Chapter One
Tanner “Diesel” Taylor got his nickname the first week of basic when he showed up with grease stains under his fingernails. Working at his dad’s repair shop every week during high school, he’d despaired of his hands and how the pretty girls would turn him down for dates, thinking his hands were dirty. They didn’t know a mechanic could scrub and scrub his hands and still have stains. It didn’t take long for his Navy and SEAL training to wash those stains away, but the nickname had stuck, along with his ability to repair just about any kind of engine, even in the dark. It was just another skill, in his mind, but as he’d only followed in his father’s footsteps for one year after high school, it made them both proud that he’d carried his father’s legacy into the armed forces and carried the name.
Sheer determination and a love of the water had carried him through SEAL training. That and the fact his father had never coddled him or allowed his mother to. When his mother had passed in his junior year of high school, he and his father had soldiered on, caring for and feeding his four other siblings.
Diesel knew about shouldering responsibility. And he was in no hurry to get married any time soon to take that kind of responsibility on. Marriage meant one more to feed and babies soon after. He’d been having a great time seeing the world and while not breaking the hearts of the women he dated, as he was always honest with them, he was determined not to be tied down.
****
Joyce Pippalousa Smith never gave out her birth name. Her full middle name had always been an embarrassment to her, though she did like her daddy’s nickname for her. He was the only one to call her “Pippa”, and she missed him dearly. He’d passed six months after she married Stan Nitty, against her father’s advice. She wished now that she had listened to her father.
He didn’t like the fact Stan was fifteen years older than her, or the fact Stan insisted everyone needed to stock up for the doomsday he said was coming. The two men couldn’t have been more different. Her father was a peace loving newspaper reporter who’d never fired a gun. Stan made his own bullets.
Her parents met at a bluegrass festival. They’d been inseparable from day one and both later agreed Pippa’s middle name must be the name of the festival where she’d been conceived. It was a lot to load onto a child, in Pippa’s opinion. And it had made her shy in school, as children tended to pick on her and tease her about it. She’d stick her nose in a book and try to pretend no one had hurt her feelings. It was her way of running away.
Pippa hadn’t really needed to run away until the New Years Eve when Stan had gone out of his mind. It was the only way she could think of that particular night, as no man in his right mind would’ve tried to choke his own wife or keep choking her until she passed out.
Nothing had told her she might’ve made a mistake marrying Stan until after her father had passed.
The funeral was a few months behind her and she’d been moving through her days in a sort of a daze, still mourning. Stan couldn’t handle her giving him less than her total attention and turned mean.
Subtle signs had been there earlier, if she’d been aware enough to notice them, but she was drowning in her grief, and shortly after her father was buried, her mother sailed off to Hawaii with a new man who kept a boat at his summer home. Her mother was the kind of woman who couldn’t stand to be alone and one of her friends had been waiting in the wings, ready to date her.
“Joyce, my dear, you haven’t yet learned that life must be grasped in the moment,” she said. “Waiting just gives you more likelihood you’ll miss out. Your father may be dead, but I am not.”
Pippa and her younger sister, Jeanie Magic Smith, had a huge blow up with their mother the day before she’d left town and neither of them knew how to reach her at sea. Well, the phone worked both ways. They hadn’t gone anywhere.
So when Stan lost his mind, there was only her sister to run to. Gone was the gentleman he’d pretended to be when he was dating Pippa and then wedding her.
The first time Stan put a fist through the wall, she’d known she needed a get away plan, and the night he tore the bedroom door off the hinges and came after her, closing his hands around her neck, she knew she had to flee. That was her last thought before she’d blacked out. The moment she awoke, she was up, her whole body reacting to the terror and the need to flee. So she’d fled, leaving her drunken husband passed out on the living room couch. She’d run out the back door with only her purse and the clothes on her back.
Now she went by Pippa Marks, her new legal name, and she lived in San Diego, all the way across the country from where she’d grown up, in Yellow Springs, Ohio. The restraining order she had against him was in her old name and she didn’t fully trust it to keep him away. But she was all the way across the country where she was much harder to find.
Pippa was learning secretarial skills at the local community college and working at the grocery store while hoping her crazy ex would stay in Ohio and not show up in San Diego looking for her. Though she’d been divorced for over a year, dating was the last thing on her mind. She didn’t trust a new date to be the man he claimed to be. Once burned, twice shy. She wasn’t sure she’d ever date again.
“Come on Pippa, this is the best party of the year, and everyone will be in costume,” Cheryl said. “No one will know who you are.”
