Текст книги "Semper Fi"

Автор книги: Jane Harvey-Berrick

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Was that her way of telling me she wasn’t interested in me?

“What about you?” she asked. “Any significant other?”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Fuck, no!”

She gave me a challenging look and raised her eyebrows. “That’s not what I heard.”

“What? What did you hear?” I demanded.

She blinked a couple of times.

“About your CO’s wife—in Paris? Maybe it was just gossip.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “Oh, that. Guy was a first class bastard—he deserved it.”

Caro shook her head disapprovingly. “And did she ‘deserve’ it? His wife?”

My smile vanished. Celia, my CO’s wife, was a vain cunt who had screwed her way through half the staff before me.

“Yes, she did.” Stupid bitch.

“And the possibility of getting court-martialed and thrown out of the Corps … that didn’t matter to you either?”

I shrugged. “I don’t give a shit.” It was the truth.

Suddenly, Caro pushed her glass away.

“Well, I think I’ll call it a night now, Sebastian.”

Wait, what?

“Don’t go, Caro! We’ve only just started talking again. You haven’t finished your wine, you…”

“No, I’m tired,” she insisted.

She started to stand but I reached out, resting my hand on her leg.

“Caro, I really want you.”

Her face darkened, and I realized my words had come out really fucking wrong.

“For God’s sake, Sebastian!” she hissed, her voice quietly furious. “We have one civilized drink together and you think I’m just going to fall into bed with you?”

“You used to.”

“How dare you!”

Oh shit. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said.

But she stood up to leave so I grabbed hold of her hand, desperate to stop her.

“Caro, wait! Shit! I’m sorry.”

She shook me off.

“Sebastian, we can’t just roll back the last ten years and pretend it never happened. Too much has happened—too much time has passed.”

“Come on, Caro, don’t say that.”

“Good night, Sebastian.”

And she walked away. Again. I couldn’t believe it. How had I managed to fuck things up so sensationally for the umpteenth time?

I sat there, hoping she’d come back, even though I knew she wouldn’t. I toyed with the idea of knocking on her door again, but I didn’t think that would help. She was tired and pissed.

I’d had the target in my sights, but I’d missed.

I needed a new strategy.

Hours later, I sat in my apartment with the window open, staring out across the lake. The pool of darkness surrounded by the lights of the city mirrored how I felt.

I’d been here for months, but this wasn’t home. I wasn’t sure where that was anymore. I missed my Unit. I’d had friends then—guys I’d give my life for and who’d give their life for me. Finding out I had skills with languages had been a double-edged sword, because it left me isolated within the Corps. But I hadn’t felt this lonely since Caro first left.

I hated her—what she’d done to me, the person I’d become without her in my life. But I hated more the thought of losing her again.

I’d have to mount a charm offensive, hoping for more charm and less offense this time.

I eyed the half-full bottle of whiskey waiting by my bed and seriously thought about diving into it. But I also knew that turning up hung-over and stinking of bourbon was not going to win me any votes with Caro. Instead, I changed into my sweats and took off for a run, pushing my body to the limit, trying to drive out the demons.

Sometimes it worked.

The next morning I woke early. It was something of a novelty to wake up sober; I might even start to like it again. But my nerves were kicking in, demanding a whiskey Band-aid before I headed out. This wasn’t just some woman: this was Caro. And so far I’d fucked up every encounter we’d had.

I picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid, but Caro’s words came back to me: quit your drinking before you really do something stupid.

I screwed the lid back on and left the apartment before the urge to self-medicate became too strong. And I needed to get to Caro’s hotel fast.

My bike was a Honda ST1100; a serious machine that had the comfort of a tourer and the fun of a sportsbike. I’d bought it in Paris while I was stationed there, and ridden it to Geneva. Riding a motorcycle gave the illusion of freedom—a loose term when you’ve signed your life away to the military.

The roads were still fairly empty of traffic at this time in the morning. Unlike Paris, where you could find a party or a card game day or night, Geneva was sober and studious, but with drink and drugs and high-class hookers in hotel rooms if you knew where to look. And I did. But the Swiss liked to hide any sign that showed they were as corrupt as everyone else, like the Nazi gold that still lay hidden inside Zurich’s bank vaults.

I broke a few speed limits getting to Caro’s hotel, just because it felt good—reminded me I was alive. As if I needed reminding this morning. My nerve endings were firing like the business end of a M16.

I by-passed reception and took the stairs to Caro’s room two at a time. I knocked quickly and took a deep breath waiting for her voice, waiting for the door to open.

