Major

A rock clatters around under the protective deck of the mower, and I cringe. I release the handle and cut the engine. How the fuck did a rock get in my yard? Kids, that’s how. The little monsters are always dragging rocks and shit out of the neighbor’s flower garden to make tiny towns on the sidewalk. I don’t care if they mess up their own yards . . . well yeah, I do. It bugs me, but it’s worse when they trample around in mine.

I tip the mower on its side and feel around for the rock. I find it right away and slip it in my pocket before I pull the starter cord. It always takes two tries, but before I get it going again, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

A zing of adrenaline shoots through me before I remember that Violet and I forgot to exchange phone numbers. It can’t be her, not that I expect her to call anyway. It’s my job to call, but I fucked that up this morning. I was tired and she was in a hurry to make it to the bridal shower on time. We rushed around, and I dropped her off at the hotel before I thought to get her number.

I can get her number. I have a lot of connections. I could always go back to the hotel where she’s staying, but it would have been nice to text her today.

I look at the screen. It’s Garcia. What the hell could he want?

“Hey, Garcia.”

“Hello, Major.”

“What can I help you with? I’m in the middle of mowing the grass.”

“Oh, okay. I won’t keep you, but I ran into that woman you helped last night.”

I release the mower cord and it snaps against the plastic when I stand up.

“Violet?”

Where the fuck did he run into Violet? And why am I so pissed and jealous . . . and relieved?

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Where did you see her?” I ask, but it’s more of a demand than a question.

“I was running at the beach. She was with her mom and another woman.”

“The beach?” She was supposed to be at a bridal shower, or that’s what she told me anyway.

“Yeah, I uh, I got her phone number for you, sir. Her mother mentioned you two didn’t exchange numbers, and I thought you might want to see her again.”

“You asked her for her phone number?”

“Oh no, her mother suggested I give it to you. I wasn’t hitting on her, I swear. Actually, I asked her friend to dinner tonight and I was thinking we could double date. Violet’s mom is going too, but she’s cool. I don’t think she’ll mind being a fifth wheel. She can handle herself.

“Double date where?” I ask, fully intending to call her and take her out, double dating or not.

“Blue Water. They have a Karaoke thing for that wedding they’re in town for. It’s at nine, but I’m meeting them at seven.”

“You invited three women on a date?”

“Well no, not at first. I asked Violet’s friend, but she’s, well . . . she’s pregnant, and she wanted her friends to come since she doesn’t know me.”

I close my eyes and try to concentrate on what Garcia just said.

“Let me get this straight. You asked a pregnant woman out on a date? And then invited her friend and her friend’s mother?”

“Yeah, well I asked her friend. They sorta ganged up on me, so now I’m meeting all of ‘em.”

“Text me her number. I’ll be there at 1850,” I say and hang up.

Why the hell is Garcia asking a pregnant woman on a date? And how the hell does Violet keep popping into my life?

The hot midday sun beats down on my head and a trickle of sweat runs down the side of my face. I rub it away with the back of my hand, stuff my phone back into the pocket of my shorts, and yank the mower cord. I’ve been trying to keep busy and not think of Violet and all the complications she could create in my organized, systematic life. But it’s no use. It’s like she’s gone viral in my mind. She’s everywhere all the time. Nothing can stop the images of us together this morning in my bed. They’re on repeat, waiting for me to add to the video . . . and I plan on doing exactly that tonight when I meet her for dinner.

When I’m done mowing the yard, I squirt the grass off the mower and rinse the grass clippings down the driveway. The water from the hose forms a stream along the gutter in the street that carries the grass downhill to wherever—I don’t care as long as it’s not on my property.

I put the mower in the shed and go inside to shower. I strip in the garage and throw my clothes and shoes in the washing machine on my way upstairs, being careful not to leave a trail of grass.

When I’m showered and the tub has been scrubbed, I dress and leave the house. Edith was here this morning, and things are in perfect order today. She brought her A game after I mentioned how disappointed I was with the mess in the foyer yesterday. You could eat off any surface in the house now, and that’s the way I like it.

It’s 1845 when I pull into the parking lot beside the Blue Water Bar and Grille. I have a perfect view of the entrance from here. I want to watch Violet walk inside when she arrives. I texted Garcia a while ago and told him not to say anything about me coming tonight. I want to surprise her.

I don’t have to wait long. She pulls up three minutes later and expertly parallel parks on the street. What a turn on. A woman who can handle her vehicle. I love it.

