HIS BABY TO BEAR - 8

HIS BABY TO BEAR - EIGHT

Jerome smacking his lips, kicking back the next tequila shot, and felt the burning heat of it flow down his throat, Jerome smacking his lips, kicking back the next tequila shot, Jerome It tasted like a wonderful night mixed with a trace of regret. But he ignored the latter, instead raising his hand and asking for another round.

"Wait a second, lieutenant. "Some of us have to go to work tomorrow," Tim jokingly pointed out.

"There's just one unlucky fucker like him at the table, and his opinion doesn't matter," Tom cynically told his brother.

"Tim, you shouldn't be whoring yourself off like that." Squad Eight, as you know, is a bunch of camouflage failures. Jerome leaned back in his wooden chair, taking in his surroundings. He said, "Nothing positive ever comes out of the infantry."

Not everyone in The Firm was an Army, and much to Squad Six's chagrin, the corporation kept bringing in teams whose sole purpose seemed to be to boost them.

He snatched an empty beer bottle cap in mid-flight, flipping it between his fingers a second later as he continued his preoccupied recon. It was the night after another mission that had resulted in little more than a few more bruises and a few thousand dollars more in his bank account, and as usual, that meant they'd be sitting down with the team and letting loose.

Alvin had been the first to go about an hour previously, but Jerome knew he'd met a hot redhead at the pub and that had to explain for his sudden departure. Shaun and Mitch had both done the same thing. Jerome had last seen them hauling away a matching pair of blondes who were most likely having the time of their life in the competent hands of the werecougar twins.

So he, Tim, and Tom were left at the upscale Batangas restaurant, sticking out like sore thumbs amid the yuppies and techies. I found it difficult to ignore them. Each of them took up at least double the area of any other man in the room, and they all exuded a military atmosphere. It takes discipline, strength, and, most importantly, flat abs.

While they sipped their drinks, Jerome noticed at least five pairs of eyes on each of them. Women who would gladly follow them home or steal a moment in a back alleyway. But he was having none of it. In reality, he hadn't shown any interest in a woman in a long time. That was unusual for him, as he was usually the first guy to call it a night and then continue his evening with a stunning piece of curvy ass.

But here he was, completely uninterested in anything but drinking with his companions. Nonetheless, his gaze darted around the room, as if searching for someone.

"I need the money," Tim said quietly, his tone indicating he didn't want any questions about it.

Jerome shared a look with Tim's brother Tom before shrugging and taking the shot glasses from the waitress' tray. She'd shown as soon as Jerome asked for more drinks, as if she'd been waiting for the chance to dazzling them with her presence. Jerome was convinced she'd been staring at their table the entire night. The dog tags had to have been the final straw.

"I guess it's getting late now." I haven't gone to Batangas in a long time. While this jackass is at work, I figured I'd go check out the old haunts. "We served in the Alameda area for a long, so this seems almost like home," Tom remarked, clinking his glass against Jerome and Tim's. "Salut."

"Salut," Jerome replied again, looking like the lone drinker at the table.

As soon as their shot glasses landed on the table, Tom and Tim were on their feet. They saluted Jerome leisurely, which he returned with equal zeal.

"Are you going to stay, lieutenant?"

" Tim asked, grabbing his leather jacket and slinging it over his shoulders.

He was the group's communications person, but he didn't let them off the hook when it came to anything physical. Looking at him, one might think Tim was just an ordinary jerk, but Jerome and the rest of his team did nothing to dispel that notion, which helped them to be perceived as some thick, dumb meatheads.

"Yeah, I guess I'll do another round or two," I say, adding that I'll be there in a few minutes. "See you at the drop on Thursday," he mumbled, his face half-heartedly smiling.

Jerome caught the Crawley brothers' eye before nodding and stomping away like gladiators come to life. Jerome sipped his almost-stale drink as he watched them go away through the thick crowd. It dulled the pain of the shot, but he knew he needed another. Or maybe three.

He waved to the brunette waitress who was attempting way too hard to attract his attention while keeping one eye on the audience. The first time she bent over and showed him her magnificent ass, he dismissed it as carelessness, but the third time was the human equivalent of humping someone's leg. It would have set his motors churning quicker than anything else a few years ago. It was a turn-on like no other to see a lady want it so desperately and be prepared to work for it. But what about now? Didn't help him at all. She drew in closer, setting a shot glass in front of him and emptying the others. "Is there anything else I could offer you, babe?" she inquired, her long lashes fluttering. He was ready to snarl at her when he noticed her eyes. They made him hesitate, and it wasn't until she scowled slightly, marring the delicate lines of her painted-on face, that he awoke from his reverie. Her eyes appeared to be those of someone else...

Someone he'd tried to drink away since that terrible night in Manila.

"No, not right now." "Thank you," he muttered, his grin making her smile like a Christmas tree.

He was completely aware of his actions. He'd given her reason to be optimistic. He wasn't supposed to do it, but her gaze made him think he wouldn't be going home alone that night. If only I could look into her green depths and think she was someone else.

"Call me if you need anything," she muttered, sauntering away with enough hip wiggle to cause the world's axis to shift.

Jerome couldn't lie, so he stood there watching her walk away. But it didn't seem to bother him.

He grimaced as he wrapped his fingers around a glass and twirled it around on the table's hardwood surface, his gaze riveted on the crowd. Years of training, the kind that was drilled into his very being and became so ingrained in him that he had to think there was never a time when he wasn't like that, kept him noticing the smallest details.

For example, the chubby small guy kept brushing his fingers through his hair, hoping to hide his dissatisfaction with his receding hairline. Or how the three girls at the bar were giggling as loudly as they could in an attempt to attract someone to buy them a drink and pay attention to them.

Or how the lovely brunette crept through the crowd, looking more than a bit apprehensive as she followed in the footsteps of her pal. She seemed to prefer to be somewhere else, and a flare of heat pierced Jerome's stomach.

It hit him before he realized who he was looking at. His jaw flew open, and he nearly fell off his foolish chair, leaning back to grab one more glimpse of the gorgeous curve of her neck and those strands of curls that lay so perfectly on her creamy skin.

Libby.

Just thinking about that name flipped his life upside down, and his heart plummeted into his boot. His bear screamed, forcing Jerome's throat to growl, which was only drowned out by the bar's deafening ruckus. Jerome snatched the shot from the table and downed it while pulling a wad of cash from his pockets and tossing it on the table with the other hand.

Finally, a game and prey worth pursuing.