1538 ZULU
Jag HQ
Falls Church, VA
I can't believe I kissed Harm. I mean, we've kissed before. At Norfolk, but that doesn't really count. Then on the Admiral's porch. And then again at the Roberts' Christmas party. Just a nice little mistletoe kiss between friends.
Right.
Just like that was a nice little office kiss between coworkers.
This is not helping MacKenzie. Think. You have to see Harm in court in a few minutes. Do you want to be blushing like some schoolgirl? Like the almighty aviator ego needs another woman swooning at his feet.
Besides, like Marines swoon anyway.
So. How to handle this?
I tap my pen against my legal pad as I try to think of anything other than the smooth curve of his cheek and his aftershave. Brut?
That isn't helping either, Marine. Focus.
He is kind of a Brut man. A little rugged, a little dangerous. What am I saying?
I don't even know why I'm worrying about any of this. Knowing Harm he'll just clam up and pretend like nothing happened. We'll avoid each other for a few days. Then we'll just go back to the way things were before.
I'm tired of the way things are. I have no idea how to change them, though, where I don't wind up getting the shaft.
Damage control, Colonel. You have court in fifteen minutes.
Locking lips with Harmon Rabb, Jr. isn't really all that adverse to me. In fact, all three times it's been a rather enjoyable experience.
Particularly the last two where it's been a little clearer that I wasn't just the only active participant. That kiss on the admiral's porch—a Harmon Rabb a little passionate and needy. Out of control.
Perhaps that's what I need to win this little bet, or game, or whatever it is. Keep Harm off his balance and a wonderful seat next to him will be mine.
Hmmm…don't let him know the kiss affected me. And don't let him know I have anything else in mind beyond winning a Superbowl seat off of him.
Unless he seems receptive to something else.
********
I saunter back to my office, unable to keep the smile off my face as I think about her leaning in so close to me, her perfume, in fact my favorite perfume—her Christmas present from me—lulling my senses to sleep. I glance at Mac's door and note it's closed, as well as the blinds.
My earlier resolve to let her sweat it out is faltering.
Perhaps she didn't mean for the kiss to happen. I was goading her on, and Mac's never one to back down from a challenge. Sometimes we both get carried away. I should just tell her the truth about the seats. She won't want to fly with me anyway.
We have court in a few minutes. I don't want her to think I—I—
What? Didn't enjoy it?
Do I want her to think I did enjoy it?
It's not like it was some deep, passionate, kiss. It wasn't just a kiss between friends either. Why do things always have to be so complicated between us? Why can't Mac just kiss me—or I kiss her—without all this emotional baggage we've been lugging around for the past three years. Why can't we go forward from here?
Is Mac willing to go to this step of our relationship? Using her feminine wiles to sucker me into doing or giving her what she wants. Taking our friendship to a more personal, romantic level. God, I hope so. I've been wanting this for a long time.
Maybe I can use this Superbowl thing to my advantage. I highly doubt, given how sick she gets when she's up in the air in a tomcat that she'll want to ride with me on my mission. Besides, that position belongs to Skates—she is my RIO after all—and in the off chance that something does happen that needs my aviation services, it might be best to have Skates with me.
Not that Mac was a bad RIO when we were in Russia.
So, the nice Superbowl game snuggled under a blanket for warmth, her warm moist breath against my ear as she comments on how great the Rams offense is, is out. I suppose since I'll be flying back to Pensacola that the nice romantic walks and dinners in the Big Easy are out as well. So that leaves me with…? Not much, by my count.
In FantasyWorld, Mac would be waiting for me in Pensacola when I finished providing cover for the game. We'd go out, maybe to a nice little fish grotto in the area, maybe further south to the warmth of the Keys, and take a walk along the boardwalk. She'd tease me about how she was right about the Rams kicking the Steelers' sixes, and that I owed her…a nice massage which I would be only too happy to oblige her with. She would murmur a sound of approval as I began to knead her shoulders. I would bend my head close to her ear and whisper something, like "you enjoy that marine?" and she would nod her head. Then I would place one, then two, then three kisses along her neck, traveling from her shoulder to her jaw and ask, "how 'bout that?" And she would nod again, and sigh contentedly and somehow from there to five years in the future we'd be married and already fulfilled our baby deal, a son, with another one, a daughter, on the way.
Alas reality has a nasty way of intruding on this life. I'm late for court.
I bump into Mac as she's charging out the door. She's late, too?
"Whoops! Excuse me, Commander."
"Sorry, Mac. Internal clock off, Marine?" I can't help ask.
"Not at all, Squid. I wouldn't miss the chance of a little pre-trial sparring with you. Can't get that if I'm actually on time, you know."
"You mean a little pre-trial sucking up," I correct, albeit a little arrogantly. I wouldn't really be all that surprised if she kicked my six.
"Doesn't hurt with the Superbowl at stake." She flashes me another one of her beautiful smiles, and I swear she's brushing up against me on purpose as we walk to the courtroom. She's definitely wearing the perfume I bought her. Does that mean something for me, for us, or just that she likes the scent of 'Beautiful', too? We're halfway to court before I realize I don't have any of my files for the case.
"Uh…" I begin, not quite sure how I can save face here.
She stops walking and looks at me and I swear a see a little doubt cloud her face, but it's gone when she looks down at my hands and realizes I'm not carrying my briefcase. Something more like glee has replaced it.
"I forgot my files. I just need…" I gesture back towards the bullpen and my office. She nods in sympathetic understanding.
I swear I hear a snort of laughter as I walk away.
