Chapter 8 Smiley
EIGHT
Smiley
T’s Dear Jane letter had fucked with her head, and if Ryker didn’t do something about it and quick, she was going to flush her entire career down the drain. No way in hell was he going to let that happen. Not after he’d been looking after her for all these months.
Yes, she’d earned her spot on the team, but that didn’t change the fact that things were harder for a woman.
Their job sucked monkey balls most days.
The physical demands were hell on a man who had more strength, more weight, and a larger frame than a female.
She humped her pack with the rest of the team and never complained.
He’d seen few women with the grit to endure what their job demanded, and he respected the hell out of T, except when he wanted to throttle her and slap some sense into her thick head.
Why the hell had he given her his last condom? As if he were giving tacit permission for her harebrained plan to fuck the first man in her path. And there were more than enough horny men who would be eager to have her for a night.
She should’ve come to him and let him ease her pain. She shouldn’t have pushed him away. There were a lot of things that should have happened, but the stubborn streak running through her veins drove him crazy. No way was she going to push him away. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Fucking douche bag,” he said with a growl.
He’d never liked her fiancé. The emails she’d received from Scottie boy seldom left her happy.
If Ryker had sent her messages, it would’ve been impossible to wipe the smile off her face.
Bottom line, there would be no other man making his way into T’s bed.
All he had to do was figure out a way to keep her safe and not destroy everything they’d worked to achieve.
While he’d left T to her grief, he didn’t move far.
She needed his protection now more than ever.
All he needed was to keep her out of another man’s bed until this deployment ended.
He’d be separating from the military upon his return, and all the rules and regulations keeping them apart would no longer hold any sway.
Until then, he would watch over her and find a way to place a permanent smile on her face.
He still had the laptop clutched under his arm and no idea who the thing belonged to. Where the hell had Warren run off to?
The formidable form of Forest Summers passed in front of where he waited. He needed to get together with Forest if he wanted to have a chance of jamming with Angel Fire. Maybe sticking close to Forest would keep him near T. It wasn’t a bad plan.
Now, how long was T going to stay in that alley?
A few seconds later, she emerged and jogged to join Forest. She spoke to her friend and the colonel for a minute before Ryker decided to join them, falling in place beside Forest.
He gave Colonel Vane and T a salute. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Both Vane and T saluted back, following protocols for being outside.
He had no problems saluting T but had plans for those roles to be reversed in the months to come.
Images of her on her knees before him, those deep chocolate eyes staring up at him while her ruby-red lips wrapped around his cock, came to mind.
Other more delicious thoughts dwelled there, too, darker passions he hoped to one day explore with the formidable major.
“Forest,” Ryker said before Vane could question his presence, “I’d love to see what goes into the prep behind getting Angel Fire up and running.”
“You said you played guitar, right?”
He gave a nod.
“How much experience do you have?” Forest asked. “I’m sensing something more than a passing curiosity.”
“Nothing on the scale of Angel Fire, but I did my share of guitar work with my buddies in high school. We had lots of plans for making it big, but life got in the way. I joined the Air Force for one thing.”
“Yeah, life has a way of doing that. When’s the last time you played?”
“I play all the time at home. I turn on YouTube and jam with the greats.”
“I can’t play worth shit,” Forest said. “Ash tried to teach me a little, but I suffer from a terminal lack of rhythm.”
“That’s not true,” T said, piping up.
She’d greeted Ryker with a scowl but not yet told him to fuck off.
For some strange reason, her hand drifted to her left breast pocket and fingered something inside.
He knew all of her mannerisms, had studied her in the field when she wasn’t looking, but had never seen that gesture before. She looked uncertain and thoughtful.
He couldn’t help himself from taking a long, hard look at T.
She was a woman who drew a man’s attention, held it, and never let it go.
She had no idea how incredibly perfect she was.
Even after weeks in the field, her haunting looks entranced him.
Her dark olive skin with its smooth and flawless complexion had an otherworldly glow.
Even caked in dirt, her beauty shone through.
Her features were regal, and her deep brown eyes held a fount of knowledge.
Arched and inquisitive brows revealed those rare glimpses of humor she held such a tight leash on.
Her long, full lashes framed a sharp nose, and her perpetually red, pouty lips drove men crazy with need.
She reminded him of an Egyptian or Amazonian princess.
Egyptian because of her regal stature and the way she carried herself with unequaled poise.
Amazonian because of her resilience and endurance, which equaled that of most men.
Her entire body, the little he’d seen, was tight and toned.
There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her, yet she retained a decidedly feminine physique with generous breasts, a narrow waist, and hips a man could get traction on.
With a shake of his head, he dispelled all thoughts of T and what he craved—at least for the moment. Their relationship was beyond complicated. It was impossible, yet he thought about her all day, every day, and through all the long, lonely nights.
He turned back to T and Forest’s conversation.
