Page 8 of Swept Away (Men of War #1)

Once that happens, I’m no longer close to the man who’s invited me here.

As much as I’d like something different, that’s what happens in a group.

Monique sits next to me, and she’s as loud as I expected her to be.After downing her first drink, she talks all the damn time.

Mason and Carter are reserved, nursing their drinks and mostly observing me, and once in a while, engaging me.

Carter is as handsome as they come. Tall. Athletic. Dark hair. Fiery eyes. Wrapped in the kind of silence that speaks more than a string of words would.

He and Mason talk from time to time, and as it happened in the car, their conversations are about things that don’t involve me or the woman next to me.

I can’t make out much of their words as it’s crazy loud in here, but I know they’re not talking about me or Monique.

After the second round of drinks, things begin to shift.

Monique becomes more obnoxious, if that was even possible, and I become more quiet, staying focused on my cocktail.

But things don’t go well.

She suddenly wants to dance and stubbornly tries to compel me to follow her to the dance floor.

Dancing is the last thing on my mind right now, but I’m doing it anyway to get away from the idea that I’m here only for Mason and the orgasms that he owes me.

Forget about them.

They. Will. Never. Happen.

Not tonight anyway,

The music is loud enough to finally drown out her voice.

We move our bodies and work up a sweat before returning to the bar.

Carter is in a conversation with the barista, a sassy brunette, who openly flirts with him.

Monique takes it personally and pouts next to me, which is weird since she and Carter haven't been particularly close this evening.

I need another drink, so I join in Monique’s efforts to steer the barista away from Carter, and more jokes ensue about us, women, being jealous.

We don’t mind them as the brunette goes away and someone else takes our order.

“Good riddance,” Monique says, bringing her drink to her lips.

Once she gulps half of her beer, she wants to go to the bathroom, and who better to join her than me?

That’s hardly what I want to do, but she’s hard to say no to when she sets her hand on my arm and asks me to follow her.

She sounds a little pissed at me, too, for no good reason that I can think of, yet I slide my ass off my seat and walk with her across the bar and through a side door where the noise stays behind as we inch closer to the bathroom.

“I’ll wait outside,” I say, not intending to use it.

“It’s clean inside,” she says unexpectedly. “You can check your makeup.”

She gestures at my face.

Two things rub me the wrong way.

Her comment about my makeup.Do I have mascara on my cheek?

And the thing about the bathroom.Has she been here before?

Silently, I follow her inside.

It’s a spacious restroom, clean indeed, with only one stall occupied. The woman pushes the door open, walks out, and then washes her hands before exiting the room.

Monique uses the toilet herself while I check my makeup.

Everything is in place.

Maybe I need a dab of lip gloss and to press a piece of paper towel against my skin to soak up the sweat along my hairline.

My hair looks wild with strands of hair fighting like snakes around my face. I run my fingers through my mane and let it fall down my back.

I’m hot, and it’s probably from dancing.

“The beer always makes me want to go,” she says, running her hand over her shorts.

She stops next to me and slides her hand into her purse before scooping out a makeup case.

In one swoop, she removes the rest of her makeup, and I watch her reapply it with the ease of a master.

“I’m a beautician,” she says, spreading the liquid foundation across her cheeks, her eyes glued to the mirror.

“Okay.”

She glances at me, her eyes carrying the most interest in me I’ve seen from her this evening.

“You?”

“I’m a student. And a freelancer.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“Copywriting. Web design. A little bit of everything.”

“Is it worth it?”

“It pays the bills.”

She resumes her work.

“With a body like that,” she says, gesturing at my frame with a handful of cotton diskettes, a tube of foundation, and a brush while running her fingers below her eyes. “I'd have someone pay me to stay home.”

I laugh.

“What’s wrong with your body?”

“Nothing. I tried. They didn’t bite.”

I laugh again.

“You don’t believe in love?” I ask facetiously.

She huffs.

“No one believes in love. Why would I start a trend?”

I bite my lip to stifle a chuckle.

“How long have you known Carter?”

Her hands meet the edge of the sink while she tenses and strenuously sighs.

“Carter and I go way back… We used to live in the same neighborhood. Then he left for the military. I didn’t want to pawn my heart for a story that could’ve ended badly, so I forgot about him.

Got to know other guys. Had a lot of fun.

He has recently resurfaced, and I’m giving him another try.

We didn’t fuck yet, and trust me, there’s nothing I want more than to ride his dick, but I don’t think we’re cut to be together, so I’d rather pass on that and wait for the right man. ”

My smile is long gone as I process the information.

“So, he’s military.”

“Ex-military. Yes, they both are. They became friends in the military. I don’t remember seeing Mason around when we grew up.

For sure, he’s not an original Bostonian.

I’d know if he was. I know everything in this town.

Plus, you can’t miss someone like him. He could fuck his way through half of Boston and no one would complain. ”

I try to ignore her last comment, wondering if she knows whether Mason has a stepsister. She probably doesn’t know that if he hasn’t even lived here.

This story gets weirder and weirder.

“What about Carter? Isn’t he interested in being with you?”

She finishes applying her lipstick and smiles.

“Don’t you know men?”

Probably not as well as she does.

For sure, I don’t know these men.

“They like to fuck a lot…” she drones on. “But you have to be their type. At this stage, they don’t pick up women for more than that or put much effort into it as they really want to have some fun.”

“Interesting…” I murmur, my voice trailing off.

Mason fucked me with ease.

Everything about us fucking came easily.

Even him fucking me tonight when there was not even the right time or enough time was a breeze.

He had no problem doing it.And I had no problem saying yes to him.

“What about you and Mason?” she asks. “You hit it off right from the start? I’m pretty sure you did. I bet his dick tasted good while Carter and I waited in his car this evening.”

I almost liked Monique, her insightful observations on men and the useful information about Mason and Carter, but this comment irritates me to no end.

My cheeks burn, and I don’t know what the rebuttal to that is.

I knew even when it happened that his friends would know we were fucking, but her putting it so bluntly cheapens the moments I had with Mason.

“Mason is fine…” I say neutrally. “Are we done?” I add, shifting gears, no longer in the mood to talk.

Moments later, we exit the bathroom, and I feel relieved to never have to talk to her again.