more minutes of small talk, I gave her a hug, and then I got into my truck with Hero and headed to Temecula.
T oday was Tuesday , the first day of my new job bartending at the Pickled Frog.
I smoothed my jean skirt and pulled on the tight white T-shirt. Kyle would be training me all day. My end goal was to do a good job, get Kyle to trust me enough to keep me on staff, and to hopefully find another clue.
Driving to the bar, I struggled to focus with so much on my mind. I was still in shock that Mitch ended up behaving like a gentleman. He had even driven me home, walked me to my door and given me a goodnight kiss as if he were some eager schoolboy. His cocky demeanor had seemed to shed when I’d become real with him. I knew he had that scar, but was he really the man who had raped me?
Grant hadn’t called or texted. I still couldn’t figure out why he had kicked me out the other night just before we were finally going to have sex. What had I done that night that had spooked Grant? I would find a way to weasel myself back into Grant’s life.
Was Joaquín Julían’s father? What had Joaquín thought about after he saw me wearing Mia’s bracelet at the jail? Did he realize I was his sister in disguise? Was there anything else I couldn’t see? At this point, I had more questions than answers.
Kyle greeted me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I was immediately disarmed by his smile. “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”
“Good.” I stopped and made a calculated decision. “I want to tell to you, Kyle—Grant and me, we are no longer together. I understand if you do not want me to work here no more.”
Kyle’s brow furrowed at me. “No worries. Grant’s not why I hired you. In fact, dating a Team guy is only a complication. As long as you work hard, we will have no problems, and if you ever need anything, just give me a call and I got your back. But let me give you a tip: it would be wise for you not to get involved with another frogman. We’re nothing but trouble.”
The sympathy card worked like a charm. I gave a forced nod, but wondered at his motivation for giving me the warning. My non-paranoid guess would be that he would prefer his bargirl wasn’t dating the customers, which made perfect sense. One Team guy hitting on another Team guy’s woman usually ended in bloodshed, if not death. Or maybe Kyle’s comment meant that he suspected I was Mia, even though that was unlikely. Either way, Kyle had it all wrong. Grant wasn’t trouble—I was.
Kyle led me into the bar and proceeded to give me a detailed tour of the photos on the wall.
I paused over the pictures of the beautiful men: one was a former SEAL who had been killed protecting an ambassador in a terrorist attack overseas, another featured an entire Team whose helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. I hoped to find a picture of Joaquín and his Team, but I knew better. No active duty SEAL would ever agree to have his identity exposed, and Kyle, an active SEAL himself, would never put his men in harm’s way. In fact, the reason he’d purchased this bar was to create a safe haven for his men. He helped out when he wasn’t on deployment, but left most of the day-to-day operations of the bar to his hired staff.
The lunch crowd slowly trickled in. Mostly older guys, probably former SEALs. A few took their place at the bar, ordering their usual spirits. The majority of them did not have wedding rings. My heart ached for these broken warriors. Many of them retired and then spent the rest of their lives chasing the adrenaline highs they experienced in the Teams, unable to find pleasure in the mundane details of everyday lives. Their loved ones were never able to understand the secret burdens these men carried to their graves.
Bartending wasn’t as simple as I thought. I had to cut lemons and limes, learn how to use the cash register, keep track of client tabs, take inventory of the liquor, and memorize cocktail recipes. Stripping had been
T oday was Tuesday , the first day of my new job bartending at the Pickled Frog.
I smoothed my jean skirt and pulled on the tight white T-shirt. Kyle would be training me all day. My end goal was to do a good job, get Kyle to trust me enough to keep me on staff, and to hopefully find another clue.
Driving to the bar, I struggled to focus with so much on my mind. I was still in shock that Mitch ended up behaving like a gentleman. He had even driven me home, walked me to my door and given me a goodnight kiss as if he were some eager schoolboy. His cocky demeanor had seemed to shed when I’d become real with him. I knew he had that scar, but was he really the man who had raped me?
Grant hadn’t called or texted. I still couldn’t figure out why he had kicked me out the other night just before we were finally going to have sex. What had I done that night that had spooked Grant? I would find a way to weasel myself back into Grant’s life.
Was Joaquín Julían’s father? What had Joaquín thought about after he saw me wearing Mia’s bracelet at the jail? Did he realize I was his sister in disguise? Was there anything else I couldn’t see? At this point, I had more questions than answers.
Kyle greeted me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I was immediately disarmed by his smile. “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”
“Good.” I stopped and made a calculated decision. “I want to tell to you, Kyle—Grant and me, we are no longer together. I understand if you do not want me to work here no more.”
Kyle’s brow furrowed at me. “No worries. Grant’s not why I hired you. In fact, dating a Team guy is only a complication. As long as you work hard, we will have no problems, and if you ever need anything, just give me a call and I got your back. But let me give you a tip: it would be wise for you not to get involved with another frogman. We’re nothing but trouble.”
The sympathy card worked like a charm. I gave a forced nod, but wondered at his motivation for giving me the warning. My non-paranoid guess would be that he would prefer his bargirl wasn’t dating the customers, which made perfect sense. One Team guy hitting on another Team guy’s woman usually ended in bloodshed, if not death. Or maybe Kyle’s comment meant that he suspected I was Mia, even though that was unlikely. Either way, Kyle had it all wrong. Grant wasn’t trouble—I was.
Kyle led me into the bar and proceeded to give me a detailed tour of the photos on the wall.
I paused over the pictures of the beautiful men: one was a former SEAL who had been killed protecting an ambassador in a terrorist attack overseas, another featured an entire Team whose helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. I hoped to find a picture of Joaquín and his Team, but I knew better. No active duty SEAL would ever agree to have his identity exposed, and Kyle, an active SEAL himself, would never put his men in harm’s way. In fact, the reason he’d purchased this bar was to create a safe haven for his men. He helped out when he wasn’t on deployment, but left most of the day-to-day operations of the bar to his hired staff.
The lunch crowd slowly trickled in. Mostly older guys, probably former SEALs. A few took their place at the bar, ordering their usual spirits. The majority of them did not have wedding rings. My heart ached for these broken warriors. Many of them retired and then spent the rest of their lives chasing the adrenaline highs they experienced in the Teams, unable to find pleasure in the mundane details of everyday lives. Their loved ones were never able to understand the secret burdens these men carried to their graves.
Bartending wasn’t as simple as I thought. I had to cut lemons and limes, learn how to use the cash register, keep track of client tabs, take inventory of the liquor, and memorize cocktail recipes. Stripping had been
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