Authors: Cd Hussey
CHAPTER THREE
C
ompound life, it appears, is a lot like summer camp life. At least, a lot like the camp I went to as a kid. Wake up, go to breakfast, work a few hours, eat lunch, work a few more hours, an hour break, dinner, whatever activities you choose to fill your evening, go to bed. Repeat. Six days a week. We have Fridays off.
The activities even remind me of camp. Besides the swimming pool, basketball and volleyball courts, and rec room with billiards and darts, there are a couple horses, movie nights, and a gym.
Except for meals and work, I pretty much stick to my room, and more often than not I eat in my room too. Once Conrad gets shipped off to Site J, I'm truly able to keep to myself. I must be exuding a "leave me alone" vibe because everyone does.
Except Double D. I'm able to avoid him for the most part. He's easy to see coming, and whenever I catch sight of him heading my way, I literally find another path to take, or another task to occupy me. The one time I get cornered, I use continued jetlag as an excuse why I can't join the activity—a game of volleyball this time.
Work is tedious but easy to disappear into. Submittals and drawing reviews… I'm working on a couple projects: the demolition of buildings for a power substation, and grading for Site J. I still don't know if the work is for the military, the locals, all or none of the above, and quite frankly, I don't care. Seven months ago I might have had a strong political opinion on the matter, but now I'm just trying to survive, not destroy my career, and forget my past at the same time.
I'm not succeeding. At least not with the last bit.
After
two weeks of hibernating, I decide sitting in my room all night watching videos on my hard drive isn't cutting it. And wallowing in my own self-pity—apparently, my bland, box of a room is the perfect breeding ground for self-pity—definitely isn't cutting it. If I don't do something, I'm going to slide head first into a steaming pile of depression.
Exercise used to be a hobby for me; I hit the gym on a daily basis. Sure, there was vanity involved, but working out made me feel good. I was strong. I was fit. Now I'm just pathetic.
I suppose that's
one
thing I can rectify. And an easy way to get out of this box of a room.
Changing into workout clothes, I head for the gym. It's pretty late so I figure I'll have the place to myself. I couldn't be more wrong. At least half the security team is pounding away at the free weights. The room smells like testosterone and sweat, though I'm not sure there's actually a difference between the smells.
I try not to look at the men as I climb onto one of the ellipticals and power on my tablet.
With all the male grunting, I wish I'd brought earphones too. Even with heavy metal screaming in the background, tuning them out is impossible. I try to avoid looking anywhere but my reader, but I find my eyes drifting toward the free weights on the opposite site of the room. The first few times I force them back down, to focus on the letters etched into the glowing screen. Finally, I give up resisting. A quick peek. That's all I'll take.
I wish I hadn't. Trey is bench-pressing what equates to a car. Double D stands behind him chanting a series of, "C'mon. You got this. Just one more. C'mon, c'mon!" Trey powers though five or six reps, the muscles in his arms bulging and contorting with pure power. On the last push, he lets out a very sexual, very erotic sounding grunt before dropping the bar onto the hangers.
Double D glances my way and I quickly return my attention to my book. My face feels hot and I know I'm blushing.
I'm not usually such a sucker for brawn and muscle, but I feel a familiar yet foreign heat settle between my legs. It's been so long since I've felt any kind of sexual desire it's a weird sensation.
I guess it's a good sign since I'm trying to move on and all, but it still makes me uncomfortable as I try to ignore the bucket of sex across the room.
I focus more intensely on my tablet. The words are a blur of black scribbles, but I pretend anyway. Double D suddenly steps into my view.
I jerk in surprise and he grins. "Good book?"
"Um, yeah. It's great." I hope he doesn't ask what I'm reading because right now, I'm not sure I know. Given I lean toward romance or books with vampires and witches in them, I
am
certain it isn't something I want to share.
I glance around his bulky frame. Trey is chatting with one of the other men, his broad back to me. Good, he isn't paying me any attention.
"We're going to have some drinks later," D says. "If you're up for it, or course. And not still suffering from extended jetlag." The last statement seems a little accusatory.
"Drinks? Like milk and Kool-Aid?"
"Only if there's booze in it."
"I didn't realize you could drink here."
"As long as you aren't Muslim."
"Haven't yet converted."
I finally found the courage, desire, whatever, to even venture into the world of the living, I'm not sure I'm up for full-blown socialization. I can't keep blowing him off. And the prospect does sound better than the pity party that's been rocking my room lately.
"Yeah, so you know where the rec room is, right?"
It's adjacent to the room we're in, so of course I know. I nod.
"We're planning on shooting some pool and getting a couple local jugs."
I have no idea what "a local jug" means. I smile. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind."
"As opposed to…?"
I grimace.
"That's what I thought." He grins. "Well, if you decide you're not too tired or have something better going on, you know where to find us." He taps the front of my elliptical before rejoining the
Pride
.
I'm only halfway through my workout but decide to wrap it up anyway. I don't rush things though; the last thing I want is for the lions to think I'm uncomfortable. Which I am, of course, but they don't need to know that.
They're all gathered around in a huddle and talking quietly, planning the fourth quarter comeback no doubt. Double D's voice floats over. I can't quite make out what he's saying, but I recognize his drawl. My gaze still cast toward my book, I sneak another peek, twisting my eyes as far as they'll go without having to turn my head. My eye muscles strain in protest. Trey is staring directly at me.
Oh look. I finished my workout.
I don't even shut down the machine. I step off, do some half-ass stretches, grab my towel and water and still powered-on tablet, and jet from the room.
