The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“Just wear your dress blues. You know the ladies cream their panties over the sight of a man in uniform.”

“Why should I be taking advice from a guy who thinks dressing up is wearing something other than flip-flops on his feet?”

“Do you know that they call them thongs in Australia? That girl I almost hooked up with the other night kept telling she was going to bring her thongs as in plural. Scared me silly, and I left her at the bar. Bride told me the next day that she probably wanted to take her heels off and put on the flip flops. I turned her down because of a language problem. Fucking tragic as all hell. She had the nicest tits too.” Cabby holds up his hands as if remembering the feel of them. “I’m an idiot.”

“No argument from me.”

I pull out my phone and text Sam. She’s a friend of my mom’s and has been married to a Marine for over twenty years. She’d help me. Her husband, Gray, had helped me join up before I even told my parents.

What does Gray wear on a date?

Who is this? Just kidding, honey. Gray wears jeans!

“Sam says her husband wears jeans.” I flash the phone face to Cabby.

“You’re asking a married woman for clothing advice? Shouldn’t you be asking a hot single chick?”

“Sam’s hot,” I say. As far as older women go, she’s a good-looking broad. I flick up a picture of her and Gray and their brood to show Cabby.

“I remember her. Shit, yeah, she’s a MILF. Her husband is your Marine friend, right?”

“Right. Why not ask a married woman? You don’t ask the guy who’s still tracking his prey for advice on how to make your capture. You ask the guy who’s got the wall of stuffed animal heads.”

Cabby mulls this over for a moment. “I guess that makes sense. So she says jeans. You got jeans. You got flip-flops. T-shirts. If all else fails, pull out the damn ceremonial service uniform. Or stick your Trident pin on your chest.” For some women, that’s all that they need to see and they’re ready to go home with you.

“Charlotte isn’t going to be impressed by some pin or the fact I can hold my breath underwater for ten minutes.”

“Are you sure? Because the whole breath-holding thing was why the Australian chick wanted in my pants. Technically I think she wanted me in her pants, but one thing would lead to the other.”

“Cabby, while talking about your failed bedroom exploits might be entertaining for some, I’ve got shit to do.” I stuff the last of my crap into the bag. Hoisting it over my shoulder, I grab my keys and head for the front door.

“Why don’t you let me come with you? That way it doesn’t look like you’re stalking her.”

“Instead it looks like two guys are stalking her?” I ask incredulously. “No thanks.”

“Come on, man. Help a brother out. I got shit all to do today,” he whines.

“Shore leave is killing you, isn’t it?” I say, pausing at the door.

He groans and rubs a hand over his face. “You have no idea. I fucking hate it. Why can’t we go rafting in Colorado? I got a buddy up there who runs an adventure service—”

I open the door and walk out, not waiting for him to say another word. “Lock up when you’re done in there.”

He runs after me. “How about this? I’ll drop you off and take your Jeep back here. She’ll be forced to at least drive you home if she turns you down.”

Again is the unspoken word. I hesitate because that’s not a bad plan. “Fine, but drop me off and leave right away.” The last thing Charlotte needs is two of us on her doorstep when she’s already spooked.

“You don’t even want me to wait and see if she lets you in?”

“She’s at a hotel. You going to wait in the hallway to see if I get shot down again?”

“Nah, I don’t like horror shows. Gives me nightmares that my moves might someday be rejected,” he jokes.

Cabby spends some time detailing the lost girl from Australia on the ride over to the Del, but I tune him out, watching the ocean bang up on the sand as we speed along the road. His voice blends with the road noise until it’s all one sound. When he pulls into the Del, I’m out the door like a flash.

“You’re welcome, shithead,” he yells after me. I flick him off but don’t stop moving forward. When I arrive on Charlotte’s floor, I take a moment to straighten my T-shirt. I should have put a collared shirt on at least. Fuck it. If she doesn’t like me in a T-shirt, she’s not going to like me wearing buttons. I knock on her door, but it goes unanswered.