"Hey, James."
I gave her the smile I knew she was looking for. "Hey, Carly."
"How's my favorite soldier?"
"Ex-soldier."
She gave me the pouty eyes. "I thought there were no ex-soldiers."
"There's no 'ex-Marines'. I wasn't a Marine; I am definitely an ex-soldier."
"How's my favorite ex-soldier?"
"Jesus, you are relentless!"
She blew me an air-kiss as she walked away to her client.
Ladies and gentlemen: fuck. Hot, blonde, horny... and married. Carly was at it again, like this all week long. I would've walked right into that when I was young man, but I was not falling for it now. Or dabbling in it, fucking with it, teasing it, testing it or otherwise sampling any part of it.
Just, no.
I'd like to think my time in college made me not just smart, but wise.
Carly wasn't the only one sending signals, either. I had 13 female clients, 7 of whom were flirty and 2 of whom were sure things if I ever felt like risking the accounts.
Then there was the girl at the Trader Joe's. And the waitress at that restaurant. And that one red-headed bartender. I don't know what it was, but suddenly, I was noticing being noticed.
I dunno. I'm kinda used to a little attention. Side effect of being me. Something about this week, though, just made it feel like there were women... everywhere. It was nice.
Friends, let's climb into the Way-Back Machine: my family didn't have much money, I didn't have much academic motivation, so I enlisted at 17. Four years in, most of which was "over there."
As a soldier, women were a great escape. Unlike some of my brothers, I never counted my conquests. They were just a good time and a good memory.
When I was over there, they were a rare treat. Rare by my high school standards, at least. And when I wasn't over there, I still wasn't taking any credit. Confession time, brothers: I was the "Jody." If I stopped to think about it, it was a fucking miracle I didn't catch some hideous disease from the wives, much less the rest of the girls.
That shit was gonna get me shot, so... I tried to hold back. And then I got out.
I figured there'd be a ton of pussy once I was back in the States. There kinda was, in comparison, but the timer on my GI Bill was going. I had a newfound motivation and I was studying too hard to really stop and enjoy the scenery.
At least in any emotionally meaningful way.
Graduation was only a couple of weeks ago... and suddenly my eyes are open. I'm not climbing onto a helicopter anymore. I'm not trying to ace class after class. I can finally look up.
Maybe that's why the world felt like it did.
Looking back, half the guys from my old unit were married to women who married a military paycheck. Those girls were... interesting. Some wrapped themselves in a flag when they wrapped themselves in my friends.
Chicks seemed to get off just finding their place in the pecking order of base wives. Wasn't that a fucking crowd? Half of those girls seemed just as fucked up as Lizzy. Maybe more considering how much they deluded themselves on matrimonial patriotism.
The rest of the guys in my unit ran away from getting tied down. They were out chasing pussy non-stop, especially the ones who were still in. Most of them were doing it drunk-diving a new Camaro they were still making payments on (at 35% fucking interest).
Backup just a second. Did I somehow just invoke the name of Chipmunk Cheeks?