But there was nothing.

I knocked again, leaning my head against the door as if trying to get closer to her.

“Caro, it’s me. Look, about last night—I’m … can you open the door for a minute?”

But she refused to answer.

Goddamn it! The silent treatment was driving me crazy. Couldn’t we talk like adults? I know I hadn’t done a great job of that so far, but…

I pounded on the door again.

“For fuck’s sake, Caro! Can we please just talk?” Still no answer. I ran my fingers over my hair, frustration snapping at my nerves. “This is fucking crazy,” I muttered to myself.

“That’s one of the words,” said a quiet voice behind me.

Caro.

I flinched, wondering how much she’d heard. But then my eyes started wandering up her bare legs to the hotel robe wrapped tightly around her, covering her breasts. Her hair was wet and I could smell chlorine.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” I admitted.

“That certainly would have been one of my better ideas,” she replied coldly, and I couldn’t help wincing at her tone even though she was talking to me.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over the scruff on my face.

“Don’t be like that, Caro. Look, I’m sorry. I mean it. Around you, I just seem to open my mouth to change feet.”

“You can say that again.”

“I will if you let me buy you breakfast,” I offered, giving her my best smile, the one that usually worked on women. But not today.

“Are you stalking me, Sebastian?” she said bitterly. “I thought we said everything we had to say to each other last night.”

Ah shit.

“I just want … can’t we be friends?”

I didn’t really want to be friends, but I’d take what I could get.

“Friends? I was under the impression you wanted to fuck me out of some sense of revenge.”

What the…? No. Maybe … choose the right answer, Hunter!

“No!”

“Are you sure about that?” she bit out. “Because last night you told me that’s exactly what you did to your CO’s wife. Why should I be any different?”

I stared at her in disbelief. That was what she really thought of me? I was still gaping at her when she spoke again.

“Just go,” she said wearily, fingering the keycard in her hand.

Fuck, no!

I took a deep breath, trying to push the desperation away.

“I know I’m saying everything wrong but … we used to have fun, didn’t we?” I pleaded. “Let’s just spend some time together—get to know each other again. You’re right: we can’t pretend the last ten years never happened. Just … give me a chance. I’m not the heartless bastard you seem to think I am. I’m still me, Caro.”

She hesitated and I could see the indecision on her face, sensing that she was weakening.

“We could start with breakfast,” I suggested hopefully. “Who knows, I might be able to get through a whole meal without making you mad at me.”

A reluctant smile crept across her face.

“It seems unlikely,” she said, her words failing to match her expression.

I smiled with relief.

“You gonna wear that robe? Not that I give a shit—you could go naked for all I care. In fact…”

She groaned. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

“Want me to scrub your back?” I suggested, only half joking.

I knew I was pushing her, but I couldn’t help it.

“Sebastian, I thought you were going to try and make it through breakfast before making me mad at you—right now your adolescent flirting is just annoying.”

I held up my hands in a gesture of defeat, but the smile on my face wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“Okay, I get the message. I’ll see you downstairs.”

I turned away quickly before she changed her mind, still grinning, then started whistling to myself.

Fucking whistling! What a pussy.

I didn’t like to admit that it was the song that always reminded me of her when I was 17: Van Morrison’s Crazy Love.

At the hotel’s restaurant, I let the waitress lead me to a table by the window. I wasn’t hungry, so I ordered a black coffee and sat waiting, memories spooling out relentlessly.

I wasn’t even sure what I wanted anymore—definitely more than just a quick fuck. But if friendship was all that was on offer, I’d take it—even if it killed me.

When I saw Caro walking across the restaurant toward me, that unfaithful friend named hope made a swift reappearance. My heart stuttered, then restarted at a quick march.

She was simply dressed in old jeans and a pale yellow t-shirt. She’d always looked good in yellow. Her dark hair curled over her shoulders and down her back, thick and glossy. I remembered tangling my hands in that hair, lost in the curves of her amazing body.

But all I could manage to say was, “You look great.”

She snorted in disbelief, and I didn’t know how I’d managed to piss her off. I only knew that I had. Maybe she thought I was giving her a line. I wasn’t.

“Did you order yet?” she asked

“No, just the coffee: I was waiting for you.”

“I usually have the continental breakfast.”

I waved to the waitress, and she walked over briskly to take Caro’s order. From the way she swung her hips as she walked, I got the impression that she’d have given me more than the full continental. Yeah, not interested.

