“Little? Just because she’s shorter than you doesn’t mean you can call her your little sister.”
“No, but the fact that I was born five minutes before her does.” This is information that he already knows. I know he’s just trying to get me worked up. If I’m being honest, Chad is one of the best guys I know. I trust him with my life, and my little sister could do much worse than my best friend.
“You know what I’m looking forward to?”
“What’s that?” I’m almost afraid to ask. You never know what’s going to come out of Chad’s mouth.
“Chicken wings. Spicy, messy chicken wings, and a nice cold beer.”
“Let’s move that to the top of the list,” I tell him, my mouth watering at the thought.
“My cousin Shayne works at the bar in town. Best wings around.”
“We’re definitely going to have to check that out,” I tell him.
Chad doesn’t talk about home much, not in the sense of family. Everyone has accepted his choice, but something tells me there’s still a strain there from his decision to enlist in the army. His parents, his sister, and his cousin Shayne are really the only people from back home that he talks about. He mentions a few friends here and there, but it seems as though none are permanent in his life.
Hell, I’m sure he’s in the same situation that I am. My buddies didn’t write and don’t keep in touch now that I’m enlisted. They all went off to college to do their thing, and they don’t understand why I felt the need to go the army route. I think it’s because they don’t have any experience or firsthand knowledge of anyone who has served. If they did, they would understand. This was just something I needed to do.
Much like Sara, they didn’t understand, and it’s my guess they never will. I’m not torn up over it. True friends would be there to support me no matter what. Friends like Chad, who I’ve known since our first day of basic, and who I trust with my life, that’s the kind of relationship you need out here in the desert. It’s not just Chad. There isn’t a single member of our unit I wouldn’t say the same thing about.
We’re more than a unit, more than friends. We’re family.
We may not share the same blood, but we’re all fighting to defend our country so that our loved ones can continue to live a life of freedom.
That means something.
“Shayne will hook us up.”
“Perfect.” My stomach grumbles just at the thought. “I’ll take first watch,” I tell him, lying back on the artificial grass, my eyes focusing on the millions of stars.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” Technically we shouldn’t be sleeping out here. We take shifts watching the sleeping tents, but it’s stifling hot. Instead, we look out for one another, sleeping in shifts. Believe it or not, we get more sleep this way than we do sleeping in the hot-as-fuck tents. Sometimes others join us, but today was a long-ass day, and everyone crashed. Chad and I stuck to the routine no matter how tired and sore our muscles are. This is where we both wanted to be.
Lying beneath the stars.
Chapter 2
Shayne
“Connor Jorgeson, get your ass off the top of my bar!” I holler down to the far end after catching movement out of the corner of my eye.
“I didn’t do anything,” he replies over the classic Alabama song pumping through the speakers.
I turn quickly to see him trying to swing a leg up without kicking the row of glasses perched on the edge of the bar. “Do it, and I’ll be required to remove you from the bar top with force, buddy.”
He gives me a huge wolfish grin. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he replies, making his friends laugh.
I arch a single eyebrow heavenward. “Don’t make me call Jet over,” I threaten, referring to the owner of the bar I work at four nights a week.
Jet’s Pub and Pool Hall is known for cold beer, the best chicken wings in town, and an endless supply of locals willing to throw a few bucks onto the felt in a friendly game of pool. Jet found his love for billiards in his twenties, when he would travel to bigger cities and hustle men twice his age out of their hard-earned cash. Now, there’s no hustling involved. Everyone knows he’s unbeatable, but that doesn’t stop them from trying.
“All right, all right, sweet thing,” Connor pleads, throwing both hands in the air. “I’ll be a good boy. But, you know, if you want me to be bad for a little while, you just tell me when to meet you in the supply closet.” His friends laugh once more.
Morons.
I can’t stop my eye roll. Connor has been trying to get in my pants since he returned home from college just a short year ago. He had a brand-new finance degree, which he thought equaled success and money, and was jonesing to screw the town whore.