upright and stared at him, her eyes growing misty and her smile wobbly. For no apparent reason, she then buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
John didn’t know what to make of her sudden crying jag, but the sight of her, weeping and wretched, spurred him into action. He yanked the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray. Then he put his other arm around her, gathered her close again and held her. Just held her.
“Aw-w-w,” Blondie crooned from her perch on Mike’s lap. She leaned forward, propped her elbow on the tabletop and put her chin in her hand. “Ain’t that sweet?”
Mike took advantage of both the situation and her position by cupping the weight of her full, firm breast in his palm and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Sure is,” he agreed, and took another swig of beer.
Buck Private Charlie Miller, sitting to Mike’s right, was in no mood for this maudlin crap. He’d delayed joining up until he got his draft notice, then quit his soda jerk’s job to enlist. Only to be rejected by the Navy because he had insufficient chest expansion and the Marines because he wore glasses. The Army, however, hadn’t been the least bit bothered by either his shallow chest or his visual impairment. To the contrary, they’d welcomed him into their ranks with an embarrassing “short-arm” inspection.
So now, with basic infantry training behind him and orders to report to cook’s school safely packed in his duffel bag, this dogface was home on furlough and ready to howl. He tossed back the remainder of his whiskey as the jukebox began wailing, “I’m Walking the Floor Over You.” Then he wiped his mouth on his uniform sleeve and turned to the girl who was sitting quietly beside him.
“Wanna dance?” He didn’t wait to hear her answer but simply scraped back his chair and stood.
Daisy English didn’t have to be asked twice. She leaped to her feet, almost spilling what was left of her beer in her haste. After steadying the swaying bottle, she rushed to catch up with Charlie, who was elbowing his way toward the dance floor.
Mike drained the last of his beer and set the empty on the table. He scanned the low-ceilinged room, looking for their waitress so he could order another round. Seeing that she was busy, he turned back to the couple still wrapped in their darkly passionate embrace.
“Tell me again.” He had to shout to be heard above the din of that god-awful song. “What time is the wedding tomorrow?”
John, his cheek still resting on the crown of Kitty’s hair and her face still buried against his chest, raised his own voice to reply, “Ten-hundred.”
“I know what that means,” Blondie chirped. “It’s military talk for ten o’clock in the morning.”
Mike flashed her a grin, then rewarded them both by copping another feel. He was standing as best man because John and he were Catholic and Charlie wasn’t. Except for that and for the few months’ difference in their ages, however, they might have been triplets.
They’d grown up on the same block, gone through the same grade school and graduated from the same high school. Hell, they’d even dated some of the same girls. But now, at the ripe young age of twenty-one, they were going to be fighting this damned war in completely different outfits.
After making a mental note to hit the sack early tonight—with the blonde, he hoped—Mike finally caught their server’s eye. When the empty bottles and glasses had been cleared and replaced with full ones, he paid for them from the rapidly diminishing roll of bills he’d received last payday.
Big fuggin’ deal, he thought as he added a hefty tip for the waitress. With the future he was facing, what better way to spend his money than on wine, women and song? Any song, that is, except “I’m Walking the Floor Over You.”
When Blondie made to stand, he tightened his arm around her. “Where’re you going?”
“I’ve gotta get rid
John didn’t know what to make of her sudden crying jag, but the sight of her, weeping and wretched, spurred him into action. He yanked the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray. Then he put his other arm around her, gathered her close again and held her. Just held her.
“Aw-w-w,” Blondie crooned from her perch on Mike’s lap. She leaned forward, propped her elbow on the tabletop and put her chin in her hand. “Ain’t that sweet?”
Mike took advantage of both the situation and her position by cupping the weight of her full, firm breast in his palm and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Sure is,” he agreed, and took another swig of beer.
Buck Private Charlie Miller, sitting to Mike’s right, was in no mood for this maudlin crap. He’d delayed joining up until he got his draft notice, then quit his soda jerk’s job to enlist. Only to be rejected by the Navy because he had insufficient chest expansion and the Marines because he wore glasses. The Army, however, hadn’t been the least bit bothered by either his shallow chest or his visual impairment. To the contrary, they’d welcomed him into their ranks with an embarrassing “short-arm” inspection.
So now, with basic infantry training behind him and orders to report to cook’s school safely packed in his duffel bag, this dogface was home on furlough and ready to howl. He tossed back the remainder of his whiskey as the jukebox began wailing, “I’m Walking the Floor Over You.” Then he wiped his mouth on his uniform sleeve and turned to the girl who was sitting quietly beside him.
“Wanna dance?” He didn’t wait to hear her answer but simply scraped back his chair and stood.
Daisy English didn’t have to be asked twice. She leaped to her feet, almost spilling what was left of her beer in her haste. After steadying the swaying bottle, she rushed to catch up with Charlie, who was elbowing his way toward the dance floor.
Mike drained the last of his beer and set the empty on the table. He scanned the low-ceilinged room, looking for their waitress so he could order another round. Seeing that she was busy, he turned back to the couple still wrapped in their darkly passionate embrace.
“Tell me again.” He had to shout to be heard above the din of that god-awful song. “What time is the wedding tomorrow?”
John, his cheek still resting on the crown of Kitty’s hair and her face still buried against his chest, raised his own voice to reply, “Ten-hundred.”
“I know what that means,” Blondie chirped. “It’s military talk for ten o’clock in the morning.”
Mike flashed her a grin, then rewarded them both by copping another feel. He was standing as best man because John and he were Catholic and Charlie wasn’t. Except for that and for the few months’ difference in their ages, however, they might have been triplets.
They’d grown up on the same block, gone through the same grade school and graduated from the same high school. Hell, they’d even dated some of the same girls. But now, at the ripe young age of twenty-one, they were going to be fighting this damned war in completely different outfits.
After making a mental note to hit the sack early tonight—with the blonde, he hoped—Mike finally caught their server’s eye. When the empty bottles and glasses had been cleared and replaced with full ones, he paid for them from the rapidly diminishing roll of bills he’d received last payday.
Big fuggin’ deal, he thought as he added a hefty tip for the waitress. With the future he was facing, what better way to spend his money than on wine, women and song? Any song, that is, except “I’m Walking the Floor Over You.”
When Blondie made to stand, he tightened his arm around her. “Where’re you going?”
“I’ve gotta get rid
Similar Books
The Channel (The Gifted Book 2)
C. L. McCourt
UpAndComing
Christi Ann
For Lovers Only
Alex Hairston
Broken Heart 04 Wait till Your Vampire Gets Home
Michele Bardsley
Separate Roads
Tracie Peterson, Judith Pella
Eden's Hammer
Lloyd Tackitt
State of Grace
Joy Williams
Witch Hammer
M. J. Trow
The Book of Joe
Jonathan Tropper