Charlotte Chronicles XLIV

September 4, 2014  | Charlotte Chronicles  | (4)

Nathan

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cab demands. He showed up at my doorstep thirty minutes ago and used his keys to come in when I refused to let him in. He’s watching me pack.

“I’m going after Charlotte.”

“The letter girl,” he said flatly.

Annoyed, I snap, “Will you stop calling her that. She has a name.”

“Really? Because for like years you’ve never said her name once to us. We’re your family man. Your brothers who have fought with you and all I know is that for a while you got a shitload of letters from Chicago, Switzerland and sometimes LA.”

LA. I never understood why she was ever in LA. Charlotte wasn’t a LA sort of girl.

“You took your letters and hoarded them like the fucking dragon in the Hobbit.”

“I didn’t want any of you mouth breathers jerking off to her. She’s not spank bank material.” I growl.

“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s top shelf span bank material! She’s like the porn star in the girl next door movies with her shiny hair and puppy dog eyes.”

I know he’s baiting me but shit I’d like to turn around and pummel him until whatever perverse images he’s created are drummed out of his head.

“You and everyone else need to excise her from your memory. She doesn’t exist for you in that fashion. She’s more pure than the virgin fucking Mary.”

“Does the Virgin Mary like to bite? Because those are one hell of a set of bites around the back of your neck.”

I clap my hand over the offending marks—not because I’m ashamed of them but because I want a reminder of how hot it was. After nine years, it was understandable that we’d have a good night but it wasn’t good, it was epic. All my fantasies had failed to prepare me for how explosive sex with Charlotte would be. Hot tight her pussy was. How sweet she tasted. How willing she was to do anything.

“Treat her like your sister and we won’t have problems,” I mutter rubbing the teeth marks. Did she bite me that time in the shower? Or was it when she was riding me on the chair? Maybe it was both.

“I can’t even talk about her?”

“No.”

“She’s got you wired tighter than a guitar string, son.”

Cab is disappointed. While I never took girls home with me, I had no problem playing wingman for him and I could see his disgruntlement at how his life would be changing.

“You might as well go to OTS since you’re leaving us single enlisted schmucks behind.”

“Officer Training School? Since when are only officers married? What about Toller, Wright, and Barovsky?”

“Exceptions, dude. You got to be an LT pay grade or above to afford the wife and kids.” I’ve kept my family money private.

Cab threw himself on the bed tipping over a pile of clothes. “How long are you going to be gone? You’re packing like you’re going on a six month mission.” He picked up a pair of shorts and tossed them up. I grabbed them out of the air, rolled them up and stuck them in my seabag.

Should I buy a set of luggage? I’d been so used to carry my gear around even when I visited my family but Charlotte might not like the reminder of what I’d been doing for the last nine years. Would she be able to be a seaman’s wife? Or worse a SEALs wife? We are gone a lot, either on training or missions. I won’t be able to talk about my work with her and I’d leave at a drop of a hat. The only positive was that unlike a lot of other military guys, I’ve been stationed at the same base since I got my Trident pounded into my chest.

SEALs were stationed either on the West Coast or East Coast unless they got transferred to Joint Task Force or some other ultra specialized special forces team. There’d been nibbles around the edges of my service to test my interest and I’d always turned away because I liked my brothers on the Team. I trust them implicitly even if we don’t all have the same outlook on life.

Although if Cabby had a Charlotte in his past, he’d be chasing her down like a gazelle on the plain. He just hasn’t met the one. “I’m going to spend however long it takes to convince her to take me back.”

“Maybe you outta have written her and she’d be standing on the dock willing to lay a bit wet one on you when you stepped off the ship.”

I ignored him and rolled up the rest of my clothes. I had a lot of work out gear, uniforms and jeans. Charlotte looked polished and so did her friend. They both could have been models on a building ad along the Magnificent Mile back in Chicago. I hadn’t ever looked like that even when I lived in my parents’ mutl million dollar townhome. My edges are rough and the time in service had only made them sharper and more jagged.

“Shit,” I scratched my head. “I’m going to have to shop. You think Elison’s sister would buy me some clothes.”

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

“Why should I taking advice from a guy who thinks dressing up is wearing something other than flips 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 flips. 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 pulled out my phone and texted Sam. She was a friend of my mom’s and had been married to a Marine for over twenty years. She’d help me.

What does Gray wear on a date?

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

“Sam says her husband wears jeans,” I flashed 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 said. As far as older women went, she’s a good looking broad. I flick up a picture of her and Gray and their brood and show that to 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 stuff animal heads.”

Cabby mulls this over for a moment. “I guess that makes sense. So she says jeans. You got jeans. You got flips. T-shirts. If all else fails, pull out the damn ceremonial service uniform. Or stick your Trident pin on your chest.” The Trident is a gold pin that marks as us SEALs, elite warriors. 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 Australia 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 say stuffing 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 those horror movies. Gives me nightmares,” 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.