I tried to think of something to say that would ease things between us—because right now the tension was making me crazy.

“Was there anything in particular you wanted to see in Geneva?” I asked, trying for casual, the kind of trite shit that other people seemed to manage with a fucking problem.

“You have to make it through breakfast without being irritating first,” she reminded me, but the smile on her face told the truth.

“Yeah, well, I like a challenge,” I grinned. “Seriously: anything you want to see?”

“Not especially: I saw quite a lot wandering around yesterday. The Russian Church, maybe? I hear that’s pretty amazing.”

I folded and unfolded my napkin several times before I made my suggestion.

“I had an idea of something we could do—if you like.”

“Which is?”

“How about a trip to Chamonix? It’s only an hour away—or just a bit longer if we take the scenic route through Lausanne. It’ll be a really great trip through the Alps.” Please say yes. “I’ll have you back before bedtime.”

She eyed me warily, but I could tell she was wavering. I bit back the smile that was threatening to break out.

“And you absolutely promise you’ll bring me back here by evening? No accidentally running out of gas or getting lost.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, lying through my teeth.

I’d already thought of several scenarios that ended with us having to share a hotel room.

“Okay,” she said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was agreeing to. “But I’m serious about getting back: I’m waiting for my travel permits and I can’t afford to miss them.”

My conscience pricked at me, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Caro, I’ll get you back here tonight, I promise.”

I wasn’t hungry when the food arrived, but I’d gotten used to eating whatever was put in front of me whenever it was put in front of me. I’d lost too many meals to sudden RPG attacks in hostile environments. Bastards liked to hit at chow time.

“Tell me about Ches’s kids,” Caro said suddenly.

I couldn’t help smiling, just thinking about them.

“They’re great. They call me ‘Uncle Seb’ … well, Simone, the youngest one, she calls me ‘Zed’ because she still gets her words mixed up sometimes. She’s nearly three. Ben is four and he’s a little surf-rat already. I see them as often as I can, but every time they seem so much more grown up. Jeez, they grow fast.”

“What’s Amy like?”

“Yeah, she’s okay.”

Caro looked amused at my lukewarm response.

“Let me guess—she doesn’t approve of you?”

Well, no…

“What made you say that?”

Caro smiled.

“Firstly, because you’re single, and married women get nervous that their husband’s single friends will lead them astray; secondly, because, from the sound of it, you’ve had more women than most men have hot dinners, and that will make her nervous because she won’t want you reminding Ches of what he’s missing out on; and…”

She stopped mid sentence. I guessed that whatever she was leaving unsaid was even worse.

“And what?”

“Well, the drinking, Sebastian. She wouldn’t want that around her husband and kids.”

Her words hit a nerve.

“Yeah, I guess that about sums it up.”

“When did you start drinking?” she asked gently.

My temper fired quickly. “What do you mean? I don’t drink that much, not like that bitch mother of mine.”

Caro’s gaze didn’t waver. “Well, twice in as many days you’ve been so drunk you’ve either passed out or made inappropriate comments to me.”

Shit. She was right.

“I think my question stands,” she said.

I didn’t want to go there, but I guess she deserved the truth.

“When I was 21,” I said at last. “That’s when I started drinking.”

It was true: apart from the odd beer, the occasional shot, I hadn’t drunk that much—a lot less than most of the guys in my Unit, that was for sure. But when I realized Caro wasn’t coming back for me, my world had fallen apart. I anesthetized myself with women and booze. I’d done that for the last seven years. Maybe now it was time to feel everything again—even the pain.

Caro looked horrified.

“Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

I shrugged and looked away. “Old news, Caro, don’t worry about it.”

She looked like she was struggling to speak, but when she did, she’d reverted to small talk. I guess it was more comfortable for both of us.

“Do you like living in Geneva?”

“It’s okay, but I miss the ocean.”

“Ah, no famous Swiss surfing beaches.”

Her words made me smile.

“I haven’t found any yet.”

She smiled back, and it felt good to be at ease with her. But now I was eager to start our day trip—apart from anything else, the thought of having her body pressed against mine on the back of my bike made me impatient.

“Are you done eating?” I asked. “Should we go?”

“I just need to go back to my room and pick up a jacket and, I presume, my passport, but otherwise, yes, I’m good to go.”

I frowned. “You’re a journalist: you should always have your passport with you. Hell, it was in the fucking tedious lecture that Parsons gave the day before yesterday.”

“So you were listening,” she swatted back.

I shook my head and smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, just grab a sweater, too: it’s going to get cold.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about me being bossy as she walked away.

