The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“Why three one night stands?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“It takes at least two to actually enjoy it.” A zipping sound signals he’s done packing. “You are a grown-ass woman, but you’re still stuck on your high school sweetheart because you don’t know what kind of sex you can have with a man. Let me tell you that being with a guy who actually knows his way around a body is a hell of a lot different than a teenager. Plus, older guys have more stamina and are just way more damn creative.”

Telling Reese that I thought Nate was pretty amazing as a seventeen-year-old would only result in more lectures about boys versus men, so I keep my mouth shut.

Reese sighs. “Repeat after me: I’m a grown-ass woman.”

When I don’t immediately parrot his sentence back, he barks, “Say it, Charlotte.”

“I’m a grown-ass woman.”

“I’m a grown-ass woman, and I deserve to have an adult relationship.”

“I’m a grown-ass woman, and I deserve to have an adult relationship,” I repeat obediently. “What’s the point of the one night stands?”

“Shock to your system. It’s like a cleanse. You need to flush the bad toxins out of your system and put new, good ones in.”

“Isn’t a cleanse like fasting, which I’ve done for, oh, nine years?” I point out.

“Unfortunately for you, the cleanse has gone on for so long, that you’ve been revirginized. A one night stand or three will wake you up to the possibilities. Shit, you’ve enshrined this guy for so long. You’re going to need three one night stands because the first guy who even breathes on your lady parts is going to set you off.”

“Okay, that image is kind of gross, particularly coming from you.”

“I’ve got more where that comes from. Prepare yourself,” he sings into the phone before he hangs up.

Reese’s irreverent attitude is just what I need. Picking up the discarded notebook, I start in on the list of to-dos. My business has saved me these last few years. Letting myself fail at this is not an option.

27

Nathan

The operation to rescue the wealthy American couple is green lighted. It’s almost a relief to concentrate on something else other than Charlie and that soon-to-be dead motherfucker Reese. In fact, as we practice our extraction moves over and over, there isn’t room to think of anything other than where I’ll be, the positioning of my teammates, when we’ll take the shot, and how we’ll infiltrate the ship to rescue the hostages.

This wasn’t going to be like the mission we undertook six months ago trying to rescue a journalist. After we’d failed, the journalist had been moved and it took another ninety days to find her again. One of my teammates lost his mind during that time period. He’d tormented himself every day, every hour that ticked by.

One day he’d turned to me and said, “You lost someone. I get it now.”

“I haven’t lost anyone,” I’d answered because everyone I loved was alive. Charlotte didn’t talk to me anymore, but she was alive.

He looked confused. “Then why do you look like I feel?”

“How’s that?”

“Like I’m dead inside. Like losing that girl killed whatever I had in here.” He thumped his chest.

The pain in his eyes was so strong I wanted to look away, but he was my teammate. He deserved to have my attention.

“Yeah, okay, I lost my girl only she’s still alive.”

“She cheat on you? Find a Jody back home?”

Jody’s the nickname we give every guy who fucks the women that stay while the men are off risking their asses for God and country. I shake my head. “No. I . . . I let her go.”

He looked away swiftly, but not before I saw the contempt in his eyes. “Never thought you were a coward, Monk. A fool, maybe. But not a coward.”

When I got back, I pulled out Charlotte’s letters. I read them the entire night and when dawn lit up the sky, I’d known that he was right. I’d been a coward for far too long, and I had to do something about it.

All too soon the op is over, and we are riding in the helo back to land where we’ll catch a flight on the oh-so-comfortable C5 Galaxy back to San Diego.

While everyone else around me is sacked out like good little seamen, lying on a crate or propped up against a pallet using their rucksacks as pillows, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see my Charlotte being molested by some asshole named Reese. When I got back to land, I was going to need a leave of absence. Three or four days are all I would need to find out everything about this Reese dude and destroy him. Then I’d . . . my plans fell apart there. Mostly I thought I’d pick up Charlotte, shove her in my rental, and bring her back to San Diego with me. I’d put her in my bed and wouldn’t let her leave until she admitted she still loved me.