It was only the tenth time Cheryl had asked her to go to the Halloween party. Finally, tired of being bugged about it, Pippa said, “Okay, I’ll go.”
“Great! You’re going to be so glad you changed your mind. We’ll have a blast,” Cheryl said.
For once, Pipps was going to take a page from her mother’s diary and live in the moment. It had been a long time since she went out and had fun, and she’d always loved costume parties.
“Now, what are you gonna be?” Cheryl asked.
“I don’t know, I haven’t had time to think about it,” Pippa said.
“We can go to the costume shop after we get off work,” Cheryl said.
After work they headed to That Magical Place, a store that sold costumes and decorations for costume parties and events.
“Do you have sexy costumes for women?” Cheryl asked the clerk.
“Yes. Follow me and I’ll show you,” the clerk said.
“I’m going to be a woodland fairy,” Pippa said. “With wings and pointed ears and everything.”
“Oh fun,” Cheryl said. “I’m going as a sexy nurse. Maybe I can play nurse with one of those hot Navy SEALS tomorrow night. Is your costume going to be sexy?”
“Well,” Pippa considered the costume. “It’s sort and shows a lot of leg and it’s kind of thin because the material is cheap. I didn’t have much budget for a costume.”
“Want me to help you with your makeup and hair?”
“Oh, would you? That would be awesome.”
“Yeah, I’ll come over an hour before and help you get ready.”
“Thanks Cheryl.”
“No problem Miss Pipp.”
“You’re not gonna call me that at the party, I hope.”
“No, I’m not gonna call you at all, till we agree it’s time to go home. We’re gonna circulate as single ladies so the men will be more likely to approach us.”
“Oh, right. Good thinking.”
****
Pippa let Cheryl into her apartment and they went straight into her bathroom, where she had a curling iron plugged in. She wanted to look different tonight and her long brown hair usually hung down straight. She lived a wash and go kind of lifestyle and rarely wore makeup. But tonight she would have on makeup wherever her mask didn’t cover her face and would have fairy ears glued onto her ears.
Cheryl curled Pippa’s hair until it had ringlets at the ends and that gave it a whole lot more body. Once she finished applying the makeup to Pippa’s face, Cheryl took gold glitter and sprinkled it in Pippa’s hair and across her bared shoulders. The little spaghetti straps that held the costume on her shoulders would keep the slippery material from sliding off.
“Might as well use it up,” said Cheryl before sprinkling the rest of the vial of glitter down Pippa’s cleavage.
Pippa felt the glitter slipping down her breasts. “Cheryl!” she laughed. “I don’t need it everywhere.”
“Oh, but I think you do,” Cheryl said. “Keep him looking for the end of that glitter trail and you’ll have his attention for sure. Then he’ll be hard at attention and you’ll have some real fun.”
Pippa laughed. “I’ll bedazzle him with my cleavage.”
“You know it.” Cheryl winked and tossed the empty container into the trashcan. “Ready to go?”
“Yes, I just need my tiny purse.”
“Here,” Cheryl reached into her purse for two condoms and handed them to Pippa. “Be prepared, because those Navy boys are not always like boy scouts, and some of them really get around.”
“Oh, right.” They hadn’t talked much about Pippa’s former life, only that she’d divorced a man who was no good and that she was trying to make a new life without complications. Cheryl, being a party girl, understood the no complications bit. She never dated a guy longer than six months. Said it got claustrophobic if they lingered any longer. “Thanks. I hadn’t thought to pick some up.”
“Always keep one in your purse and some in your night stand. Tonight is a good chance for you to have fun without the hassle of a date. But if you need more than two of these, you’re on your own, girlfriend.”
“I won’t need more than two.” Pippa laughed.
I’ll be lucky to need one, she thought. It had been over a year since she’d had sex and she missed it. In the good times, at the beginning, sex had been good. That rush of attraction and the way it went straight to your genitals, lighting everything up, just like fairy lights. It was magic. I want that again, even if for just one night. This is a start. And no one will even know who I am. This is perfect.
****
Pippa watched the redheaded bartender as he mixed the drinks and wondered what he was making. “Those look good,” she said. “What are they?”
“Hurricanes,” he said.
“I can’t believe you’ve never had a hurricane,” Cheryl said. “They originated in New Orleans and they are so, so good. You should try one.”
Pippa told the bartender, “I’ll try a hurricane, please.”
“Coming right up,” he smiled and handed her a glass with a pineapple and a drink umbrella on it. “Enjoy your first hurricane.”