TBC
Jag HQ
Falls Church, VA
I can't believe I kissed Harm. I mean, we've kissed before. At Norfolk, but that doesn't really count. Then on the Admiral's porch. And then again at the Roberts' Christmas party. Just a nice little mistletoe kiss between friends.
Right.
Just like that was a nice little office kiss between coworkers.
This is not helping MacKenzie. Think. You have to see Harm in court in a few minutes. Do you want to be blushing like some schoolgirl? Like the almighty aviator ego needs another woman swooning at his feet.
Besides, like Marines swoon anyway.
So. How to handle this?
I tap my pen against my legal pad as I try to think of anything other than the smooth curve of his cheek and his aftershave. Brut?
That isn't helping either, Marine. Focus.
He is kind of a Brut man. A little rugged, a little dangerous. What am I saying?
I don't even know why I'm worrying about any of this. Knowing Harm he'll just clam up and pretend like nothing happened. We'll avoid each other for a few days. Then we'll just go back to the way things were before.
I'm tired of the way things are. I have no idea how to change them, though, where I don't wind up getting the shaft.
Damage control, Colonel. You have court in fifteen minutes.
Locking lips with Harmon Rabb, Jr. isn't really all that adverse to me. In fact, all three times it's been a rather enjoyable experience.
Particularly the last two where it's been a little clearer that I wasn't just the only active participant. That kiss on the admiral's porch—a Harmon Rabb a little passionate and needy. Out of control.
Perhaps that's what I need to win this little bet, or game, or whatever it is. Keep Harm off his balance and a wonderful seat next to him will be mine.
Hmmm…don't let him know the kiss affected me. And don't let him know I have anything else in mind beyond winning a Superbowl seat off of him.
Unless he seems receptive to something else.
********
I saunter back to my office, unable to keep the smile off my face as I think about her leaning in so close to me, her perfume, in fact my favorite perfume—her Christmas present from me—lulling my senses to sleep. I glance at Mac's door and note it's closed, as well as the blinds.
My earlier resolve to let her sweat it out is faltering.
Perhaps she didn't mean for the kiss to happen. I was goading her on, and Mac's never one to back down from a challenge. Sometimes we both get carried away. I should just tell her the truth about the seats. She won't want to fly with me anyway.
We have court in a few minutes. I don't want her to think I—I—
What? Didn't enjoy it?
Do I want her to think I did enjoy it?
It's not like it was some deep, passionate, kiss. It wasn't just a kiss between friends either. Why do things always have to be so complicated between us? Why can't Mac just kiss me—or I kiss her—without all this emotional baggage we've been lugging around for the past three years. Why can't we go forward from here?
Is Mac willing to go to this step of our relationship? Using her feminine wiles to sucker me into doing or giving her what she wants. Taking our friendship to a more personal, romantic level. God, I hope so. I've been wanting this for a long time.
Maybe I can use this Superbowl thing to my advantage. I highly doubt, given how sick she gets when she's up in the air in a tomcat that she'll want to ride with me on my mission. Besides, that position belongs to Skates—she is my RIO after all—and in the off chance that something does happen that needs my aviation services, it might be best to have Skates with me.
Not that Mac was a bad RIO when we were in Russia.
So, the nice Superbowl game snuggled under a blanket for warmth, her warm moist breath against my ear as she comments on how great the Rams offense is, is out. I suppose since I'll be flying back to Pensacola that the nice romantic walks and dinners in the Big Easy are out as well. So that leaves me with…? Not much, by my count.
In FantasyWorld, Mac would be waiting for me in Pensacola when I finished providing cover for the game. We'd go out, maybe to a nice little fish grotto in the area, maybe further south to the warmth of the Keys, and take a walk along the boardwalk. She'd tease me about how she was right about the Rams kicking the Steelers' sixes, and that I owed her…a nice massage which I would be only too happy to oblige her with. She would murmur a sound of approval as I began to knead her shoulders. I would bend my head close to her ear and whisper something, like "you enjoy that marine?" and she would nod her head. Then I would place one, then two, then three kisses along her neck, traveling from her shoulder to her jaw and ask, "how 'bout that?" And she would nod again, and sigh contentedly and somehow from there to five years in the future we'd be married and already fulfilled our baby deal, a son, with another one, a daughter, on the way.
Alas reality has a nasty way of intruding on this life. I'm late for court.
I bump into Mac as she's charging out the door. She's late, too?
"Whoops! Excuse me, Commander."
"Sorry, Mac. Internal clock off, Marine?" I can't help ask.
"Not at all, Squid. I wouldn't miss the chance of a little pre-trial sparring with you. Can't get that if I'm actually on time, you know."
"You mean a little pre-trial sucking up," I correct, albeit a little arrogantly. I wouldn't really be all that surprised if she kicked my six.
"Doesn't hurt with the Superbowl at stake." She flashes me another one of her beautiful smiles, and I swear she's brushing up against me on purpose as we walk to the courtroom. She's definitely wearing the perfume I bought her. Does that mean something for me, for us, or just that she likes the scent of 'Beautiful', too? We're halfway to court before I realize I don't have any of my files for the case.
"Uh…" I begin, not quite sure how I can save face here.
She stops walking and looks at me and I swear a see a little doubt cloud her face, but it's gone when she looks down at my hands and realizes I'm not carrying my briefcase. Something more like glee has replaced it.
"I forgot my files. I just need…" I gesture back towards the bullpen and my office. She nods in sympathetic understanding.
I swear I hear a snort of laughter as I walk away.
TBC