No Regrets, No Surrender(36)
“Don’t worry about it” Lauren interrupted her before she could protest. “Membership has its privileges.”
“You’re very good at that.” Jazz leaned back again and sighed as her feet settled into the warm water.
“Which that are we discussing?” Lauren inspected the pink polish on her nails. “Does this look too Pepto to you?”
“No, they look more delicate that that. Pepto kind of screams at you.” The bizarre conversation added another layer of surreal to the early afternoon escape. The first was the conspicuous absence of the guys. A hollow ache wrapped around her heart. They hadn’t called either. Maybe Logan more than got her message the night before—even though they’d had sex—mind blowing sex. She didn’t know who to choose or even how.
But God, she didn’t want to lose them. It hurt.
“Good. So what were you saying?” Lauren dragged her back to the presence. The pedicurist slathered warm wax on her legs and she glanced down.
“You seem very confident in your ability to get your way. You make a decision and everyone rushes to comply. Even me, apparently.” The last words rode a droll and dry note. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Are you sure? It sounded a bit like a complaint.” The blonde squinted and wrinkled her nose, but her smile never faltered.
“I’m positive. It never occurred to me to do this. Amber is an amazing masseuse. I’m feeling pretty good…ow!” She jerked her gaze down to the pedicurist who was not working on Jazz’s feet, but waxing her legs. “A little warning next time.”
A shiver of déjà vu raced up her spine. She’d done this before. In Las Vegas, the day she met them, she’d spent an entire day in a spa. She’d been plucked, plumped, primped and primed for her night. She’d walked down that long hallway from the elevator to the hotel room in a cloud of femininity. She’d wanted to feel sexy and like a woman. The spa helped.
Zach and Logan did the rest.
“Jazz?” Lauren’s voice penetrated the haze of pleasure the memory evoked, and she focused on the present.
“I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Tell her if it hurts too much. I know you’ve been stuck in the hospital or at the PT center. I figured the whole female package would enjoy a little pampering.” The woman’s frankness was absolutely priceless. “But you push back anytime you think we’re going across the line.”
“I will. To be honest…I think I did need this. It’s not the first thing that occurs to me.” And it wasn’t. Her mother despaired of her as a teen when she preferred the rough sports to more girly activities. She’d barely done more than pony tail her hair for prom, and she spent her eighteenth birthday with the Marine recruiter, signing paperwork. The only thing standing between her and Parris Island had been her high school graduation.
She belonged to the Marines. She found a strength and a purpose with her brothers and sisters- in-arms that she’d found nowhere else.
Except Las Vegas…and you didn’t even realize they were Marines…. Her heart twinged. She’d loved being with them, loved it so much that she’d nearly been late to her meeting to re-sign her contract. She loved it so much that she’d actually hesitated to re-sign. I never told them that. I had lunch with them after, but I never told them I almost didn’t do it. They never asked me not too either. They asked me to keep in touch. They wanted to visit on my leaves. They wanted to know where I would be assigned, and they knew what questions to ask. But they never asked me to not be me.
She barely noticed the waxing as the woman finished, or when she started on her toenails. Her mind whirled with information. The lonely ache in her soul intensified. Every time a door opened, she glanced up, half-expecting to see them. Either. Both. But they didn’t come.
Two hours later, she reclined in yet another chair with goop on her face to open her pores and repair the skin. The technician performing the facial clucked over her, equal parts admiration for her skin tone and admonishment for not taking better care of it. Jazz didn’t laugh. She’d chosen the same red for her nails she’d worn in Vegas. It wasn’t regulation. She should have chosen clear, but the first time she saw that red peeking out of the manicurist basket, she’d wanted it.
It would be better if she planned to put on that sassy black dress, but it was packed away at her mom’s. She could call her, but what would she say. Hey mom, I know I’m still learning this walking thing, but I want to dress up and get laid. You know like that Vegas trip you bought me?