The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s top shelf spank bank material! She’s like the porn star in the girl-next-door movies with her shiny hair and puppy dog eyes.”

I know he’s baiting me, but shit I’d like to turn around and pummel him until whatever perverse images he’s created are drummed out of his head.

“You and everyone else need to excise her from your memory. She doesn’t exist for you in that fashion. She’s more pure than the Virgin fucking Mary.”

“Does the Virgin Mary like to bite? Because those are one hell of a set of bites around the top of your shoulder.”

I clap my hand over the offending marks—not because I’m ashamed of them, but because I want a reminder of how hot it was. After nine years, it was understandable that we’d have a good night, but it wasn’t good, it was epic. All my fantasies had failed to prepare me for how explosive sex with Charlotte would be. How tight her pussy was. How sweet she tasted. How willing she was to do anything.

“Treat her like your sister, and we won’t have problems,” I mutter, rubbing the teeth marks. Did she bite me that time in the shower? Or was it when she was riding me on the chair? Maybe it was both.

“I can’t even talk about her?”

“No.”

“She’s got you wired tighter than a guitar string, son.”

Cabby is disappointed. While I never took girls home with me, I had no problem playing wingman for him, and I could understand his disgruntlement at how his life would be changing.

“You might as well go to OTS since you’re leaving us single, enlisted schmucks behind.”

“Officer Training School? Since when are only officers married? What about Toller, Wright, and Barovsky?”

“Exceptions, dude. You got to be an LT pay grade or above to afford the wife and kids.” He pauses and laughs a little self consciously. “Although money’s not a problem for you.”

I shift uncomfortably. Most of the guys I serve with don’t have family money like me. There are a few here or there but it’s mostly men living paycheck to paycheck. You earn more as a SEAL because of Dive Pay, Jump Pay, Special Duty Assignment Pay, special bonuses to retain members but it still doesn’t come close to what my trust fund generates in interest in a month. It’s why so many SEALs violate the oath to avoid publicity or seek personal glory. They want cash.

Cabby throws himself on the bed, tipping over a pile of clothes. “How long are you going to be gone? You’re packing like you’re going on a six month mission.” He picks up a pair of shorts and tosses them up. I grab them out of the air, roll them up, and stick them in my seabag.

Should I buy a set of luggage? I’ve been so used to carrying my gear around even when I visit my family, but Charlotte might not like the reminder of what I’ve been doing for the last nine years. Will she be able to be a seaman’s wife? Or worse, a SEALs wife? We are gone a lot, either on training or missions. I won’t be able to talk about my work with her, and I’d leave at a drop of a hat. The only positive was that, unlike a lot of other military guys, I’ve been stationed at the same base since I got my Trident pounded into my chest. The Trident is a gold pin that marks as us SEALs, elite warriors.

SEALs are stationed either on the West coast or East coast unless they get transferred to Joint Task Force or some other ultra-specialized Special Forces team. There’ve been nibbles around the edges of my service to test my interest, and I’ve always turned away because I like my brothers on the team. I trust them implicitly, even if we don’t all have the same outlook on life.

Although if Cabby had a Charlotte in his past, he’d be chasing her down like a gazelle on the plain. He just hasn’t met the one. “I’m going to spend however long it takes to convince her to take me back.”

“Maybe you outta have written her, and she’d be standing on the dock willing to lay a big wet one on you when you stepped off the ship.”

I ignore him and roll up the rest of my clothes. I have a lot of work out gear, uniforms, and jeans. Charlotte looked polished, and so did her friend. They both could have been models on a building ad along the Magnificent Mile back in Chicago. I haven’t ever looked like that—even when I lived in my parents’ multimillion dollar penthouse. My edges are rough, and the time in service has only made them sharper and more jagged.

“Shit.” I scratch my head. “I’m going to have to shop. You think Elison’s sister would buy me some clothes?”