Give me the chance and I’ll show you how ‘bossy’ I can be.

I went to pay the check, but the waitress said she’d put it on Caro’s room tab as instructed. I wasn’t very happy about that, and I was even less happy when she passed me her phone number. But I guess old habits die hard, because I slipped it in my pocket and winked at her as I left the room.

I took the elevator to the basement and brought the Honda to the hotel’s entrance.

Caro’s mouth dropped open when she saw me.

“Are you kidding me, Hunter? You expect me to get on that thing?”

Caro gestured at the bike, looking shocked. Guess I’d forgotten to tell her we’d be traveling on two wheels.

“Sure! It’ll be fun,” I said encouragingly.

“Do you know how to drive it?”

Her voice was laced with suspicion.

“Caro, I rode it from Paris—I think I can manage 88 kilometers to Chamonix,” I grinned at her.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ve never been on the back of a motorcycle before.”

I was surprised. “Really? Because we used to talk about doing that and riding from…” I stopped abruptly.

Was it ever going to get easier to talk about the past? She met my eyes, the shadows of our shared lives never far away.

“Oh, what the hell,” she said, shaking her head and walking towards me.

“Such faith in my abilities, Ms. Venzi.”

“If I get killed on this thing, I’m going to come back and haunt you!”

“Promise?”

“Oh, you’d better believe it, Hunter!”

I loved seeing this side of Caro. With each sentence it was more like how it used to be … and I fucking loved that.

I pulled my spare leather jacket out of the saddlebag and helped her put it on. It was old and battered, but it would give her some protection from the cold, or an accident—which wasn’t going to happen on my watch.

She was so tiny compared to me that her hands disappeared inside the long sleeves, and I had to fold back the cuffs so she could free her hands. I pulled up the zipper, my fingers dangerously close to her lush tits.

“Suits you,” I said, raising an eyebrow and ignoring her frown.

I passed her a spare helmet, waited until she’d fastened it, then swung a leg over the bike and held out my hand to help her mount behind me.

The seat slanted her forward so her thighs automatically gripped mine. I liked that a lot.

“Hold on tight,” I said, pleasure coursing through me from the sheer fucking joy of this moment—a moment I thought would never happen.

She wrapped her arms around me; I never wanted her to stop.

The engine started with a gravelly roar that crescendoed as I revved the accelerator. I took it slow to start with, letting her get used to being on the bike. I waited until we were at the lakeside road heading north-east to Lausanne before I really opened the throttle.

This moment. This woman.

She gripped me tighter as the bike flew around the curves of Lake Geneva, the air cool as the miles rushed past. When we reached Montreux, I slowed the bike, giving her time to appreciate the chocolate-box old town with chalets and Disneyland castle. I preferred being surrounded by open space and empty roads, but I thought Caro might like it.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” I called over my shoulder.

She nodded enthusiastically, bumping her helmet on the back of mine as she gave me a thumbs up.

I pulled up outside a small café that looked over the lake, then kicked down the stand and cut the engine. The sudden silence seemed to reignite the fire between us. I was sure I wasn’t the only one who was feeling it, but I forced myself to keep it casual.

I pulled off my helmet and grinned at her.

“How was that?”

She struggled out of her own helmet and ran her hands through her long hair tangled by the wind.

“That was … surprisingly okay.”

I laughed, but my eyes dropped to her full lips and I knew she saw in my eyes what I was thinking, because she scrambled off the bike hastily then rubbed her hands together, although whether it was from nerves, I couldn’t tell.

“Are you cold?”

“A little: just my hands.”

Without saying a word, I took her hands in mine and lifted them to my lips, warming them with my breath and rubbing them gently.

After a moment, she pulled free, her cheeks tinged with pink. Although that could have been from the cold.

“That’s fine, thank you.”

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her that she’d never stopped being important to me. But then she looked away, her expression conflicted.

“This café looks good,” she said quickly.

She strode into the café and found a table by the window.

I followed more slowly, sliding into the chair opposite her. The waiter ambled over and I ordered coffees for both of us.

“Un espresso et un caffé americano, s’il vous plâit.”

“Do you speak French, as well?” she asked curiously.

I shrugged. “I lived in Paris for two years so more than enough to get by. I never studied it.”

“And the Dari? The Arabic? How did that come about?”

