Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone (9 page)

“Sweet, bro.” He looks confused for a quick second and places his hand on his forehead. “Wait. A chick you met? You’ve been here a week and the only person you’ve mentioned is that Bambi woman you were talking about this morning. Bambi runs a body shop?” He’s smiling. He loves the idea of this, I can tell.

“Yeah. Cool, right?”

“Bambi’s Body Shop?” he snickers. “That’s funny.”

That is funny. She should have named the place that. I should suggest it. “Yeah, I must have been so damn charming that she wanted to offer me a job,” I tell him.

“Charming?” he asks through laughter as he starts walking again. “Was this before or after you tried to drag her into the Sawdust Motel?

“Don’t worry about that,” I say, leaving this topic alone.

“So does this mean you might be thinking about settling your ass down here for a bit?”

“It’s not Boston, but I think I’ll stick around for a while.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I’m glad and grateful you came, man, it’s good to have you back in my life again.”

“Dude, you’re getting all cheese-ball on me now. Need a tissue?” I reach down into my shirt just as Tango punches me in the shoulder.

“Get to work, ass. The siding needs to go up on the left side. You can start there. One of the men can show you around.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Oh and lunch is at noon. We can get a bite down the street,” he says, disappearing inside of the bare-bones framed house.

Damn, it has to be at least a hundred degrees out here. My ass is not primed for this shit. I’ve lost all my stamina since I was discharged a couple of years ago. I definitely know I’ll be happier under the hood of a woman tomorrow, that’s for sure.

After watching one of the guys show me how to put up the siding, I squat down to grab my next piece and feel something sharp in my back pocket. Crap. The charger. I should have given it back to her while we were at her house, although I guess I still haven’t had much of a chance to completely charge my phone. Guess it was meant to be, and I still have an excuse to see her, hopefully tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even become roomies. That’d be a hoot.

I haven’t even gotten two pieces of siding up when I start looking around for a water station. This heat blows. How does he do this every day?

“Fuckkkkkk!” I hear loudly from the other side of the house, followed by a rattling crash. What the hell is that? I run around to the front of the house where everyone is crowding. “Someone call 9-1-1,” a bunch of people are shouting, but no one is jumping into action. I push through the hovering men and find that several planks of wood fell from the second story, or so it looks. I’m still looking at the scene trying to figure out why everyone is yelling about 9-1-1 but then I hear another growling shout and I see Tango lying beside the pile of lumber.

I shove the rest of the people out of the way and climb over the pile to get to him. “Dude, what the fuck happened?”

“That shit wasn’t secured up there,” he says breathlessly. I hear blame being tossed around behind us.

“What’s the damage?”

“Just my leg, man. It’s broken.” Tango tries to sit up but the wind escapes him so fiercely that he lies back down. “Maybe a few ribs too.” A fit of coughs follows his statement.

“You’re going to be okay, you know that. You’ve been through worse.”

Tango fists his hand around the collar of my shirt as the veins in his forehead press against his red skin. “I know I’m going to be fine but this fucking hurts like a bitch. Call an ambulance.” Tango hasn’t ever had the patience for pain or weakness. Not that any man I have ever worked with has, including myself, but the whole talking someone down thing is just old habit.

“I’ve already called an ambulance. They’re on their way,” a man shouts from behind us.
Behind us
. Why is it no one came over here to help him?

“Okay, I won’t tell you you’re going to be okay again. Just relax for a minute. I peel up his pant leg up and confirm what I was afraid of. The bone punctured his flesh. I tear my shirt off and wrap it tightly around his leg.

“Dude, spare us the strip tease,” Tango manages to joke.

“If you saw your leg right now, you wouldn’t be laughing, jackass.”

“That’s the Jags I know and love. Give it to me straight, Doc, how bad is it?” I know he’s using this whole badass facade right now, but he’s sweating it out and the look in his eyes is the same damn look he got when I told him he was being transported to Germany with what we were hoping was just pneumonia, rather than lung cancer.

“You’re going to need surgery for this one, bro.” Tango lowers his head back to the ground and folds his dirt-covered arm over his forehead. “It’s no big—”

“Don’t,” he grunts.

While he’s arguing with my bedside manner, the sirens blare as the ambulance flies into the lot.

“I’m coming with you,” I tell him.

“It’s fine, just stay here,” he says as the paramedics are running toward him.

“No,” I fight back. “Knock it off with this Iron Man shit.”

Listening to all the medical jargon being tossed around between the paramedics, Tango turns pale. It could be from listening to them talk about the bone puncturing his flesh or just the pain in general but he’s about to pass out. “He’s about to black out,” I tell the paramedics.

“Sir, could you please stand over there with the rest of the people. We have this under control.”

“He’s out,” one of the other paramedics says.

“He has multiple broken ribs, I believe,” I add in, ignoring the request to back up.

“You a doctor?” The same one who told me to back up asks.

“Navy medic.”
Was.
The guy nods at me and turns back to Tango. “We’re bros. I’m coming with you.” No one argues with me as we get him into the ambulance. It takes more than a few paramedics to lift the gurney since Tango isn’t a small guy. They’d need about five men to get me off the ground, though.

Once settled in the ambulance, Tango comes to, but he’s out of it, which is for the best so he’s not focused on the pain. They’re quickly setting up the IV to administer pain management, which means he should be stable soon. It feels weird watching this and not doing it. I don’t like it.

Trying to keep myself occupied, I take out my cell, seeing I only have one battery bar left on my phone. Guess my ten-minute charge didn’t do much. I send Cali a text:

Me:
Tango’s going to be fine but there was an accident. Meet us at the hospital. He’s going to need surgery.

It takes less than a minute for Cali to respond, and it’s the response I expected to receive.

