Saving Landon Part 55

Instead, I stepped up, wandering to her adjacent bathroom to drop the condom down the drain. After flus.h.i.+ng the toilet, I briefly showered, drying myself quickly and leaving the damp towel on the counter.

To her apparent confusion when I stepped back into the room, I didn't dive into bed to discuss our feelings. Instead, I merely began to tug on my boxer briefs... followed by my folded slacks and my b.u.t.ton-up, which I was now deftly clasping back together up my chest.

"Wait, where are you going?" My latest lay asked, glancing up at me sadly. The woman had a distinct layer of But what about the cuddling? plastered all over her face.

Sliding my watch around my wrist, I took a quick glance at the time. I could still make it.

"Banquet."

She leaned up from the bed, confused. "You've got a banquet to go to? How awesome is that? Can I come?"

Before I had a chance to answer, she was leaping up out of the bed, diving into her overflowing closet to rummage up something. It was almost endearing, maybe, how this latest conquest clumsily tried to include herself.

"No," I answered, cutting her off as I slipped on my shoes and tied the laces. "I'm afraid it's an exclusive thing... and besides. This was fun and all, but you're definitely not accompanying me to a banquet. You're not the right material for that."

The girl's jaw dropped. "You're a real a.s.shole."

"You knew what you were getting into," I smiled sardonically as I slipped on my blazer. "But that's okay. This was fun. I'd say I'd call you sometime, but... you know."

With eyes full of venom, she quickly tugged around in her closet for a s.h.i.+rt and a pair of panties. I wound up being the quicker dresser, and I was already diving into my shoes and closing the door behind myself as she prepared to slap the s.h.i.+t out of me.

I heard the door rip open, but I was already descending the stairs and around the corner.

"Dammit, Dalton!"

I grinned to myself. My latest lay apparently didn't want to make a half-naked scene in her apartment complex. Even if she tossed on a pair of jeans, my power-march was going to keep me out of sight all the way to my car.

It was only when I kicked on the ignition and glanced at the time that the warning bell in my head finally went off. I looked back at my Rolex. I'd failed to notice that it had stopped earlier, roughly forty minutes ago... G.o.dd.a.m.ned old world technology. I must have forgotten to wind it.

Aw, s.h.i.+t. I'm gonna be late after all.

39.

Arrogant Brit

Chapter 2.

We're never really told upfront what these banquets are actually for. The only things I knew about this particular event were the following: (A) it was a late evening affair, (B) the event was going to fill the room with a whole bunch of marines, and (C) apparently it was sort of a big deal.

That's why I was plenty surprised to find out that they had only put twelve of us on the payroll for the s.h.i.+ft. I'd expected something kind of small, given that server count. Most of our banquets were under a hundred people. Our usual ratio was one server to every ten guests, waiting on them hand and foot.

But this event seated over four hundred misogynistic Marines, half of them lecherously watching our a.s.ses as we strolled around.

Oh boy, did they love keeping us busy.

We were divided up to take roughly thirty-two Marines apiece, seated in groups of eight at large round tables. They'd specifically requested female servers, which hadn't struck me as anything I'd necessarily label a good omen.

But, you know, whatever. It's a gig. Another couple of hours' pay in my back pocket, although I wasn't exactly looking forward to the cleanup phase. I wasn't expecting to get out of here until midnight.

Not like I have a life, anyway.

At least it took some stress off of me about visiting my Mom. She had met this guy something like half a year ago, and they'd really hit it off. I'd spoken to him over the phone awkwardly a few times, but this was the big one. This was the part where I had to go physically meet him, him and his son.

I wasn't exactly looking forward to that. Moving into the city for school had successfully put an hour between us, and I'd been enjoying the degree of separation.

I mean I had lunch with her all the time.

Well, every two or three weeks.

Did I say weeks? I meant months.

Point is, I liked not having her stress over every facet of my day-to-day life, or following me around the house and venting about the most inane s.h.i.+t I could fathom.

