Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I swear. And I would never mean any disrespect to the real veterans of Easy Company.

A/N: A HUGE shout-out to bayumlikedayum—this chapter is for you! And thank you to everyone else who read and reviewed! You'll be happy to know I have a couple chapters already typed up and ready to be posted. Enjoy this one!

CHAPTER TWO

Oh, he was a smooth one—or at least making the attempt to be.

George still had that lopsided smirk on his face, which left Grace wondering how many beers it had taken to get to this point because clearly he was one of those borderline-sloppy, happy, lovey-dovey drunks. He let his gaze wander across her curvy, yet tall, frame. She had a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, weaving nonsense patterns under emerald-green eyes. George's vision soon strayed way below hers, which earned him a disapproving frown.

Grace looked him squarely in those half-lidded brown eyes. "I'm engaged."

He didn't seem impressed. "Ta who?" George slurred.

"None of your business, soldier," Grace snapped.

In an instant, George was horribly mistaken about her virtuousness and apparent uptight demeanor. Under the freckle-faced exterior, there wasn't anything innocent or stiff about this young woman. She had an attitude, which George had to admit he enjoyed, so the lopsided grin stayed put.

"Funny…I don't see a ring."

"It's safe at home with my fiancé. You'll just have to take my word for it, won't you?"

She was feisty. He liked this—a lot. George didn't know if it was his own thoughts or the influence of the alcohol (probably both), but coming over here to talk to this young skirt was definitely the greatest of all ideas.

"Maybe, maybe not," he teased. "We'll see how the night goes."

Grace shook her head and took a huge gulp of her beer to mask the strange feeling that had washed over her swiftly from that one comment.

"You certainly seem very sure of yourself."

"Well, so do you," he replied, emptying the contents of his beer glass. He tried to place it on the counter behind them but missed, nearly dropping the glass onto the floor. George wavered a bit before finally slamming it on top of the wooden surface.

Grace didn't understand. "How do you mean?"

"Walkin' into a bar full-a handsome troopers with an invisible ring on your finger. 's awfully brave, ya know."

Grace had to give him some credit for trying, although she'd never admit that to him aloud.

"I have a man waiting on me at home who has a little more class than you do."

He chuckled. "Lemme take a guess and say he's a lousy 4-F."

"Certainly not."

"Nothin' he does could possibly compare to a roomful of paratroopers."

"I have the utmost respect for what you do for our country."

Grace didn't think that lopsided smirk could get any more crooked, but in fact, it did. She wasn't sure now if that was supposed to be a veiled innuendo in there somewhere. With the way this George Luz character had sauntered over to greet her, Grace wouldn't have been surprised.

"You won't be fightin' off the guys for long," he stated matter-of-factly.

"And by guys, you mean you, right?"

"I might."

She took yet another large gulp of beer, which was becoming a new automatic response to social situations that made her squirm. It was ridiculous, but Grace couldn't exactly help it. For the life of her, she couldn't remember a time when she'd had such a biting, cynical conversation with a man. Christopher would never in a million years slip any innuendoes into a sentence as easily as George Luz.

"You sure move fast."

"We're in the middle of a war," he said, like she didn't know this already, "Can't afford ta take things slow." He paused, looking away, distracted for the moment, by his beer glass that was no longer sitting on the counter. "…Lemme buy us another round, huh?"

"I'd rather not," Grace said quickly. She had yet to drain the contents of her glass, anyway. "You'll get me intoxicated enough to do something morally undignified, which I'll end up regretting. Then you'll go running off to tell the fellas about your latest—"

"Listen," he said seriously, interrupting. "I may have a devilish streak, but I ain't that kind of man, okay?"

Silence settled between them again. Grace finally emptied her glass and set it down beside her. George was mulling around the thought of asking her if she would really regret it, but he held his tongue. He, for the first time in the course of their exchange of words, was caught off guard by her next proposition.

"So…do you want to place a bet on this?"

"On what?"

"Me avoiding you during my stay with the company."

George gaped at her, recognizing the spark in her green eyes. She was trouble, too. He knew it. There was a playfulness buried in that attitude.

"I don't gamble with dames."

Grace laughed loudly for the first time since she had arrived in England. The sound made something within George soar, and he decided there and then that this skirt should never stop laughing. It was music to his inebriated ears.

"What?"

"How wrong you are," Grace chuckled.

Realization slowly dawned on his brain, which was by this point, swimming in alcohol. "Didn't mean it like that. I meant—"

"I know what you meant," Grace assured him. "And I have two brothers. I'm not afraid of a little gambling, soldier."

"You serious?" he asked.

Grace fought off the warning voice in her head that told her this was definitely a bad idea and nodded. It was just a stupid bet to make things interesting while she was here. No harm done. At the end of this entire thing, she'd be richer, depending upon how much money was at stake. Money she could use for the wedding or their honeymoon…

"All right. All right, now we're talkin'. I bet you a whole month's jump pay you'll be forgettin' all about your classy fiancé in my presence."

Grace thought back to all she had read on the Airborne. Jump pay…she was positive they received fifty dollars extra a month for going into the paratroops.

She raised an eyebrow. "You're going to waste fifty dollars?"

"I ain't wasting nothing. Cheap price to pay for a gal like you. Not that I'll be payin' it."

Grace couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips. "You are one confident bastard."

"Hey, I try," George shrugged. "It's all part of my charm."

Green eyes rolled sarcastically underneath long, dark eyelashes. "I don't know how on earth you expect to win this bet if you haven't even asked for my name, soldier."

And then she walked away, meandering toward the door without saying anything else, not even goodbye. George watched her retreating from him until her red hair and long legs disappeared behind it. He lit a much-needed cigarette and took a lengthy, deep drag.

"Well, shit," he muttered, looking slack-jawed at the closed door. George gave a moment's thought to going after her, but he dismissed it—he didn't want to press his luck any further tonight. Instead, he ordered himself another beer and swayed off in search of someone who was willing to play a game of darts.

Outside, Grace lingered on the curb, for reasons unknown to her. Why was she waiting? Did she actually think he would come stumbling out after her? Grace inwardly kicked herself for such thoughts. She didn't need some sloppy drunk with a crooked grin and chocolate brown eyes to occupy her time when she had Christopher already betrothed to her back in New York City. She didn't.

Heaving a sigh, she threw another glance at the door. When it didn't open, Grace finally stepped off the curb and headed back to where she was billeted, shoving the nagging feeling of disappointment to the furthest, darkest corners of her mind.