Cali:
What? Is he okay? What happened? I’m on my way.

That was easy. God, I need a chick like her. Any other wife would be running around screaming like the end of the world was coming. Not Cali, though. If only everyone could act that way, there would be a lot less need for Xanax.

Jags:
He fell off the second-story level. He’s got a pretty busted leg and maybe a few fractured ribs. He’s out of it but we’re on our way to the hospital now.

Cali:
Thanks for staying with him.

That’s the nicest thing that girl has said to me yet.

It only takes a few minutes before we fly into the hospital parking lot, pulling up in front of the emergency doors. As expected, I’m asked to head to the waiting room until they have more answers about Tango’s condition. I give Tango a slight tap on the shoulder and tell him I’ll be waiting for him. He doesn’t respond with anything that makes sense, but I know he knows I’m waiting here.

I’m aware Tango had all intentions of dying alone a few years ago. I mean, I haven’t met another man like him before. Being diagnosed with lung cancer at a young age while in combat of all things, only to be sent home to die isn’t something many people can claim as their story. Then, of course, by some miracle, the guy survived the whole ordeal and decided to let everyone think he actually died. I still don’t fully understand what was going through his head but this is who he is. I’m honestly surprised he got married and had a family. He never struck me
as the marrying type. Although Cali seems like the female version of him, so I suppose it makes a little sense.

Dropping down into one of the blue seats in the corner of the waiting room, I snatch a car magazine off the table beside me. I’m trying to focus on an article, but for some sick reason, part of me is too busy questioning if I miss the scent of ammonia and the rush of helping people. I do, but then the memories of missing limbs and blown off flesh and shrapnel lining beautiful faces fills those thoughts. It was what I wanted to do with my life. God, that pissed my pops off. All he ever wanted was for me take over his restore business. I love that shit too, but helping people seemed more fulfilling. Doesn’t matter now since I made my decision. I guess I can get my fill by helping sick cars.

Cali, Sasha, and Tyler jog into the waiting room and I’m surprised to see the quickness in Cali’s step. She always seems so calm and doesn’t usually get worked up, not that I’ve seen anyway. Though, I guess we can all act brave, but when someone you love is hurting, there’s nothing masking that pain inside.

“Can I see him?” is the first thing Cali asks.

I drop the magazine down on the table and stand up, pulling her into me. “He’s going to be okay, hun.”

“Don’t pull that shit on me, Jags. Just tell me if I can see him!” She pulls away from my embrace and runs over to the reception desk. She’s definitely frazzled.

“What happened?” Sasha asks in a low whisper while twisting Tyler’s ponytail around her finger.

“His leg is pretty busted and maybe a few ribs too,” I tell her.

“Yeah, that’s what Cali said.”

“Is Cali okay?” I ask Sasha.

“Not really. She puts on a real good act, though. Tango is her life, like she doesn’t do anything without him. He’s all she talks about. To everyone else, they’re tough as nails, but neither of them really are.”

“I figured,” I tell her.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I address Tyler, who’s trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Is my daddy going to be okay?” she asks quietly, hugging her doll tightly within her arms.

“I think they’re just deciding what color bandage to put on his leg right now. Your dad is going to be just fine,” I tell her with a smile. Tyler releases one hand from her doll and wraps it around my leg. “Thanks for helping my daddy. He told me you’ve always been there for him.”

I kneel down in front of Tyler and place my hands on her shoulders. “Your daddy has always been there for me too. That’s what friends are for. Don’t forget that, okay?”

Her big, brown eyes blink once and her dark ponytail whips around as she looks up at Sasha. “I think Auntie Sasha needs a friend like that,” she giggles.

“My goodness, y’all! Hush up, Tyler.” Sasha takes Tyler by the arm and tugs her over to the chair beside me.

“I get the sense you have a few people who are worried about you,” I say, nudging Sasha in the shoulder.

“All of them are bananas,” she says playfully so Tyler laughs.

“Well,” I sit back down. “I’m not a banana. I’m more like a large zucchini or an eggplant, you know?”

Sasha rolls her eyes and smirks as she takes a seat on the other side of Tyler. “I offered to stay home with Tyler, but Cali wanted her here, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” I tell her. “Although, I know you were looking for another excuse to see me. Or you changed your mind about lending me your charger. Either way, it’s cool.”

“I told you you could keep the charger,” she laughs.

“Good, because my phone is just about dead.”

“Give me your phone and the charger,” she demands.

I do as the lady requests, and she squats down in front of the chair, reaching underneath to plug the charger into the wall. I can’t help but notice the fairness of her skin when her shirt separates from the waist of her pants. And I can’t miss the hot pink lacy thong she’s wearing. For someone who seems so damn innocent, I think Sasha has been keeping secrets.

I’m too busy staring at her panties when I hear her clearing her throat. I look over at her face angled to look up at me. “You like what you see?” she asks, mimicking my joke from this morning when I was looking for my charger under her bed.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Miss Sasha. You got me. And ‘yes’ is the answer to that question. I definitely do like what I see. I like pink panties.” While I get the sense this isn’t like her to be so risqué due to the dark red coloring on her cheeks, I think it’s damn hot she was playing with me like that.

“I have pink undies on today too!” Tyler shouts.

Realizing Tyler was listening in on this whole conversation, Sasha stands up quickly, knocking her head under the chair while doing so. Her hand cups around the back of her head and her eyes and nose scrunch.
Man, she’s cute.
“You okay?”

“That hurt,” she laughs.

“Shouldn’t be flirting so much,” I tease her. “See what happens?”

“You’re a pain in the butt, Mr. Jags,” she says, sitting back down.

I so badly want to tell her I can fix the pain in her butt, but I’ll refrain from my dirty jokes. For now.

SASHA