I watch Violet and her mother exit the SUV. Violet looks stunning, even more beautiful than she did last night. She’s wearing a chic white fitted halter dress that hits her mid-thigh with silver heels that make her calves look phenomenal. I can’t wait to see that dress hanging in my closet tonight. I may even carry her to the bedroom so she can leave those shoes on while I fuck her.

Maybe . . .

Her mother opens the back door, and I see why Captain Garcia asked a pregnant woman on a date. She is hands down the most beautiful pregnant woman I’ve ever seen. Long, dark wavy hair spilling down her back, a tight black dress, and heels that I’m pretty sure no pregnant woman should be wearing. Way to go, Garcia.

When the women disappear inside, I text Violet. Are you wearing any panties?

She responds immediately. Who is this?

Me: Someone familiar with your gorgeous bare ass.

Violet: Major?

Me: Go to the restroom and take them off.

Violet: First you tell me what color they were last night.

Me: Black. Lace. Thong. Take them off.

Violet: Good memory. You’re bossy.

Me: You haven’t seen anything yet. I’ve been gentle with you.

Violet: So I take it there’s more to . . . come?

Me: Much more—nice pun.

Now I’m going to have to wait out here thinking about granny panties and germs until I can safely walk inside without the outline of my cock being blatantly obvious.

Granny panties. Okay, not the best idea. Panties in general aren’t going to help me tame the beast. Cockroaches, dirty fingernails, the number of germs estimated to be on the average person’s shoe is 66 million. Shit, now I’m never going to fuck Violet in my bed with her shoes on, no matter how sexy they are.

Fucking and Violet. Now those aren’t two words to string together when trying to get rid of an erection.

Okay, cats, oatmeal, having the flu, my Aunt Florence. Ah, there it is. Good old Aunt Flo. Now I can go inside.

The restaurant is busier tonight. Saturday is their biggest night. I spot Violet sitting down, facing away from me, next to her mother. Her beautiful pregnant friend and Garcia are on the opposite side of the table. I greet Violet with a kiss on the cheek like we’re an old couple. She introduces me to her friend, Kimber, and I say hello to Garcia and Violet’s mother, Lilly. I take the chair at the head of the table next to Violet.

“You look stunning tonight,” I say, sliding my hand over hers on top of the table.

“Thank you, you’re looking very handsome yourself.”

“You ready for some Karaoke tonight, Major?” Garcia asks.

“Gonna show you how it’s done,” I say, razzing the Captain. He thinks he’s the best singer on base. I’ve listened to him at other bars on karaoke night and he’s good—really good—but so am I.

“You sing?” Lilly asks.

“I do.”

She raises her eyebrows and elbows Violet in the ribs.

“Ouch, Mom, gosh. Watch it with your bony elbows.”

“He can sing too,” she says under her breath. I wonder what she means by ‘too’. What has Violet been telling her mother about me?

Violet ignores her mother and turns her attention on Kimber.

“So Kimber, lets play a little game of get to know your date,” Violet says.

Kimber squirms in her seat.

“Okay, but only if you play too,” Kimber says.

“Sure. Who’s first?” Violet asks.

“We can go, since you and the Major seem to know one another pretty well already,” Kimber says, folding her arms on the table and leaning forward.

“I’m not familiar with this game. You’ll have to fill me in,” Garcia says with a big, goofy grin. Garcia is Latin lover hot. Women fall for him all the time, but he’s a little immature, and that’s where he usually loses them.

“It’s easy, just ask a question—any question about your date, and they have to answer it. If they won’t, then one of us will do it for them and vice versa.”

“Okay, you go first, Garcia,” Violet says.

“Okay, cool. What’s your favorite food?” Garcia asks.

“Easy, cookies,” Kimber says.

“How long have you been a Marine?” she shoots back.

“Nine years,” he says with pride, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“My turn,” Violet says. “Where are you from originally?”

“Minneapolis, Minnesota,” I say.

“Really? The Midwest? I would have never guessed. You seem like such a California boy,” Violet says, playfully punching me in the arm.

“Yep, but I’m a city boy, so no farm jokes,” I say.

“Cross my heart,” Violet says crossing her finger over her chest.

“My turn. Did you do what I asked you to do in my text earlier?”

Her hand slips out from under mine and into her own lap. Her cheeks flush a deep red, and a hush falls over the table.

“That must have been some text,” Lilly says, winking at me.

“You have to answer, Vie, or we will answer for you, and you know what that means,” Kimber says, walking her fingers across the table toward her phone. Violet snatches it up and slips it into her tiny purse.