“My first tour in Iraq. I was playing soccer with some of the local kids who used to hang around the Base. They taught me a few words and I just started picking up some phrases. My sergeant heard me talking to the kids and sent me on a couple of training courses. When we started pulling out of Iraq, they figured I should learn Pashto and Dari so I could be useful in Afghanistan. I found I could just hear it, all the different cadences.” I laughed coldly. “Finally found something I was good at. Who knew.”

She seemed surprised by my scathing tone.

“You were always good at lots of things, Sebastian.” My Caro—still trying to make me feel good. “And you picked up Italian really quickly,” she said insistently.

“That’s because I had an Italian girlfriend,” I pointed out.

“Really? When was that?”

She was seriously asking me that? I rolled my eyes—I’d learned Italian from her … in between fucking each other’s brains out.

“Oh, right,” she muttered, embarrassed. “And you taught me to surf, don’t forget.”

I couldn’t help grinning. Damn, that brought back some good memories.

“Yeah, that was fun. Did you ever keep it up?”

“I go quite often in the summer,” she said, her face lighting with a bright smile. “I bought a place in Long Beach and...”

Her words ground to a halt as she saw the expression on my face. That had been our dream: together, not…

“Sorry,” I said, as she continued to bite her lip. “It’s just … well, we used to talk about going to Long Beach and checking out the surf spots.”

“I didn’t have any other plan,” she said quietly. “When I left you … when I left San Diego, I drove for eight days until I got to New York. That old Pinto I had, died just as I reached the city. I got an apartment in Little Italy because I didn’t know anywhere else, and you mentioned it once. I lived there for eight years. You were right: I did like it.”

I closed my eyes, letting my head drop to my hands. We’d been so close to having that together. So fucking close.

“God, Caro, when I think about how things could have been … it makes me a little crazy.”

“I know what you mean,” she said softly. “But there’s no point thinking like that.”

The waitress returned with our coffees, breaking the mood, but I could see the shadow of sadness in Caro’s eyes.

“I’m glad you went there,” I said, only half lying. “I’m glad you did the things we said we’d do.”

“Not all of them,” she amended.

“Fuck, if only…”

“Stop, Sebastian,” she said forcefully. “No ‘what ifs’: what if we’d never gone to that Sicilian restaurant that night; what if Brenda hadn’t seen us; what if she hadn’t told your parents … there’s no point thinking like that. Like you said, it’ll just make us crazy.”

“I know you’re right,” I murmured, “it’s just that…”

I couldn’t get the words out, instead running my hand over my head in frustration. That should have been us: together.

“Hey, stop,” she said, grabbing my fingers. “It is what it is. We can’t change anything.”

I held on tightly, letting her anchor me to the here and now.

“Mind you,” she said, “if I ran into Brenda again, I might have to give her a quick slap.”

I couldn’t help smiling: there was a time when I’d felt the same. My ex-girlfriend was the one who’d lit the match that exploded our world.

“Yeah, I’d like to see that,” I admitted. “Although she felt really bad about what happened.”

Caro looked surprised and leaned back in her chair, releasing my hand.

“You spoke to her about it—what she did?”

Her voice told me she was pissed, so I decided to tread carefully. Although now I thought about it, maybe she sounded … jealous? I really liked that idea.

“Well, yeah. She kept bugging Ches until I agreed to see her. By then it was kind of obvious why she’d done it.”

“Obvious how?” Caro huffed out.

“She was pregnant—got knocked up by that bastard Jack Sullivan. You remember that older guy who used to hang out at the beach? Yeah, well, when she found out she was pregnant, she freaked. Got this crazy idea in her head that if she could get back with me, she’d get me to sleep with her and pretend the baby was mine.”

I shook my head, still amazed at the fucked up behavior of a scared 18 year-old girl and the trail of destruction that she’d set in motion.

“She thought if she got you out of the way, we’d get back together,” I explained. “She had no idea what she’d done. Until after—and it was too late.”

“And did you? Sleep with her?”

Jesus, what?

“For fuck’s sake,” I snapped. “I told you. I didn’t even touch another woman for three years.”

She took a deep breath.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, letting my sudden anger drain away, “she had to face her parents eventually. Jack wouldn’t have anything to do with her, and she wouldn’t say who the father was. Everyone assumed it was me anyway.”

That just gave my old man another reason to bitch at me, saying I was refusing to face up to responsibilities or some shit. Yep, he made a personal visit to my training base—he really wanted to put the boot in once he couldn’t beat the shit out of me anymore. The fact that he wet his dick in half the nursing staff at the Base hospital was irrelevant, I guess.