She took a sip. “Ooh these are good,” she said. The drink was fruity and cold. It went down easily. “I think I’ll stick with these tonight.”
“Good choice,” Cheryl said, eying a tall man across the room. “Have fun, Pipp. I’m off to try my luck.”
“Good luck,” she said, taking another sip and scanning the crowd. The house was packed with guests, everyone wearing masks. She loved the riot of color and the mysteriousness of the masks. She stood sipping and watching for a few moments, lost in thought.
It was going to be hard to decide which guy to try to talk to. There are a lot of handsome, fit guys here. But that’s what Cheryl predicted, and we are near a Navy base where SEAL’s train. One of the best things about moving to San Diego has been watching handsome men run on the beach.
Her drink was half gone by the time she decided to move. Crossing the room by weaving in and out of the crowd, she headed for a dark haired pirate she’d seen on the other side of the room. She planned to ask him if he knew the way to the pirate treasure, but then he moved toward a woman and kissed her on the cheek.
Oh, too late, she thought. I need to be faster. And maybe not pick a guy clear across the room. Get up your nerve now, girl, you’ve got to be able to go up and ask one of these guys to dance.
She circulated and soon her drink was empty and she headed back to the bartender for a refill. The hurricanes were so good and the warmth of the room from all the people was making her warm and thirsty.
Taking her now full glass, she decided to step outside onto the covered back porch and get some cooler air. The stars were out tonight and it was a pretty night sky.
She stood outside long enough to finish her drink as she counted the stars and listened to the people around her talking. She turned to go back in and stumbled a little on the doormat.
Pippa had gotten tipsier than she’d have allowed herself to be, had it not snuck up on her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to relax at all, let alone drink.
And then he was there, coming through the front door, just as she stumbled and looked up. He was like a Greek God, with a tanned chest and washboard abs that made her want to run her fingers up and down them. And he moved with such smooth and controlled command. But no, as he got closer, she saw she’d mistaken his costume. Instead of a Greek God, he was wearing a gladiator’s outfit and the black mask he’d donned before entering.
Everyone who came to the front door without a mask was handed a black mask so they could enter. No mask, no entry. So everyone who’d come without a mask of his or her own was wearing the same type of mask. Like he was.
He moved through the crowd and stopped halfway across the room to talk to a tall man who wore a jester’s costume. They both laughed about something.
She watched his perfect white teeth beneath the mask, which contrasted with his tan, and told her he was a good-looking man beneath that mask. Sipping her drink, she continued to watch him. She had yet to talk to anyone. Her shyness had gotten in the way, or the timing was always off, when she made the attempt. But the second drink had her feeling bolder, the more she sipped it.
Moving closer, she thought to get close enough to hear his voice. Already she felt drawn to him, but she needed to hear his voice. She couldn’t have explained why. It shouldn’t have made any difference if they were only going to get together once, this night, then never see each other again. But it did matter.
As she neared, she heard him speak, his voice low, deep and strong. Goose bumps gathered on the back of her neck. She moved nearer. He was talking about ghost tours with the other man and two women.
“I’d go for the historical aspect,” he said. “I don’t expect anyone would really see a ghost with that many people tramping through a room, and most people don’t know how to be quiet.” He laughed. “They’d scare the mice away.”
“Not all of us have the training at being stealthy, like you SEAL’s,” a woman wearing a saloon dancers outfit said. Bursting out of the top half of her costume, her cleavage was getting plenty of attention from the men around her. “But you can sneak up on me any time.”
“I’m not in the habit of sneaking up on women,” he said. “Not my style.”
What was his style? Pippa wondered. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’d like it. His voice was doing funny things to her insides. Listening to him is so nice I’d enjoy hearing him read the side of a cereal box.
She moved back away from him, when a large man nearly stepped on her foot, and then the gladiator was gone, heading to the dance floor with one of the women to dance.
I’m just not having good luck, Pippa thought. She headed to the bar for a third hurricane. I have to get better at this. Courage. I can do this. I will just go up to him and say… Her thoughts froze. The bar tender handed her a refreshed drink and she took a sip. I know what I will do. I will ask him to dance. Since he’s dancing now, he obviously dances. I just have to get back over there before he dances with someone else all-night. How do men do this? The asking. It’s much harder than I thought.
She made her way back over to where he was dancing and hovered by a potted palm. The moment he’d finished and the two moved apart, she went up to him, even though her stomach had started doing flips. “Hello,” she said. “Would you like to dance with me?”