She’d been ribbing Forest about a memory from their past. It had to do with campfires, singing, and Forest beating two rocks together.
He smiled at them, hating their easy rapport, because he wished for a little of that with her instead of the stiff barriers that separated them.
It was clear she and Forest shared much in their past.
All of his memories with her surrounded rigorous training exercises and backbreaking missions. Fun had very little to do with what they shared, and some memories were downright terrifying.
T had fought hard for her position as the CRNA of their team.
A coveted and highly competitive position, she’d beaten out several men for her spot.
Her calm demeanor and can-do attitude took the tensest situations and toned them down.
The woman had a heart of gold and brass tits to hold it all together.
He respected the hell out of her, and that made her all the more desirable.
“So,” T said, dragging his attention back to her conversation, “Lyons has a good question. What exactly goes into prepping for a mega rock band’s arrival?”
Someday, she’d call him by his first name instead of his last.
They entered one of the hangars, and Vane waved them inside. “Let me show you,” he said.
Normally, the hangar would be filled with air assets.
Instead of a plane, a large stage occupied the far wall.
The rest of the hangar remained empty, but there were stacks of folding chairs piled on hand dollies at the edges.
Several airmen were working throughout the hangar.
Some grabbed chairs from the dollies and set them in rows.
Others were gathered at the large stage platform at the front, laying a floor over the metal support frames.
Forest pointed to a metal framework tower rising from the floor to stage left.
“Most of it is boring stuff. Layout of the stage and audience area, checking to see if we have adequate power supplies. Most of their stuff arrived a few days ago. So, we set up the speakers and test everything before their arrival. Make sure it works. Looking at lodging arrangements and mundane crap like that.” He gestured at the tower under construction.
“I work with the crew boss to make sure the sound system is adequate. Video, too.”
Indeed, there was a large projection screen being assembled. The men who touched the screen and the tower were not in uniform. Roadies, he assumed, but there was still a great deal of manpower needed to convert the hangar into a venue for a rock concert.
“What I wouldn’t give for a minute on that stage,” Ryker said wistfully.
Vane turned. “We can probably make that work.”
Forest held up a hand. “Let’s hear what you’ve got before making any promises.”
“Well, I think we’ve left Warren in the dust. He’s probably scouring the base, looking for that guitar.”
Forest rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that. I should’ve said something, but I was distracted by my little Greek goddess.”
T’s gaze skittered to him, a light blush coloring her cheeks. She vented a deep sigh and glanced away. “Oh my God, I thought you’d buried that nickname years ago.”
“I had, but distance made my mind go foggy. I suppose they don’t have mirrors around here because you obviously haven’t looked in one lately. The years are a blessing on you, Tia. You have an unequaled beauty that only improves with age.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If that’s your way of saying I’m getting old, then you can back that truck right the fuck up.”
Forest reached out and palmed the top of T’s head, giving her a playful shake. “Just teasing…except I’m not.”
Again, Ryker hated their easy banter. It was always a struggle between her and him, a play of power she refused to give up. He had an uphill climb ahead of him, but maybe he could entice her as he laid down a few of his favorite bass riffs.
Forest cupped his hand against his mouth and called out, “Smiley!”
A rotund man in his late forties glanced up from the back of the stage where he was kneeling in the middle of a mass of coiled wires. “Yeah?” he yelled back. “What?”
“Got something for you.”
The man lumbered to his feet. “Do I look like I’ve got time to fuck around?”
“Does it look like I care?” Forest boomed. “Bring me a guitar.”
“A guitar?” Smiley said with an exasperated sigh. “Like any guitar or a special guitar? If you’re going to manage the band, at least try to learn what things are called.”
“Why? I’ve got you,” Forest barked. He turned to Ryker. “What do you play?”
“I play bass.”
Forest jerked his thumb at Ryker. “Bring me a bass. Got a soldier…um, airman who wants to show me what he’s got.”
Smiley fixed a grumpy scowl to his face. “Sure, whatever his lordship desires. I’m hopping on it right now, Sir Fucktard. Hippity-hoppity fuck you, Forest, I’m busy.”
“Not a request,” Forest rumbled.
“Well then, I’m right on it.” His gaze landed on Ryker and narrowed while his lips pinched.
It was a measuring-up, and Ryker got the impression he’d been found lacking. Smiley was in for a surprise.
“Um,” T said with concern, “who is that? Is he always this pleasant?”
“Smiley is the head of our crew, and he always has a bug up his butt. He especially hates it when I call him Smiley.”
“Then, why do you?”
A mischievous grin split Forest’s face. “Because it pisses him off.”
T shook her head. “I’m sure there’s logic in there somewhere.”
Forest approached the stage. “Come on, this is going to be fun. Lover boy, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Ryker’s heart thudded in his chest. It had been nearly six months since he strummed a guitar. Muscle memory would take over with a warm-up, but those first few chords could be rough.