Even though I don't have a drop of sweat on me, the first thing I do when I return to my room is take a shower. I feel overheated and overexposed. A shower is what I need to cleanse my body and my mind. I have a brief, fleeting inclination to grab the vibrator still stashed in my suitcase. It's shocking since I haven't given that type of pleasure an ounce of my energy in months. Just as quickly as the desire hits me it vanishes.
The water sputters out with minimal pressure, like it has since I arrived. There's barely enough to rinse the conditioner from my hair, which is thankfully as short as it is. Any longer and I'd be here all night.
I blow-dry my hair like I have somewhere to go and not just a date with a crappy movie I've probably already seen. I really don't know why I'm bothering. Am I actually going to snap out of my funk long enough to join D and the others for drinks?
Right, and I might grow wings, too.
But I only get about thirty minutes into said crappy movie before I can't take anymore. I hate the woman I've become. Meek, shy, insecure, reclusive… I am none of those things. Or I didn't used to be. Why did I travel halfway around the world if I'm just going to mope in my room and wallow in the past? A change of scenery doesn't constitute real change. I've got to move on. I know that. It might have been an impossible task in Lawrence, where everything was a reminder of my life with Jim, but nothing here reminds me of him. Certainly not Trey or Double D or any of the other security guys or the engineers or the staff.
The only time I'm reminded of Jim is when I'm alone in my room. Which is exactly why I need to get the hell out of here.
The desert nights are cool, so I slip on a sweater, stuff my feet into knee-high boots, slap on just enough makeup I don't look like total shit, and head out the door.
I'm a grown woman, yet for some reason my heart thunders with anticipation as I approach the door to the rec room. The sounds of raucous laughter seep through the metal. All male, though that's not a surprise. Of the hundred or so people in this compound, I've only seen one other woman. She's another engineer, twenty or so years my senior. We haven't been introduced yet and I haven't made any effort to remedy that.
For the life of me I don't know why I'm so nervous. I'm used to socializing with men. Granted they're not usually such muscled alphas, but really, why the hell should that matter? The words,
meek
and
insecure
pop into my head. I don't like it.
I get my answer when I open the door, scan the room, and realize with a wave of disappointment Trey isn't here and suddenly, I'm perfectly calm.
Great, it's just the head alpha turning me into a puddle of insecurity. That doesn't make it better.
Double D spots me instantly. "Hey!" he cries, charging toward me. "It's new girl!" He throws a thick arm around my shoulder. Clear liquid sloshes out of the bottle gripped loosely in his free hand. "Glad you came out of hibernation."
"I do have a name," I say.
"Doesn't matter. We've already determined your nickname."
"Oh?"
"Yep." He takes a swig of the liquor and then offers me the bottle. This is what I'm here for so I take it. The liquor is horrid. I can't even tell what it is. I take another drink. Actually, it tastes like vodka flavored Everclear. Luckily, I've spent the last seven years of my life living in a college town where alcohol is part of the culture. I usually drink craft beers from small micro-brews and not nasty mystery alcohol. Regardless, I can hold my liquor.
"Hermit crab," D continues, "cause, you know, you like to hide in your shell."
I give him back the bottle and then shrug out from under his arm. "That's a horrible nickname."
"Is it the crab part? Cause we can just shorten it to Hermit."
"Not my favorite, but much better." And I have to admit, suiting.
I head for the pool table. I recognize all the security guys from the safety de-briefing but can't recall their names. Luckily, D introduces them: Junior, Rick, and Two Bit.
I shake each of their hands. As a woman working in a man's world I learned a long time ago to shake hands firmly. It seems especially important here and I squeeze each calloused hand with as much strength I can muster.
"You play pool?" Two Bit asks.
"Not very well."
He hands me the cue in his hand. "Cool. Let's put some money on the next game."
Junior racks the balls and Double D joins me at the table. He offers me the bottle. I didn't come here to get wasted, but there's barely any left so I'm probably safe. I take a swig and make a face. It really is horrid.
"You seriously need a mixer with that," I say as I hand it back. "Kerosene would work."
He grins. "We'll get it with the next bottle."
Next bottle? Uh-oh…
"You wanna break, H.C.?" he asks.
H.C…? Oh, for Hermit Crab. My nickname has already evolved. "Sure. Looks like I'll be the fifth wheel though," I say, indicating the four men standing around the table. I move to the end of the table and prepare to break, rosining the hell out of my cue. I'm afraid I'll miss completely but pretend I know what I'm doing.
"No worries, Rick can sit this one out."
I glance at the big, blond man. Like the others, he's six-foot-something, with hair that looks like it hasn't been cut in a few months, a two-week shadow (or more), arms the size of my thighs, and a few tattoos peeking out from under his T-shirt.
He salutes me, takes the bottle from D and then plops into a nearby armchair. "You've drank half this bottle, D, so my money's on H.C." His voice is quiet, soft.
"I'm not sure that's a wise investment," I tell him. I really am a mediocre pool player. Sometimes I get lucky, but usually not.
Today is one of those lucky days.
I send the cue ball sailing and manage not only to spread the balls evenly on the table, but sink a few too. All stripes. I stand tall, feeling a little too proud. "So, whose team am I on?"
"Mine," all three answer in unison.
"Hey, she wouldn't even be here if I hadn't pestered her into coming," D says. "So obviously she's on my team."
I'm once again reminded these men have probably seen very few women in the flesh in who knows how long. I suddenly realize I need to curb their enthusiasm. They may all be hunky, beefcake types, but they might as well be my brothers. There is zero attraction on my part.
"Easy, kids," I say as I walk over to Rick, grab the bottle and take a drink. I have to shake it off it's so horrible. "God, how do you drink that?" I ask as I hand the bottle back.