earlier?” Alex says, settling back in his seat.
I note the way his gaze cuts toward Devin, three times in the span of about ten seconds. “When are you guys going to figure out your shit?”
He fixes me with a stern look I like to think of as his “Commander stare.” I smile back innocently.
“Anyway,” he says pointedly after a pause. “The news?”
I grin. “I booked a wedding gig this Saturday.”
“That’s great,” Alex says warmly. “In DC?”
I nod. “The bride’s other makeup artist got sick. I was surprised when she contacted me on Instagram, but I guess my portfolio and ‘Hollywood’ credentials helped.” I make air quotes, unable to keep the note of disgust out of my voice.
Alex reaches over and pats my hand. “You will get past it, Case. I promise you. This is a great start.”
I gaze down at the menu in front of me and shrug, trying to still my quivering lips. It happened months ago, but it hurts so much.
“You hear the horror stories about casting couches in Hollywood and skeezy directors hitting on young actresses,” I say, clearing my throat. “You even believe that it happens. You know that it happens. You just never expect it to happen to you.”
The day my brand-new career in Hollywood as a makeup artist came to a screeching halt, I was in the makeup and hair trailer laying out my kit and the products I’d need to work on the star of the film being shot. I’d been on the job for only a couple of months, but my skill spoke for itself.
It was early, just after four in the morning. The day’s shoot was scheduled to begin at seven, and I was expecting the actress any moment. I was looking forward to my work that morning, because it was the second day of shooting a big gala scene. It called for full glam makeup on the star as opposed to her character’s regular, more natural look. The actress, a stunning woman, had features I was loving playing with—big doe eyes and luscious lips, brown skin I made glow like gold ran in her blood. There were lots of close-up shots. That scene was my time to really shine.
But when the door to the trailer opened, it wasn’t the star. It was the producer.
“You want to keep getting jobs, right?” he asked, closing and locking the door behind him.
I did, but not at the cost he clearly wanted to charge me. When his hand landed on my shoulder, I upended the table of supplies at him, darted around him, and escaped the trailer.
Three days later, I was back in DC, sobbing on my brother’s couch.
Alex seems to tell I’m drifting down nightmare lane, and starts telling me about random, nonsensical things. Devin brings me a gigantic black bean burger with all the fixings and a side of thick-cut sweet potato fries. I clear the whole plate with ease.
Alex pays the check, and we get up from the table, waving goodbye to Devin. I catch the same look of wistful longing in her eyes as are in my brother’s. I shake my head. If it kills me, I will get them back together . . . somehow.
“I’m gonna hit the head,” Alex says. “Wait here.” He ducks off for the men’s room and I loiter near the bar, watching the news playing on the flat screen.
The bell on the door rings as it opens, but I don’t bother to turn around.
At least, not until a deep voice behind me says, “Hi, Casey.”
2
Nicholas Diego
All right, all right. I’ll admit it.
The food at The Draught is good. Good enough for me to eat there most days of the week for at least two meals a day. So I don’t really need a reason to place a lunch order there for me and all the guys in the office.
But today, I have one.
This morning, my boss, Commander Alexander Knight of Alpha Force Elite, briefly mentioned he’d be out of the office for a couple hours over lunch. The reason? He’d be dining with his younger sister Casey.
The girl I’ve had a serious crush on ever since she moved here.
It might be why I volunteered as tribute to place and pick up the order. It might be why the guys—Hopper, Jackson, and Kang—all snickered at me as I ran out the door. It might be why I checked my hair and teeth in the rearview mirror of my SUV before I walked inside.
True, I might have gotten here too late, or Casey might have left before Knight. But there was no way I was going to pass up the chance.
And, as I walk inside and catch a glimpse of long, light-brown hair flowing down a short woman’s back to her beautifully generous backside, I know I’ve hit gold.
I’d know that hair—and, okay, that booty—anywhere.
“Hi, Casey,” I say.
She whirls around, her long hair flying. I’m used to seeing her in the simple tee and jeans she wears when she works at the college bar I’ve been to a few times, but today she wears a cream-colored, off-the-shoulder sweater, tight jeans, and boots. I like her in anything she wears, but she looks particularly stunning today.
“Nicholas,” she says, her gray eyes lighting up. “Hi! How are you? What’re you doing here?”
I flash her what I desperately hope is a smile that’s nowhere near as goofy as it feels. “Good. Just picking up some lunch. Where’s your brother?”
“Bathroom.” Casey tilts her head and smiles at me. I’m not what you’d call a ladies’ man, but I’m pretty sure that’s a flirty smile on her face. “Worried he’ll catch you talking to me?”
Yes, I want to say. Yes, I am. “Of course not.”
“Really?” She narrows her eyes, still smiling. “Hmm. I thought maybe that was the reason why I hadn’t seen you at the bar lately.”