A Beautiful Distraction(3)

Standing up and latching onto the edge of the table for support, Rafe leaned in closer. “One thing you should have already learned about me, Carter, is that I don’t take orders, and you’re walking a thin fuckin’ line, my friend.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not in Afghanistan right now, Sergeant,” he said mockingly, apparently not giving a shit about his chain of command. “And I’m not putting up with your bullshit, man. You’re piss-ass drunk. You seriously want to fuckin’ do this, Murano?” he hissed between clenched teeth. “I have no problem laying your ass out right now.”

“Whoa, boys,” Trish said, appearing next to Rafe. She stepped in front of him and pressed her palm to his chest. “Look at me,” she commanded. Rafe slowly lowered his gaze until he was looking at the hauntingly dark irises staring back at him. “You’re drunk, and whatever the hell made you snap, you need to rein it in and get ahold of it because I’m about two seconds away from using your balls as a bottle opener.” Her hands moved to his shoulders and she gave him a gentle squeeze and smiled.

There she went again, shifting his mood with the snap of her finger.

Rafe sat down and blew out the air that had collected in his lungs. “You need another?” he asked Carter, who was watching him.

“Dammit, Rafe,” he sputtered, sitting back down on the barstool next to Rafe. “You’re fucking bipolar, you know that?”

“I never claimed to be sane, that’s for damn sure.”

“Guess I’ll leave your dumb ass to your own devices then.”

Rafe looked at him, watched as he took a long pull from his beer while his eyes focused straight ahead. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a pretty good decision,” Rafe finally replied.

Carter shook his head. Rafe knew better than to think he was in the clear from Carter’s meddling. “Look,” Carter pressed, shrugging his shoulders. “We may not know each other that well apart from our deployment, but I recognize that look in your eyes, man. I’ve been there. Women got a way of sucking the life from us.”

An exasperated sigh heaved from Rafe’s chest. Sucking the life out of him was one thing—he could handle that. It was the constant battle of missing her and hating her and wanting her that engulfed him, confining him within the depths of his depravity.

Nodding, Rafe drained his glass, enjoying the smooth, cathartic burn as the alcohol coated his throat. “I get that you’re trying to help. I do. But the whole point of this”—he raised his empty glass—“is so I don’t have to think about the woman who broke my goddamn heart,” he admitted, flagging Trish down with a tilt of his head.

Rafe didn’t want to think about Bridgette. He didn’t want to think about the way his body craved her, or the way her taste would assault him, deluding his senses at the simple thought of her mouth on his. And he definitely didn’t want to think about the way she’d eviscerated him from the inside out until he no longer recognized the man he used to be. No, all thinking about her did was piss him the fuck off.

Picking up his beer bottle, Carter stood and gripped Rafe tightly on the shoulder. “All right, man.” He gave Rafe’s shoulder a squeeze, then drifted toward the pool tables, leaving Rafe to refocus on his attempt at becoming numb. At this point, the amount of alcohol infusing his blood would have him detached from his self-inflicted torment in no time . . .

A couple of minutes of silence later, the blonde who had caught his attention when he’d first got to the bar a few hours earlier somehow found her way onto his knee. He wasn’t going to protest. The alcohol had taken care of his mind, and if he played his cards right, this woman would take care of everything else. He’d found that the best way to smother that damn ceaseless pang in his chest was to bury himself inside a warm, eager pussy.

He slinked his arm around her waist, his fingers brushing across the small amount of flesh that was exposed between her jeans and her shirt. Smooth. He liked that.

“What’s your name?” he asked as his fingers toyed with the top of her jeans.

She tilted her head over her shoulder to look at him. “Amber,” she said nervously, which shocked him, considering she’d hopped up on his lap like he was Santa Claus.

“You want to get out of here, Amber?”

A faint smile tugged on her glossed lips. “Can I bring my friend?” She nodded her head to the side where the curvy blonde was sitting, flirting with Trish. Rafe laughed. Trish was going to be pissed as hell when he took that little bombshell away from her.

Grabbing on to her hips, he lifted her off his lap and stood up. “You can absolutely bring your friend,” he replied.