Rock Hard

“Lucky guess,” I chuckled, withdrawing my credit card. I handed it to the bartender between two fingers, keeping my eyes on Clara.

“And your ID, miss?”

He took it, briefly scanning the card with his eyes before returning it to her.

“Open tab?”

“Of course.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, I chuckled and shook my head at her. “He’s a terrible bartender. That’s the fakest card I’ve seen in a while.”

“Excuse me?” Clara muttered.

“Your ID card, it’s a fake. You’re definitely not twenty-one years old. Hell, I don’t honestly think you’re a day over nineteen.”

“Flattering, but no, the card’s real.”

I reached out the same two fingers, wiggling them briefly. “Show me.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Clara handed me her ID card. Of course, I didn’t really think it was a forgery. I just wanted more information on her. She was distracted, so I figured I could get away with the request.

Clara Renee Campbell, I observed, pretending to fiddle with the edges of the card as I scanned her identification. I checked out her address, noting that it probably wasn’t more than maybe ten minutes from my rental house. Convenient…

As I handed her the card back, my thumb slid along the stony glare of her photo, and I smiled with validation. Well, what do you know…?

“You’ve got a corner of this card slightly peeling up, and there’s a subtle laser engraving on your name at the top,” I chuckled. “I’ll be damned, it actually is a fake!”

“Say it a little louder for the people in the back, why don’t you?” Clara snarled as she slipped it into her pocket.

She opened her mouth to follow that up, but the bartender returned with our drinks. We gratefully accepted them, turning to regard each other carefully.

“Cheers,” I grinned cheekily, clinking the lip of my tumbler to that of her highball glass. It had been a bold move, but it usually worked… and I was surprised to actually sniff out a fakery. Ballsy girl, I thought to myself.

“Cheers,” Clara disdainfully replied, watching me coolly as she took a large sip from the straw. It was clear that she was attempting to sum me up.

“Why don’t we get a table?” I asked, motioning towards the various high-tops. “I’d like a little more room, honestly.”

“I’m actually waiting on somebody,” Clara chirped up. “Boyfriend’ll be here any minute.”

“Boyfriend,” I nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s right. Big guy. Bigger than you.”

“Is that so? Is he a former Marine, too?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Clara smiled. “He’s way more handsome too. Doesn’t need to try and win me over with cheesy pick-up lines or anything.”

I grinned playfully, taking another sip of my iced whiskey. “Hey, I almost take personal offense to that one, love.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I told you that it’s a cultural thing,” I reminded her. “It’s just how we greet beautiful women. Part of the deal.”

“You’re starting to lay it on thick.”

I began to retort, but it turned out that she was half telling the truth. A moment later, another young lady about Clara’s age strolled up to us, brushing long blond bangs back to expose expensive gold earrings.

“Hiya, Clara. Who’s this guy?”

Oh good, here comes the cavalry.

“Just some guy from the Marines’ banquet I had to work tonight. He’s kind of a total misogynist jackass. Where’ve you been, Nat?”

“Sorry, girl! I was tied up with Jared for a hot minute there!” She smiled unabashedly, leaving zero subtly in the implication. Her smile faded as she turned to me. “You can go ahead and leave, though. I’ll take it from here.”

“Classy,” I grinned. “Tell your friend you’re late because you were riding dick and dismiss me in the same burst of air? What else can you do with all that lung power?”

Nat, as Clara had called her, planted her hand on her hip and gave me that classic simmering bitch face that I knew all too well.

“Look, Tiger, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree if you’re trying to bring my best friend home tonight. She’s already got enough to worry about without some smarmy, arrogant fuck bothering her.”

Just to send the point home, she waved lazily at me with a wrist in the dismissed motion. “Now, piss off.”

I laughed, taking a swig of my whiskey. “I’m sorry, I just thought we let our friends make their own decisions… Clara, if you want me to go, just say the word.”

She turned to me with a sweet grin. “I’ve told you to buzz off a few times now, remember?”

I grasped at my chest. “You’ve wounded me.”

“I’m sure you’ve experienced worse than that… Marine.”

For a brief moment, I had a flashback to a knife fight in the Afghani dust. Within seconds, I could practically taste the dust in my throat, blinded by the hot, unforgiving sun as a foreign voice shouted indecipherable taunts. I could feel the hard rubber of the hilt in my hand, and knew what I had to do…

“Well, I was in combat zones for a few years, so that’s fairly accurate,” I replied angrily. “Thank you for reminding me of my wonderful, feel-good time in the bloody, blistering desert. Now then, ladies, if you’ll excuse me…”

I stepped away from them, swallowing the fury that curled up in my throat like encroaching flames. What was THAT? I’d never really experienced any heavy flashbacks like that before, and to do so now of all times…?

Warm skin fleetingly brushed against my arm. Turning on my heel, Clara was at my side, looking at me with eyes filled with concern.

“Are you ok?”

I snapped out of it, shaking my head and looking down at her sparkling eyes.

“Look, that might have been a bit far. I’m really sorry… You just came off like a dick earlier tonight, and I was giving it back... You’re not going to give up on me now, are you?”

“You’re gorgeous when you open up like this, Clara.”

Clara blushed briefly, clearly caught off-guard. I could see her friend back at the counter, ordering a drink and looking over at us with confusion.

“I’m sorry… look, your name was Dalton, right? It’s been a frustrating night, and you had me a little off center… I was trying to forget you existed.”

“Well, I exist, and you got my name right,” I answered mechanically, trying to gauge where this was going. “I’m Dalton Cparlyle, of the 165th Steel Division in Afghanistan. Youngest member of the Carlyle Family of Southern England.”

“Sounds very distinguished,” she smiled. “Listen, would you like to get out of here, maybe? I could use some air.”

Ah, she’s remorseful now. Now she feels like she needs to overcompensate. I didn’t mind this particular trajectory anymore. Still, there’s the small matter of…

“Your friend,” I reminded, glancing over her shoulder again. Nat, likely short for Natalie, had affixed her attention onto flirting with the bartender as he mixed her up a cocktail.

“Oh, she’s probably fine,” Clara clarified, following my gaze. “Natalie knows I’m in a bit of a vulnerable position, so she’s always on the defensive for me… I mean… wait. Don’t read into that.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured Clara. “I’m English and a former Marine. It’s not really in either code of ethics for me to be anything less than a cordial gentleman… Tonight notwithstanding, at any rate.”

“What, do you get a manual or something?” Clara teased playfully.

“With the Marines, yes, something of a field handbook. For the British side, it’s more of an ancient, leather-bound tome, really…”

“Kept in some dusty old monastery?”

“You’ve seen it, then,” I chuckled. “Surprised the Elders let you through, usually you have to submit to a thumb-prick to establish proof of your bloodline…”

We shared a

brief laugh, redirecting ourselves to a nearby bar top. While making brief small talk, Clara drank over half her beverage and I finished off my whiskey.

“So, what do you do? Besides the banquet serving, I mean,” I asked her.

“That’s pretty much it. Thrilling stuff,” Clara answered with a noncommittal shrug. “I start school back up Monday morning, and that’s going to suck away all of my free time.”

“The university here in town?”

“None other than.”

“I see. I’m enrolled for the semester, too.”

“No kidding,” Clara raised an eyebrow.