Page 25 of Issued
I wave at Bear as I sit, and he lifts his chin in standard man-greeting.
Bear’s companion smiles at me. “You must be Taya?”
I nod, and she reaches out to punch Tony in the shoulder.
The larger man winces. “What the hell, Marge?”
She stares him down, her eyes narrowed to slits, and jerks her head in the direction of the other two women in their party. Tony flushes at her censure and ducks his head. He looks like a shamefaced child when he finally turns to me.
“Sorry, Taya.” He gestures to the woman he’d walked in with. “This is Candy, and that’s her friend, Susan.”
We all exchange nods, and Tony mumbles under his breath. “Not like you introduced yourself,Marge.”
Marge purses her lips, and Tony slumps in his seat. “Dufus over there has a point. I’m Marge, Bear’s wife.” She stands and reaches out to pat Martinez’s shoulder as she passes. “We’ll be right back, birthday boy.”
He leans back and crosses his arms, a sly grin plastered on his face. “Marge, I know about the cake. Just tell me it’s red velvet this year. You know I hate chocolate.”
Marge hits Bear in the gut. “Did my hubby open his big mouth again?”
Tony laughs. “Nope. But after a decade, your homemade cake ain’t exactly a surprise.”
Marge flushes and grabs Bear by the arm. “Whatever. As long as you act surprised when you see it, I don’t give a shit.”
Tony salutes to Marge and Bear as they make their way out of the restaurant and refocuses his attention on Candy, the raven-haired bombshell at his side. The two of them are talking a mile a minute, his arm slung haphazardly across her shoulders.
Jim clears his throat, and I face him. He’s half-smiling at his friends, the soft glow from the lamps above intensifying the sharp angles of his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve introduced you the way you did with your coworker.”
“It’s alright. I know the guys already.”
Jim might not have wanted to marry me, but there is no denying he is the husband I need after everything I’ve been through. Because at the end of the day, he is a steady, infallible presence. Strong, determined, and uncompromising. A port in a storm. And while he may not be operating at one hundred percent, he’s determined to get back to it. If only I can convince him I’m the woman he needs. Make him as invested in making this marriage work as I am.
My hand lifts on its own accord and rests on his forearm. His pupils dilate and he shifts in his chair. I smile and turn away, taking a piece of bread from the basket. If I continued to look at him any longer I might have kissed him, and I’m not sure how he would’ve taken it, especially in front of his friends.
“Long time, no see.”
My head jerks toward Jim just as a woman places her pale, delicate hand against the muscular strength of Jim’s shoulder. My husband goes so still, it’s as if he’s made of stone. The woman strokes Jim’s arm with exaggerated slowness, leaning in so her breasts practically spill out of her low-cut top. “So, Stephens, this must be that lucky twit of yours?”
Jim shrugs her hand away and shifts in his seat, putting more distance between them as his eyes narrow.
Tony and Lucas stiffen along with their dates. Jim’s shoulders are tight, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard a muscle jumps beneath the ever-present stubble. He opens his mouth as if to say something, only to clam up with a snarl.
“Hello-o-o?” The woman’s long red fingernail taps his head, and I resist the urge to reach out and break her hand. “Are you still all scrambled eggs up there?”
Crimson climbs up his neck and rides his cheekbones, and my patience snaps. He may not trust me enough yet to open up, but she’s officially gone too far and I’m over it. “You should keep your damn hands to yourself. And your insults.”
Before I can call her all the names currently sitting on the tip of my tongue, Jim whips around to me and gives the smallest shake of his head. So I pick up my glass of water and guzzle it down, then set the empty glass down with enough force to rattle Tony’s silverware. Tony leans back, biting the corner of his lower lip, and winks up at me. Goofball. His distraction technique works. Some of my tension eases as I waggle my eyebrows at him.
“And who’s your friend there, hmm? She’s a little bit of a downgrade, don’t you think? Better watch out, though, because she’s already making eyes at your buddy there,” the mystery woman says.
My gasp is still forming when a low, throaty snarl cuts through the loud chatter, and I whip my head sideways. Jim’s expression is thunderous, his brows drawn low over stormy eyes, and his jaw so tight, the muscles look like steel. There’s so much anger on his face and in the tight way he holds himself, as if he’s going to come out of his chair. Tony places his hand at the small of my back, gently grabbing my shirt when I lean closer to Jim, and Jim’s fist crashes down onto the table. “Talk about my wife again and you’ll have a problem you won’t be able to buy your way out of.”
Bear and Marge come back, their arms laden with presents and a cake. The two set everything out on the table and Bear takes his seat. Marge, arms unladen, walks around to pat the woman’s shoulder as if she’s consoling a grieving friend. “Brittney, why are you here? You stopped being welcome once Jim divorced your sister, so go run along and let us be.”
The woman straightens and crosses her arms beneath her breasts. “Soon enough, Jimmy won’t be part of the group either. He’s on his last leg. I mean, come on, everyone’s talking about how Mr. Super SEAL’s brain is all fucked up.”
That’s it. I jump out of my chair with an angry growl and start trying to push my way toward her, but Tony’s hand holds me back. Likewise, Bear stands and wraps one big arm around his wife’s waist after a small, but evil, chuckle passes her lips. Jim half-rises from his seat, his gaze bouncing between his best friend and the small redhead Bear’s holding tight. I get the impression that Marge’s calm is only a front. The men are treating her like some undercover ninja with shuriken at the ready.
“You’d better leave now before I tell the manager to throw you out with the rest of the trash. He’d be happy to kick your soldier-hating body right on your ass.” Marge drums her well-manicured nails against the table.
