9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Pony
After arriving on base, I search for a space to park. Like so many other days, my thoughts wander to Remington.
It’s been more than three months since our night together, and I still find myself replaying memories of our time together.
She was amazing. Smart. Interesting, fun, and beautiful. Sexy as hell.
I’ve been consumed by memories of how she tasted, the sound of her laughter, the feeling of her sleeping in my arms, and how it felt being buried inside her.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but I can’t seem to stop.
I’ve never met anyone like her. For the thousandth time since I last saw her, my thoughts stray, and I’m once again reliving that amazing night.
As ridiculous as it sounds, even though we only spent a single night together, I could envision a future with her. But I’ve had to accept I was wrong.
After parking and making my way through the building to our team room, I divest myself of my phone and shake myself out of my thoughts as I enter the code on the keypad and step through the door.
“Mornin’ boss,” I greet Warlock, who’s sitting at the big table in the middle of the room.
He glances my way, giving me a chin lift in acknowledgement. “Pony.”
Warlock is our team leader. We’ve willingly followed him into the darkest depths of hell, knowing he’d lay his life down for any one of us, the same way we would for him.
Because the six of us aren’t just a team. We’re family.
The lucky bastard recently found Tallahassee, the love of his life. A former swimmer and five-time Olympic medalist, Tallahassee now works as a waitress at McQueen’s, our favorite bar and restaurant.
I’m happy for him, but whenever I see them together, I feel a twinge of jealousy.
I’m Warlock’s second-in-command and the team explosives expert. Other than our K9, Peanut—who’s currently made himself comfortable on the couch across the room—I’m also the team’s best tracker.
Sitting next to Warlock is Nitro, our K9 handler. He’s prickly, cranky, and oftentimes communicates with grunts and growls. He’s sitting with a scowl on his face, his arms folded over his chest, brooding more than usual. Which is saying a lot.
“What’s up with you?” I ask him.
“What do you mean?”
“You seem grumpier than normal.”
“Got my ass handed to me last night playing Deadly Warfare by my nemesis, TerminateU. It was a bloodbath.”
“I thought you were good at that game.”
“I am. That’s what’s pissing me off. I haven’t been spanked like that since I first started playing.”
I don’t play video games and have no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s my teammate and brother so I want to be supportive. “Sounds harsh, dude,” I sympathize, leaving him to his brooding.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, then join my teammates at the huge table, lowering myself into a chair.
I’ve barely had a chance to get comfortable when Hawk comes in with an extra vivacity in his step.
Hawk’s got a way with women…except for redheads. For some reason he avoids them like the plague. One of these days we’re going to get him to appease our curiosity and tell us why.
“Did you end up knocking boots with Marsha last night?” I ask as he beelines for the coffee.
Coffee pot in one hand, cup in the other, Hawk cocks his head and his brows pinch together. “Marsha?”
“Yeah. Dark curly hair, big brown eyes—”
“No, it was the other one,” he interrupts, pouring his coffee with a grin.
“You don’t even know her name, do you?” Doc scolds.
Doc is our medic. He went through three years of medical school before becoming disillusioned, joining the Navy, and going through BUD/s. He’s a squared-away SEAL and a good friend. And should you ever be injured on the battlefield, there’s no one calmer or more competent under pressure than Doc.
“She knew the score going in. I’m never going to see her again, why do I need to know her name?” Hawk asks, responding to Doc’s question.
Nitro grunts his agreement.
Ricochet chuckles. “And that attitude is exactly why you’re known as Horndog Hawk.”
Ricochet’s our sniper and Hawk’s best friend. He’s a huge sports fan who’s nursing a serious crush on Nash McQueen. Nash is a professional hockey player, Tallahassee’s brother, and the owner of McQueen’s.
“Hey, we were two consenting adults who agreed to one night of fun,” Hawk complains. “Quit busting my balls.”
“I can only imagine where they’ve been,” Ricochet fires back with a mock shudder. “I don’t want anything to do with your balls.”
Hawk flips him off, plucks an apple from the basket of fruit on the counter, and launches it across the room. Ricochet easily catches it midair and bites into it with a grin.
“Speaking of women,” I say, shutting down their shenanigans before they get out of hand. “I met someone. Actually, we’ve sort of been seeing each other for the past couple of weeks. Her name is Sherry, and I want you guys to meet her.”
“What about the other woman?” Warlock asks. “The one you met a while ago and couldn’t stop talking about.”
“Yeah, you really seemed to like her,” Hawk says, crossing the room and settling into a chair at the table.
“I did like her. A lot. I was hoping to see her again. I’ve tried calling and texting her, but she hasn’t responded to any of my attempts to reach her. I thought she was special, and felt like we shared something more meaningful than just a hookup. Obviously, she didn’t feel the same way.
“She’s been ghosting me for three months. I can’t sit around pining for her when she’s made it crystal clear she’s not interested. So I took the hint. What else could I do?”
I may never find another woman who incites those same powerful feelings, but I can’t keep mooning over someone who doesn’t want anything to do with me.
Ricochet gives me a sympathetic frown. “Damn, that sucks, Pony. Sorry, man.”
“Now do you see why I never spend more than a single night with a woman?” Hawk chimes in.
Nitro nods his agreement.
Thinking back, I should’ve known Remington never had any intention of seeing me again. When I asked how long she’d be gone, she was vague, almost evasive, telling me, “That’s a good question.” Then she sidetracked me with a kiss before I could ask what she meant.
I’m so disappointed in her, but even more so in myself for believing her.
We didn’t owe each other anything. She could’ve been honest and either told me outright or texted to say thanks but no thanks, letting me know she didn’t want to see me again.
I wouldn’t have liked it, but the two of us could’ve walked away with nothing but good memories. Instead, she lied, then ghosted me.
The problem was, Remington blindsided me. In that short time we spent together, she’d burrowed deep under my skin. I wanted to hear from her again. See her again. I was looking forward to that dinner date. And no matter how many times I replay it, I can’t figure out what I did to scare her away.
I feel like an idiot for how badly I misjudged her. I should’ve known better. In my defense, all I had to go on were my unconfirmed beliefs based on nothing but a gut feeling. Although, I never expected her to behave that way. I didn’t take her as the type to play games.
But with every unread text and unanswered call, her lack of interest became clearer. As much as I liked her, that’s not the kind of woman I want to be involved with. And as disappointed as I am, it’s better to learn that now rather than find out later.
It doesn’t matter anymore. Remington’s in the past. She’s out of my life. I need to let her go. Forget her and move on.