Living on my own had been stressful and terrifying in its own right, but it seriously helped that I lucked out with the best roommate in the world my rich b.i.t.c.h (I say that affectionately) best friend, Natalie. Her parents had put her up in a high-rise condominium apartment that gave her a stunning look over the river, under the condition that she not live alone. Natalie, through virtue of being my friend since late junior high, offered it to me first.

Reluctantly, I said yes. I wasn't exactly comfortable with the arrangement and didn't want to take advantage of her kindness, so I spent a lot of my free time keeping the place spic and span from top to bottom.

In fact, that's pretty much what I'd spent my morning doing while she was out trying on new clothes and shopping with her rich friends. There was a distinct parallel to the way my work life lived... always getting to see that world, but never interact with it.

Sure, I lived in a nice apartment with a great friend who came from a super wealthy family... but none of that really belonged to me. It just wasn't my place in the grand scheme of things.

While I raced around to accommodate my guests, I started to grow fl.u.s.tered. The Marines were running me completely ragged, although I couldn't fault very many of their requests... it seemed like they were just particularly needy.

From the start, I noticed that there was a conspicuous missing person from one of my tables. As I filled a few gla.s.ses of water at their side, I snuck a peak at the tri-fold placeholder on the table: LCpl. Dalton Carlyle, 184th Steel Division.

"Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle should be joining us shortly," the disgruntled leader of this table's cozy little wolf pack told me. "He appears to be running late."

"Maybe a little bit," I replied, topping off his gla.s.s with the most professional grin I could muster. "Your man's already twenty minutes behind." I expanded my attention to the rest of the table. "Your salads will be out shortly. Does anybody need anything else?"

"No, ma'am."

"No, thank you."

"Negative."

"Very well then," I nodded politely, scampering off to fill up other water gla.s.ses with one hand, and sweet teas with the others.

I'd lucked out with most of my Marines. There were a couple of randy types, checking me out or watching me as I strolled away, but n.o.body had openly engaged me in hara.s.sing dialogue.

Even with that false sense of security...

I really should have seen it coming.

It was while I was handing out salads that he strolled in, his suit slightly rumpled and a bounce in his step. The late Marine looked startlingly handsome, with a broad build and strong jawline. Other tables paused to watch as he confidently sauntered towards my area, taking his seat nearby with a chirpy smile.

I tried to keep my eyes off of him as I focused on dispensing salads, but we made eye contact right before his a.s.s. .h.i.t the chair. It's when he opened his mouth that my knees almost quivered.

"Hullo, love. Sorry I'm late."

His rich English accent was music to my ears. Sophisticated, gritty, and yet somehow smooth, I could practically feel my panties moisten at the very sight and sound of him.

"Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle, I presume?" I asked, trying to keep my voice straight.

"In the flesh," he smiled coolly, watching me with a faint mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt and arrogance. "Does my reputation precede me?"

"That, or your name card. I'll let you decide which," I indicated politely enough as I handed him a modest house salad.

"Thank you... Clara," he replied, preparing to dive into the bowl.

"Wait. How do you know my name?" I asked. My thoughts went erratic as I watched him glance up, a cruel smile crossing his handsome face. Oh G.o.d, does this guy know who I am?

Dalton merely chewed as he pointed vaguely towards my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I glanced down in confusion. There it was... my silver nametag, pinned against my chest, with my first name spread across in invisible tape.

"I always forget I have this thing on," I chuckled nervously. "Anyway, do you need anything else for the moment, before I tend to the others?"

"Yeah, actually," Dalton smiled. To my horror, the other Marines at the table started to sigh, some of them smiling at each other and shaking their heads. "Got a menu?"

"This is a closed-course meal," I answered mechanically, not liking how they were apparently waiting for something.

"Well, that's a shame. I was going to ask for something sweet... Something that would melt in my hands and taste delicious... Can you think of anything you have that might satisfy my cravings?"

