“Wakey-wakey!” A rich, hoarse voice woke him up from his deep sleep. His head buzzed, as he opened his swollen eyes to slits. Clay was standing under his doorframe. “This place looks like a fucking warzone. Hell, you look like you’ve been through a war,” he added, stepping over an empty whiskey bottle.

“Morning,” Jake spoke, his own voice gravelly, as he sat up.

“Morning?” Clay gave a snort of derision. “It’s 4:20 in the afternoon, pretty boy. I thought you’d be at the bar by now. What the hell happened to you?”

His friend’s question was met by silence. Jake dropped his gaze to the floor, unwilling to utter a single word.

“Chic drama,” Clay concluded. “Too bad: I liked the deputy. She’s a feisty old gal.”

“And too stubborn,” Jake groaned, rubbing his blurry eyes “She didn’t have faith in us, man.”

“You guys looked pretty happy. Why would you break up?” Clay asked.

“Because of that,” Jake snarled and pointed at the picture on the living room table in front of him.

“Whoa!” Clay said and whistled, staring down at the picture in question. “That’s one hot piece of ass. You nailed her?”

“No, man,” Jake grumbled, snatching it away from him. “It’s a fake.”

“It doesn’t look like a fake,” Clay voiced his objection. “I thought you’d quit. What were you doing lying in that bunk?”

“I went back to Iraq. I had to save a couple of friends.” Jake informed him, running his hand through his hair.

“Semper fi,” Clay smiled. “Come on, man. You can tell me. Did you nail her or not?”

“No!” Jake cried, banging his fist against the couch. “Why would I hide that from you?”

“Give me that picture.” Clay attempted a more serious tone. Jake obliged.

“We had a lot to drink on the flight back.” He maintained. “I got a little drunk, but I can remember everything. I didn’t touch her.”

“Mmm…” Clay hummed. “I’m starting to think you’re right. There are a couple of things I don’t like. First of all, the two bunks next to yours seem smaller and narrower, somehow. You look drowsy, too. You don’t look like a guy who’s about to get laid.”

“It’s been photo shopped,” Jake murmured, running his hand through his hair. “Why am I not surprised?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Clay said. “I know someone who can help you out with this. In fact, she’s the reason why I wanted to see you. Remember our little bet?”

“The one you won,” Jake spoke, a bitter smile on his face, as his friend seated himself beside him. “What about it?”

“Well, Jennifer’s a computer analyst,” Clay stated. “And she dumped Tom, a couple of days ago. The last thing she said to him was: ‘I should have fucked that bartender, a while ago.’ Stay away from her, brother. You and Tom are my friends. If he finds out you banged her, things could get messy.”

“I’m not looking for a new relationship, Clay,” Jake declared, shaking his head sideways. “I don’t need more heartache.”

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Clay spoke, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “She’s just looking for a good time.”

“Don’t worry,” Jake assured Clay, patting him on the back. “I can keep my dick in my pants. Now, you said she could help.”

“Yeah,” Clay nodded. “I’ll give her a call. Anyway, who were those guys you saved?”

“Austen Rivers and Ricardo Sanchez,” Jake sharply responded. “We go way back.”

“Rivers?” Clay squinted at him.

“Yeah, why?”

“I thought I heard someone call out his name the other day.” Clay continued. “This blue sedan had pulled up right outside Winston’s supermarket. The guy in the car said something like: ‘Come on, Rivers! I ain’t got all day!’ Then, his buddy came out of the supermarket and yelled at him.”

“What did he look like?” Jake was intrigued.

“I don’t know, man.” Clay shrugged. “I was pretty far, it was getting dark: average height, 5’9”, maybe 5’10”, a little thin for his build.”

“That sounds nothing like Austen,” Jake put a little force in his voice. “He’s a little taller than me, a little stocky. Besides, he’s been in Iraq all this time.”

“Whatever,” Clay mumbled. “Go put some clothes on. You need to get out of here.”

“Do I…?” Jake lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “Thanks, Clay. I’d rather stay here, though. The bar stays closed for tonight.”

“Fuck no!” Clay exploded with anger. “You’re going to the bar, darling. We are going to the bar.”

“You should have seen her face,” Jake whispered, squeezing his lips. “You should have heard the stuff she said. She sounded like she hated me.”

“She’s hurting,” Clay uttered. “Let’s go to the bar. I’ll ask Jennifer to stop by. The deputy will come back in no time.”

“I don’t care,” Jake spoke in a firm tone. “She wouldn’t hear me out. She lost faith too easily. Why should I take her back?”

“For the same goddamn reason you drank yourself to sleep last night,” Clay’s hoarse voice was filled with anger, as he intensified his stare.

“Why do you care so much?” Jake wondered.

“Because I don’t want you to end up like me,” Clay replied, lowering his tone: “Fifty seven, childless and alone.”

“God…” Jake gave an exasperated huff. “You don’t understand, Clay.”

“I understand just fine,” Clay disagreed. “But, I’m not going to force the issue here. Think about what I said. Now, go put some clothes on.”

“Alright,” Jake and drew in a deep breath. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Clay said with a grin. “Now, get up. You got a lot of work to do.”