Don't Bet On It by J. L. Salter Read Free Book Online

really want to spend much time with.” He swallowed hard. “Plenty of guys did, of course, and lots of those girls tended to get recycled, if you know what I mean.”
    I knew.
    â€œAnd I didn’t want to be part of that process.” Brett took a slow sip from his newly refilled beverage. “So I pulled back a bit, I suppose you could say. Just kept things superficial for the most part.”
    â€œSounds like you never had a serious relationship.” I couldn’t believe I blurted that out.
    It clearly startled him too and he was slow to reply. “Well, let’s just save that topic ‘til you know me a little better.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” Oops, I kept putting my feet into my mouth. And it killed conversation for a few long moments. I believed both of us really wanted to start over and I certainly wished I could erase the last ten minutes or so. I also figured I had hit another big nerve, which could explain Brett ’s use of wagers and other gimmickry to get my attention, rather than the old fashioned manner of just being himself. He’d evidently somehow reached a conclusion that “himself” wasn’t good enough — which I understood only too well, having spent much of my life feeling that same way.
    I finally thought of a way to hopefully lighten the mood. “I’ll bet I can guess the military unit you were in.”
    I’d caught him off guard and his lips curled slyly, his first relaxed grin in a good while. “How specifically?”
    â€œWell, not down to the company or squadron number… but just by sizing you up and the very little bit you’ve already revealed, I can discern the type of unit you were in, probably to the division.”
    â€œWithout peeking at my old uniforms?”
    â€œNo uniform.”
    That made him stop and think. “What happens if you win?”
    â€œIf I win this one, we never have any more wagers.”
    â€œWhat if I win?”
    â€œDon’t bet on it.”
    He was smiling rather warmly as he deliberated — made me think he was imagining me without clothing again. “If I win, you cook me supper tomorrow at your place.”
    â€œHa!” It was louder than I’d intended. “You’d lose anyway, because I can’t cook.” Then I blushed slightly. Momma warned me never to admit her failure to teach me adequate kitchen skills.
    â€œI’m willing to take my chances.” He studied me intently. “You’re not a mind reader, are you?”
    â€œNo, why’d you ask?”
    â€œWondered if you knew what I was thinking right now.”
    I felt heat in my face. Couldn’t tell exactly, but I’d guessed his thoughts were probably about me and something intimate. “Nope, I’ve got no idea what you’re thinking.”
    â€œThen there’s no way you’ll guess my unit.”
    â€œCavalry Division of the U.S. Army… don’t remember the number.”
    â€œFirst Cav… the only one.” He smiled. “How’d you know?”
    â€œLike I said… just sized you up.” I smiled back.
    He looked blank for a minute.
    â€œYour tattoo.” I pointed. “There on your, uh, biceps.” That well-developed muscle flinched as I mentioned it. “I figured that horse head on the shield could mean only two things: chess club nerd or Army cavalry unit… like the one Mel Gibson was in for that Vietnam movie.”
    â€œI never had the patience for chess… too slow for anything to develop.” Looking quite disappointed, Brett sat back in his chair and let out a slow whoosh of air. “You beat me so that means no more wagers.”
    I nodded. It felt nice to finally have the upper hand, though without use of snark.
    â€œDoes that also mean…?”
    I realized I had not calculated the ramifications of winning that sure bet. Our first gambles had been about trying to get him out of my