My smiling facade cracked for a second. Who does this guy think he is?

Dalton continued: "You'd realize what I really wanted... We'd have this great, big laugh and you'd find it really endearing, and in a few hours you'd be f.u.c.king me."

The Marines burst out in laughter. While one of them smacked the table, I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders up. "Right. Well, if that's all for the moment..."

Dalton half-smiled at me. "Lighten up, love. Take a b.l.o.o.d.y joke. I'm good." He glanced around the table. "You boys don't need anything, do you?"

They all shook their heads, composing themselves, and I drew in a deep, calming breath before turning on my heel... but not before accidentally making eye contact with Dalton again. He was looking at me curiously, his half-smile still plastered across his face.

What a p.r.i.c.k, I thought to myself as I tended to other tables. Dalton was an absolute d.i.c.k. I couldn't fathom how I found him attractive at all when he strutted into the room...

Except, he was always looking at me when my gaze went in that direction. I could feel his smoldering gaze on my back as I raced around, taking care of my guests.

Soon afterwards, it was time to line up and dispense the main courses to the guests. For the banquet, the organizing party had established sauteed salmon, grilled asparagus stalks, and a hearty helping of garlic red-skinned mashed potatoes. The chefs were running frantic in the kitchen, determined to keep the presentation as stellar and spotless as possible.

"Move along, ladies! Once this is over, the hard part's done!" Arnold rang out, quickly making minute modifications to the placement of details against the plates as he swiftly racked up six or seven entree plates to a large, black, oval dinner tray. His primary foodrunner was helping servers shoulder them between running plates and opening tray stands for us in our sections.

Unfortunately, the seating meant that we perpetually left a couple of Marines at the tables without food until returning a few minutes later, but they seemed to understand that we were doing the best we could.

If anything, it appeared that they enjoyed the additional opportunities to watch our a.s.ses strut along as we power-walked back and forth across the banquet hall.

Out of pure self-interest, I left Dalton's table last in the dropping off of entrees for my section. I could deal with him ogling me after seeing to it that everyone else was satisfied.

"Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen for the moment?" I asked his table politely, sliding the final entree plate to one of his seated companions.

"No, ma'am, I think we're all good here," the leader of the table smiled. "That'll be all."

"Actually, there's something else you can do for me," Dalton piped up.

I flashed him a smile, but my eyes said it all.

"Sure. What can I get for you, sir?"

Dalton's whites showed. "Well, I've taken a few bites of this, and it's quite good. It's missing a little something, though..."

He patted his thighs under the table.

"Why don't you come sit on my lap and give me a second opinion, hmm? Take a few bites. Tell me what can be done to give it a little kick."

I'm about to give YOU a kick, you smug son of a b.i.t.c.h, I muttered in my head.

"That... won't be possible, I'm afraid," I hastily but cordially answered.

"Oh, go on, humor me. I don't bite. Unless that's your fetish, that is..."

I started to grow red.

"So, you like the biting, huh? Nice little nibble into your shoulder while you're in the throes of love?"

The other Marines were snickering again, looking backwards and forwards between us. Only the leader was letting out a sigh, palming his face with his elbow against the table.

"Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle..."

"You can bite me too, if you'd like," Dalton smiled wickedly. "But only if you're being a bad little girl. And the thing about bad little girls is that, well... they get punished."

I swallowed my anger and gave him a curt little smile. As much as I wanted to retort back... I couldn't let him get to me, particularly not at work.

"Enjoy your meal," I replied, turning on my heel and strolling back towards the kitchen. I was done with that jacka.s.s.

"Actually, I could use a little salt!" Dalton called after me.

With an exasperated sigh, I whipped around, s.n.a.t.c.hed an unused shaker from a nearby table outside my section, and slammed it down beside his wrist. To my surprise, he actually flinched, and Marines at surrounding tables looked up from their meals.