I pound on the door a few more times and then rattle the doorknob. “I’m going to stand outside until you let me in.”

“Sir. Sir!” A maid rounds her cleaning cart. “There’s no one there. It’s empty.”

“Empty?” My mind doesn’t process her words well.

She nods. “Si, the lady checked out today. Room is vacant.” She pulls a key card from her pocket and opens the door. “See.”

I do see. The room is completely empty and but for a coaster on the coffee table, it is hard to tell that anyone was staying here.

“Thanks.” I slip the maid a tip and run toward the elevator calling Cabby.

“I need a pick up.”

“She already turned you down?” He sounds impressed.

“She’s not here. She left.”

“I’m on my way.”

It takes Cabby ten minutes to turn around and pick me up.

“You look like someone is going to have a bad day,” he said when I hop into the passenger seat.

I grunt, not looking up from my phone. I’m waiting for Nick to call me back.

“Where are we going?” Cab asks.

“Not sure. Drive toward…La Jolla.” La Jolla is one of the wealthiest places along the coast. Charlotte’s used to living well and if she isn’t going to stay at the Del, then my guess is she’s headed to La Jolla.

My phone vibrates and I answer before the first ring fully plays. “Hey, Nick.”

“You owe me so hard,” he growls. “I had to talk to Lainey who hates me and thinks I’m a walking, talking penishead. Her description, not mine.”

Lainey is probably right. My brother is a dog with a capital D. I don’t know why and my parents aren’t very impressed with his inability to settle down but Nick’s been one to sample the world. As a pro quarterback, the world has offered itself to him too. I guess it’s a perfect match. Me? I’ve been a one woman man all of my life. “She give you the info?”

“No. So I was reduced to stealing her phone and reading her text messages.” His voice sounds weird. I can’t figure it out but I’m too worried about Charlotte to spend time deciphering his tone.

“So where is she?”

“I’m texting it to you. I can’t keep doing this for you so either close the deal or leave her alone because Lainey isn’t going to let me near her phone again.”

“Did you break it?”

“I threw it into the toilet and then had to fish it out to read it.”

Ah, that explained the weirdness.

“Thanks bro.”

“I’ll be thinking of how you can pay me off.”

“It’s yours, whatever you want.”

“Oh, really? Like the signed ball from Walter Peyton?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

He laughs. “I don’t want it then. I want what I can’t have. Isn’t that a pisser?”

He hangs up before I can ask what the hell that was all about.

“She’s at Tower23 off of Grand Avenue,” I inform Cab.

“ETA would be five minutes then. Want me to stick around?”

I twist my mouth and reluctantly agree. “Yeah, just in case my intel is wrong.”

But my intel isn’t wrong because as we pull into the hotel property, I see her crossing the street. She’s wearing a short sundress, so short I wonder if it’s just a shirt and she forgot her shorts in her hotel room. On her feet are straw colored shoes with thick wedges. Her legs seem endless and for a moment, I’m struck dumb by the vision of them wrapped around my waist.

“Goddamn,” Cab whistles. “I’ll be in my bunk.”

Fucking Cabby. I get out of the car before it rolls to a full stop. She sees me immediately and glares which doesn’t nothing to diminish her jaw dropping, knee bending beauty. I suck in a breath and hold it, trying to gather some control.

“What are you doing here?” She asks accusingly.

I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m here for you.”

She opens her mouth to spit out a response when we hear her name called. Relief wipes away her glare and she turns toward the voice.

I see some guy, looking expensive. His white shirt is unbuttoned down to his waist and underneath he’s wearing a wife beater. He makes shorts and sandals look like a magazine come to life on the street. His gaze flicks to me and then back to Charlotte’s drawn expression. And like a light switch, something shifts on for him. Holding out his arms, wide, he says in a loud, almost shout, “Charlotte Randolph as I live and breathe. How the hell are you? Jesus Christ, is it possible that you’ve gotten more beautiful?”

She turns slightly and in the small space she made in the movement, his arm slips in. As deftly as any SEAL, he cut me out. She moves into his embrace burrows her face into his chest as if she was freezing and he was her only source of warmth. Another two steps and they were int the street. He holds up his hand like a traffic cop and everyone obeys him. I’m slack jawed and frozen at this spectacle, just like the cars. I give myself a hard shake and put my feet in motion only to get my toes nearly run over by a passing car. Because he’s done holding traffic back. Before I could take another breath, they were in his sports car that was more expensive than the money the US government puts into making two SEALs.

“That was smoother than a SEAL at a bar full of Trident fuckers,” Cab observes.

“You should shut the fuck up.”