“Yes, I did,” Violet answers and presses her stiletto heel into the top of my foot under the table.

I hiss in pain, but it’s taken as an enthusiastic approval by everyone at the table. Garcia starts clapping like an idiot, and Violet presses harder onto my foot. I lean over and sweep the hair off her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “You can’t hurt me. I love it—harder.”

When I move away, I can feel all eyes on us. Violet’s eyes narrow and she really screws her heel in. I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose and hold my breath.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you two. I can see everyone’s hands, so it must be one hell of a mind game you’re playing,” Lilly says.

“You have no idea,” I say, opening my eyes to a very surprised Violet. She releases her heel from my foot and leans away from me.

With a shaky voice, she announces it’s Kimber’s turn again, and I tune out all chatter and concentrate on her profile and the pain shooting up my leg. I enjoy it only because it was done out of her frustration, but now I’m afraid I may have scared her. I’m no masochist—or at least I don’t consider myself one—but I do like it when a woman shows moxie, and Violet has moxie to spare.

We order drinks and then dinner after a few generic rounds of the get to know your date game. I learned that Violet’s favorite color is purple—imagine that—and that she is messy and named her computer Clementine. Things I didn’t learn from the game but are more important to me are that she observes everything around her, and she watches and gathers information, storing it for later. She’s competitive, educated and she is left-handed. She has the most adorable habit of tucking her hair behind her left ear, even when it’s already there.

After dinner, we make our way into the bar and join the group of people visiting for the wedding. It’s a much larger bunch tonight, twenty-five or thirty in all.

“Are all these people part of the wedding party?” I ask Violet. This is the first time we have spoken directly to each other since the heel-stabbing incident. It seems like a safe enough subject to broach.

“No, people are starting to fly in for the wedding. I think a lot of these people are guests.”

“So we’re talking again?” I ask as she sits in the chair I’ve just pulled out for her.

“We were never not talking.”

I sit next to her and lift my hand to Wendy at the bar. She knows what I drink, and after last night, I’m pretty sure she knows what Violet drinks too. Violet follows my gaze to Wendy.

“Old girlfriend?” she says, and God willing, I sense a little jealousy in her tone.

“I don’t have girlfriends, remember? One-night-stands only, and yes, Wendy and I have slept together, but she knows the rules.”

Shit, that came out wrong. Actually, it came out right, but it’s different with Violet.

Frown lines crease her forehead and her lips are set in a straight line. This is a pissed Violet. Time to backpedal.

“I don’t mean that there are—”

She cuts me off. “No, no. I see now—rules. Games have rules, and I don’t play games, Major Steele, so if you’ll excuse me, please, I have a song request to make.”

She’s up and gone, clicking across the dance floor in those incredible heels before I can stop her and explain myself. I’m not even sure what I would have said, because sex is a game for me—at least it has been since my wife died six years ago. I’ve never had feelings for another woman, not even close. But Violet has me rethinking my game. She has me feeling things, things I’m not sure I want to feel, things I don’t know what to do with.

My eyes never leave her as she takes a slip of paper and writes down her song request and hands it to the DJ. He smiles and winks at her, and a pang of jealousy hits me in the heart. Jealousy. That’s something I haven’t felt in years. It’s happened on at least three occasions with Violet in the past twenty-four hours. First it was Garcia when he tried to help her with her shirt, then the ass wipe on the street with his hands all over her, and now a fucking DJ. All unreasonable situations with unworthy opponents, but I was jealous just the same.

The DJ’s voice fills the bar, and the crowd lowers the sound to a dull murmur.

“Hey how ya’ll doin tonight?” he yells into the microphone, and everyone holds up a drink and yells an enthusiastic collective “Yeah!”

“If you have a song request, just come on up and fill out a slip old-school style. We’re gonna start out with this fine little lady over here.” He points at Violet, who is now standing center stage holding the microphone with her feet shoulder width apart.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Violet.”

“Okay, give it up for Violet singing The Black Eyed Peas Don’t Phunk with My Heart!”

The music starts, and I groan. She’s going to take this out on me publicly. Great.

I consider excusing myself until I hear her voice and I’m frozen in my seat. She can sing. She can really sing. She could give old Fergie a run for her money when she sings the chorus, I wonder if I take you home, would you still be in love, baby.