I continued with the story. “But when Kimberley was born, she had all this dark brown hair and dark eyes; it was kind of obvious I wasn’t the father.”

“Kimberley?”

“She’s a great kid. I see them sometimes when I’m on the West Coast. Brenda married a car salesman a couple of years back. He’s a pretty nice guy and good with Kimberley.”

Caro nodded slowly.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for her—in the end.” She paused. “You didn’t tell me what happened to Donna and Johan. They were always kind to me.”

The walk down memory lane was painful, but I guess after all this time we needed it … needed to say things.

“Shirley stayed in touch with them. I saw them a few times after … Johan retired a couple of years back, and they moved to Phoenix. I heard he was pretty sick—leukemia, I think.”

Her face fell and she looked down.

“I’m sorry to hear that—they were a nice couple.”

I nodded but didn’t reply.

“What about that funny little friend of yours—Fido? What was his real name … um … Alfred? Albert? Arnold! What happened to him?”

God, these memories didn’t get any easier. Catching up really sucked.

“He enlisted just before me: the Rakkasans, 187th Infantry. He died eight years ago in Iraq—IED. Poor bastard never stood a chance. He didn’t even make it to twenty.”

Caro’s hands flew to her mouth and she looked distressed.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

We finished our coffees in silence, each of us lost in the past. I really needed to get out of here; if I kept moving, maybe the memories couldn’t catch me. Yeah, right.

“Ready to head for Chamonix?” I asked, pretty fucking anxious to get going.

Caro smiled, her eyes softening, making me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel. I had to look away.

“Yes, ready as I’ll ever be. Actually though, it’s more comfortable riding on that machine than I thought it would be. I just wish I’d worn something warmer.”

“Put your hands in my pockets this time,” I suggested. “That will help. And there’s a shop in Chamonix where we can get you some good gloves.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I can buy you some fucking gloves, Caro!” I said, my voice unnecessarily gruff.

“Fine!” she said briskly. “Although I have no idea what ‘fucking gloves’ are: made of latex, I suppose!”

I couldn’t help laughing loudly. “God, I love you, Caro!”

Oh fuck!

Did I really say that?

The startled look on her face told me that I did.

“Slip of the tongue,” I mumbled.

We crossed into France at Saint Gingolph. The border guard was an asshole and held us up longer than necessary when he realized we were American. I don’t think it helped that the occupation on my passport said ‘US Marine’. He wanted to show that he was one tough mofo by making us wait. I ran into his kind all the time—guys who thought they’d look like a big man if they took on a Marine. Let’s just say I’d be the one who was still standing at the end.

Eventually the dickwad let us through, and soon we were passing winding roads that threaded their way up into the Alps.

“This road leads to Italy,” I yelled over my shoulder. “How about a quick trip across the border?”

“Two countries in one day is enough!” Caro shouted back.

I hadn’t been serious, but now the thought had snuck into my brain, I really liked that idea. Caro, me, my bike, and the open road to Italy. Yeah, I really liked that idea.

Chamonix soon appeared out of the low mist that had settled in the valley. If I’d been in Afghanistan, I would be reaching for my weapon, on the lookout for an ambush, but all I could see here were picture-postcard chalets and fat, placid cows grazing on the lush grass.

To my left was the looming presence of Mont Blanc, thick snow capping the summit. Great snowboarding country.

But the town was almost deserted at this time of year: the winter skiers and snow-bunnies long gone, the summer tourists not yet arrived. That was fine by me.

I pulled up outside a shop that sold ski equipment. It wouldn’t be as good as a bike shop, but at least Caro wouldn’t be cold on the ride back.

“We’ll get you some ski gloves to wear,” I said, as I climbed off the bike. “Best I can do for now.”

The sales assistant stayed close as she followed us around the shop. It was slightly unnerving and I wondered if I’d ever fucked her. But she was smiling at me, so either I’d played nice in the morning—which seemed unlikely—or she was looking for a hookup.

Caro was quiet and I wondered what she was thinking. I picked up the first pair of gloves that I guessed were about the right size.

“How about these?”

“Ninety Euros!” she gasped. “Are you kidding me? That’s $115! For a pair of gloves!”

“Just try the damn things on, Caro,” I growled, irritated that she wouldn’t let me buy her something. When I was 17, I’d have given her the stars if I could, but I’d had no money. I had plenty now. All I’d ever spent my pay on was booze and bikes.

“No. That’s ridiculous,” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest, not realizing that pushed her tits together in a way that had my dick sitting up and paying attention. “There must be something cheaper.”