WHY THE HELL HAD I agreed to go to a stupid college party?
I would have rather headed to a small bar to have a few beers and just chill.
Shit. Mason may be my battle buddy, but he sure knew how to fuck up my plans.
I figured heading home with him while on block leave would be a good distraction from our pending deployment, but I did not plan on hanging with a bunch of college pukes. Over eight years and five deployments in the Army as a Ranger Sniper, and I was on a totally different level than these kids. Making it through Airborne training then Ranger training, and Sniper School was hellacious training in itself, and I’d probably seen more shit in six months of a single deployment than they would see their entire lives.
Shit they couldn’t imagine seeing.
I leaned back against the old barn, slowly drinking my beer, and watched Mason as he attempted to put the moves on a cute blonde over by the bonfire. She was a hot little thing and seemed to be falling hook, line, and sinker for his smile and flirting. Typical.
Looked like someone was getting lucky tonight, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.
If you asked me, he put too much effort in that shit. Either the bitch wanted to get laid, or not. I preferred chicks who knew what the score was and didn’t need sweet words and roses. Truthfully, tonight I just wanted to enjoy a cold beer and relax, which was exactly why I wanted to hit a small bar, not some crappy college frat party at a farm in the middle of Nowheresville, Iowa.
Fuck me.
As I tipped up my beer, I enjoyed the cold, slightly bitter, brew as it washed across my tongue and down my throat. Sitting in the cool grass, with the old wood of the barn pressed to my back, I continued to quietly scan the area as I rested my arms on my knees, the bottle dangling loosely from my hand.
Some habits die hard.
I took a deep breath, letting it out slow, trying to maintain my cool with the crowd milling around and the loud music and laughter coming from the barn. The early April night air was cool on my skin. I could feel the bass resonating through the wood of the barn to my spine, causing my heart to beat in tempo with the music. Everything felt a little too loud, a little too hectic.
Yeah, definitely not my scene.
Looking around the crowd once again and scanning over the people dancing on the makeshift dance floor under the trees strung with those Christmas-y looking white lights, I noticed a fiery redhead dancing with her arms in the air as a blonde football-star type held her waist from the back and ground against her ass. Fireball, as I dubbed her, seemed to be eating it up as she threw a coy, seductive smile over her shoulder to him. She was hot as hell, and I was surprised Mason hadn’t gone for her since he loved redheads so much. When she danced to the side a little, I noticed her friend. She was dancing with another blonde dipshit football-star type behind her.
What? Did they mass produce these guys here, or what? Jesus.
Her friend was smiling and laughing until jock-face got touchy-feely and let his fingers do the walking up her waist to her tits. They were nice ones, but fuck if it wasn’t almost obscene the way the sequins sparkled between his fingers as he cupped his hands with splayed fingers over them.
Damn asshole.
She obviously wasn’t cool with that, because she grabbed his wrists, trying to bring his hands back down. That’s when I saw him scowl and jerk her close as he said something in her ear. She didn’t seem to like what he had to say because her smile completely vanished and she looked troubled as he began to back them slowly away from her friend. He grabbed her arm, dragging her over to a picnic table away from the rest of the party.
Of course, that happened to bring them within my earshot, but the darkness along the side of the barn concealed me from view so they didn’t seem to notice me sitting there in the obscure shadows. I could hear him telling her she shouldn’t be such a tease as he pushed her to sit on the end of the table. When he forced his body between her legs and ran his hand up her thigh, I felt my heart race and started to get a little pissed.
No, highly pissed and I didn’t know why.
Hell, I didn’t even know this chick, and I was sure she was entirely too young for the likes of me, but my momma raised me to be a gentleman as best she could before she died. I tried my best to remember that. When I heard her tell him to stop and plead with him to go back to the dance floor to join their friends, fire built inside me. When he tried to lean into her, forcing her to lie back toward the top of the table, she started to struggle. I found myself slowly rising to my feet and gripping my beer bottle by the neck to make a better weapon.
What the fuck?
Motherfucker didn’t know what “no” meant, obviously. I knew I was making a big mistake getting involved, but something in her body language and the tone of her voice begged me to be the fucking hero. I knew better than this shit. I wasn’t a hothead. In my line of work, that didn’t fly and would end your career, and possibly even your life, quickly. As I walked the short distance toward them I thought to myself “Fucking John Wayne to the fuckin’ rescue.”
Shit.