Thing is, I know this song too, and I’ve been known to win a few Karaoke contests in my time. I stand and close the gap between us, watching her eyes grow wide. She doesn’t miss a beat while she watches me hop on the stage and grab the second microphone off its stand. Will.i.am’s verse starts, and she opens her mouth, but I sing the words before she can.

Girl, you know you got me, got me, with your pistol shot me, shot me.

“Oh! It’s a sing off, ladies and gentlemen! Let’s hear it for the Major!” the DJ yells, and Violet and I proceed to battle it out with the lyrics, me doing Will’s part and her doing Fergie’s verses.

I glance out and see the whole bar on their feet dancing on the dance floor and next to their tables. They don’t hold my attention for long, though. I can’t keep my eyes off Violet. The way her hips sway when she sings I wonder if I take you home, the way she seductively slinks around on the stage curling her finger toward herself, inviting me in.

I accept her invitation, wrapping my free arm around her waist and turning her around so her back is to my front. We rock our hips side to side together and continue to belt out the lyrics until the song is over and the crowd is roaring. They loved us.

I kiss her damp neck, and we hand over the mics to the DJ, who is smiling from ear to ear.

“You two were great!”

“Thanks,” I say and take Violet’s hand and lead her off stage and toward the bar. She’s tugging at my arm, but I’m ahead of her and I’m not stopping until I show her she’s not a game to me.

“Oh, no, no, Casanova, the song was fun, but I’m not following your rules,” she says when she sees we are approaching the kitchen doors.

I grip her hand and clench my jaw. If she’d give me two fucking seconds, I’d tell her she’s not a damn game.

I get her through the door, but when it closes behind us, she stops short and holds my arm with both hands, trying to prevent me from taking her any further. Not happening. She’s five foot three and a half in stilettos and I’m six feet of solid muscle.

The bathroom isn’t but a few feet inside the kitchen doors, but Violet slides the whole way on the balls of her feet, pulling against my arm.

“No, no, no. What the hell do you not understand about no, Major?”

I open the bathroom door. Thank God no one was in there, or this might have been the end of us. I pull her inside and press her back against the door, threading my fingers behind her neck into her damp hair and covering her mouth with mine. She struggles at first and I brace myself to be bitten, but just when I’m about to give up and let her go, she melts against my chest and wraps her arms around my neck. A moan rumbles up my throat, and she kisses me harder, deeper, with more passion.

I remember my text request and slide my hand down her hip and pull at the hem of her skirt to see if she was telling me the truth.

“Fuck, Vie.” She’s soaking wet, but what’s even better is that she’s freshly waxed. Her mound is soft and silky, with no barriers between us.

“I need to taste you.” I turn her back to the small vanity and shove her dress up around her waist. I lift her onto the counter, and she instinctively releases me and presses her hands against the wall on either side of her. Our kiss never breaking, I spread her knees apart and step between her legs. I can feel the heat pouring out of her core and it makes my cock twitch, but this moment is about her, about proving something to her.

I kiss my way along the side of her neck and palm her breasts with both hands, brushing my thumbs over her stiff nipples.

Before I crouch down to give her something I never give a woman, I look her straight in the eyes.

“Violet, you’re not a game to me and there are no rules.”

She gasps. I slide my hands along her thighs, spreading her legs wider before I lower myself between them. I support her legs with my hands while I blow a long, slow puff of air on her wet lips. The muscles in her legs quiver, and her head bumps against the mirror behind her when I drag my tongue along her wet slit.

“Oh God, Major,” she all but yells. I’m pretty sure all is forgiven, but she tastes so good I can’t stop. I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue until she’s about to writhe off the damn vanity. She smells like peaches and vanilla today instead of lavender, and her soft flesh against my lips is irresistible. I bury my face between her sexy fucking thighs and give her what she needs, licking and sucking until she screams my name.

Ah, perfection.

I stand up and take her in, flushed, lips parted, panting. Never has there been a more beautiful woman, ever. I remove her stiff arms from the walls and place them around my neck and hold her. She begins to shake, and I think she’s crying, but when I pull her away from me, I see she’s laughing.

“Something funny, Ms. Washington?”

“I can’t believe you knew the words to that song,” she says, giggling.

“I can’t believe you thought you were going to stand up there and sing it to me.”

“You were an ass.”

“You misinterpreted what I said. Again.”

She bites her lip, and her laughing subsides.

“I wonder if I took you home . . .” she sings softly.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, baby, ‘cuz you know you got me by a string, baby,” I sing back.

“Do I?” she asks.

“You most certainly do.”