Chapter One
Second Lieutenant Brenden Fitzpatrick didn’t pace. He didn’t fidget. He demonstrated none of the physical tics of discomfort—but he was uncomfortable. Three deployments to the Middle East—and an upcoming assignment to the Consulate in Yemen—gave him plenty of time to consider his options while standing in the psychologist’s office.
“You can sit down, you know.” James Westwood leaned back in a chair, a notepad resting untouched on one knee and a pen in his hand.
Of all the people he’d expected to run into during his interview with Captain Dexter, the doc hadn’t been on the list. Hell, he only accepted the captain’s invitation because they were old friends. Seeing what Luke built in Mike’s Place and visiting with retired members of his unit were more than worth the trip.
“I know. I prefer standing. I’ve been on planes for two days.” Not a lot to do on a plane but clench his ass and hope the flyboys kept the damn thing in the air. He preferred boats for travel, not that anyone asked. He could swim ten miles if the occasion called for it.
“We haven’t talked in a while. How is it working out with your new chaplain?”
“Oh, she’s good.” Brenden looked away from the courtyard atrium and at the doc. “She can’t hold her liquor worth a damn, but she’s good at getting me to talk.” Corporal Abby Dunlap, the company chaplain, was as middle-American mom’s-hot-apple-pie as they came. But she knew how to listen—that counted for a lot among the guys.
“Good. You’re taking the diplomatic assignments now?” James only asked questions he knew the answers to, or at least it seemed that way.
“Yemen. One year at the consulate there.”
“That’s a tough assignment.”
Neither commented on the recent surge of violence aimed at American embassies and diplomatic missions around the world. They were both aware.
“It needs to be done.” Frankly, he didn’t worry about the violence or the potential for it. His unit was more than capable of dealing with hot tempers and disgruntled political reactions and maintaining the safety of the civilian diplomatic mission assigned to their location.
“It does, but you’ve been off your assignment in Iraq for just a few weeks, and now you’re heading into another hot zone. That takes its toll.”
Again, no questions, only facts, and James didn’t fuss or try to force him to talk—one of the doc’s best attributes. Brenden would or he wouldn’t talk. They could get a drink or shoot hoops, and Brenden would feel better by the end of it.
“So I have a question for you, Doc.” He clasped his hands behind his back. Years ago, he would probably have slid his hands into his pockets or hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. But even dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, his training didn’t allow for sloppy, relaxed postures.
“Hit me.” The psychologist sat forward, interest filling his expression. Brenden rarely asked questions.
“The 1Night Stand service that you and the guys talked about last night….” He considered how to phrase his question precisely. “Is it really as good as you make it sound?”
“Better, I think. The average dating service takes the edge of uncertainty off of the participants because both are aware that the other is looking for something more. The 1Night Stand service eliminates it further by providing immediate gratification and certainty of how a night will go.” James exhaled. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen more relationships develop out of the arranged evenings than I have seen them simply be about one night of passion—but the pressure is off. You can enjoy yourself, and go back to your life, no questions asked.”
“So you recommend it?” He had already booked a date based on other’s recommendations. Still, he valued Doc’s opinion.
The psychologist studied him. “If you’re looking for companionship, absolutely….”
“But?” The unspoken word at the end of his sentence blared.
“But be prepared that the fantasy may be closer to true reality than you know. You sign up thinking you want one thing, but the reality is you want more.”
“And more isn’t guaranteed.” That thought had already occurred to him. Hell, it was the only thing he could think about.
“I have the website information. It could take some time….”
“I signed up four months ago.” The confession rolled out easier than he’d expected. “I knew I had leave, so I figured what the hell.” Actually he figured a great deal more than that—the decision far from blasé.