Chaos (Havoc Series Book Two) (12 page)

“If you tickle me do I not laugh?” I decide
it's not worth a response. Glove responds for me, “Tickle me in the
right place, and I'll do a lot more than laugh.”

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

He laughs for a bit and then follows with,
“Fine. I'll drop the issue of Mandy. For now.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you told Haven yet? About
training?”

My eyes glance out the window to the top down
black Beamer beside me. Looks brand new. Less than a year old. And
the rims on it look as expensive as the car itself. Guess the
teacher's get paid well here. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Fireworks
and a parade? Tell her, Grim. Tell her now.”

My head hits the back of my seat and I shut
my eyes. I don't need this fucking lecture from him too. “I know,
Glove. I will.”

“Ha. Now try to sell me that with a little
more truth and a little less full of shit.”

I gnaw on the inside of my bottom lip. When
the fuck did he become so reasonable? When the fuck did he start
caring so much? Maybe once you meet Haven you just can't help it.
Maybe it's like a magnet. You automatically become attached to
wanting to do better.

Opening my eyes I'm thankful when I see Haven
and Mandy coming out of the building talking. “Look, I gotta
go.”

“We still on for the range tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” he acknowledges. “Tell her.”

“I heard you. Later.”

And I hang up before he can repeat himself
like the insistent bastard he is. Reaching over I grab the long
stem yellow sunflower off the seat, and climb out of the car, dog
tags clinking loudly. I prop myself against my door watching as she
continues to walk along side Mandy giggling, tossing her head back
repeatedly in laughter. God she looks amazing. Natural. Free. The
way she deserves. The way any angel would. If I didn't know any
better I would say the way the sun is hitting her I could almost
see wings.

Before I realize it, she sees me and her
entire face lights up. Quickly she rushes for me and tosses her
arms around my neck holding me tightly.

“Clint!” her voice is high. I feel my ego
climb a couple notches. Amazing how she does that too. “What are
you doing here?”

“Thought I'd surprise you,” I say once she's
pulled away. My hand offers her the flower. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” she leans up and pushes her
lips against mine. The slightest taste of frosting left behind from
a busy day in the classroom now transferred to me. The taste of it
alone is enough to make me want more, but the fact it's mixing with
her own natural sweetness on her tongue, only makes me crave her
more. My hands around her waist grip her tighter. Her tongue rolls
around mine and I let out a deep groan in pleasure. Maybe I could
convince her to ditch her friends and come straight home with me
instead? I could think of a couple other parts of her I wouldn't
mind tasting.

“Oh enough already. You're making us single
folks jealous,” Mandy giggles.

Haven pulls her mouth away, but not her body.
Looking up I notice Mandy standing next to a tall guy who is
leaning against the Beamer. He's slender, tall with bright blonde
hair, an obnoxious smile, bright blue eyes, and is wearing a
uniform like theirs.

“Really,” the male joins the
conversation.

My body becomes on alert. Immediately,
tension burns down my throat like a shot of cheap vodka. It warms
my entire body just the same. Something about this feels wrong.
Very fucking wrong.

“Clint, this is my friend, Michele. Michele,
this is Clint.” Just Clint? When she introduced me to Mandy, I was
her boyfriend. Now I'm just Clint? The temperature in my blood
escalates.
You're just reading too much into this. Calm
down.

“Nice to finally meet you.” the accent in his
voice is now apparent. French. Great. My girlfriend's other best
friend while I am away is a French fucking model. Fantastic.

“And you.” The handshake is civil. I do my
best to remind myself that I trust Haven. She needs me to trust
her. Trust that every male in her life isn't trying to fuck her,
though it's clear this pompous asshole does. The familiar twinkle
in his eyes tells it all.

“We usually go to The Shack after class on
Friday's. Can we still go?” Haven looks up at me, starry eyed and
excited. Like I could deny her anything when she looks at me like
that.

“Of course, angel.” I push my lips on her
forehead once more. “That's the whole reason I surprised you. Mandy
and I arranged for me to tag along.”

Haven shoots Mandy a huge smirk, “You
didn't...”

“I did.”

“Aw, you shouldn't have,” Haven gushes with a
giggle.

“Yeah... you really shouldn't have,” Michele
grunts under his breath, barely audible. What the fuck did that
prick just say?

“We'll meet you two there!” Haven exclaims
walking around to the other side with me on her tail. I open the
door and allow her to slide in aware of the look on Michele's face
the entire time. I know that look. I've had that look. That's a
look of possession. That look will get him more than face full of
my fist. It could get him killed. My mind flashes back to sliding
the blade across Old Man Bank's throat. I quickly push the thought
away. I wouldn't kill this motherfucker unless he gave me a reason
to, like threatening Haven's existence the way that asshole
did.

Getting back into my car, I offer him a steel
cold look daring him to challenge me. The French fuck doesn't dare.
He starts his engine, puts on a pair of aviators, turns up some
bullshit new age rock, and backs out.

I start my car, so Haven can have air
conditioning but take a minute to collect myself. I can't fucking
believe she didn't tell me he was a dude. It's not that she can't
have male friends. She can. I am comfortable...er...getting
comfortable enough to be relaxed with the idea of guys being in her
life that aren't me. It's just they should just be ugly. Or gay. Or
ugly and gay. They damn sure shouldn't look like they walked off a
runway.

“Why didn't you tell me Michele was a guy?” I
shoot a look her direction after finally calming down enough to
buckle my seat belt.

“I thought I did.”

“You didn't.”

“Does it matter?” she smells her sunflower
sweetly.

Of course it fucking matters! I'm away
dodging bullets and Pepe Le Fuck You is most likely throwing
himself at her! Clearing my throat, I clutch the wheel a little
tighter to hold back my grievance as I back out of the parking lot,
“No. Not at all. Just took me a bit off guard.”

“He's really a sweet guy,” she hums inhaling
her flower once more lost in my romantic gesture more than the
signals of annoyance I'm sending off. Good. I like her wrapped up
in me. Thoughts of me. My actions. My words. My--

“Where are your tags?” I feel my breath
robbed from me as I pull up to a spot light. What. The. Fuck? No
tags. Ever since I saved her she's worn them around her neck.
That's our special connection. That's our own alpha. My chest
constricts. Feels like a boa constrictor is tightening around my
lungs.

“Right here,” she pulls them out of her
pocket not sensing anything is wrong. “They make us take off
jewelry in certain classes. I usually put them back on as soon as I
walk out of the building but someone distracted me...” Her
indication at me causes me to smile. She slides her hand across my
thigh releasing a bit of the tension from that situation while
recreating a new tension. A reminder that I haven't had sex with my
girlfriend in days.
Focus Marine
! “Turn left.”

So, her class requires her not to wear them.
I can live with that. She should be wearing them now though. That
French Frog needs to know she's mine. That her name is engraved in
my soul. Maybe I should roll up my sleeves so he can see my tattoo.
Fuck. Have I always been this over protective?

We pull into the parking lot and park beside
Mandy who drives a black Benz. The four of us enter and locate to a
corner booth, my body tangled with Haven's every chance I get. My
fingers intertwined with hers. Arms wrapped around her. Kisses
covering her body, hand, wrist, neck, cheek, lips. She doesn't seem
to mind. In fact she relishes the attention from me. She always
has. The French mistake however seems to get more and bitterer with
each passing action.

The waitress hands the French dick and Mandy
their menus, then Haven before letting her hand linger too long on
mine. Scooting closer to Haven I swing an arm around her shoulder
making a clear indication to everyone who is paying attention that
Haven and I are an item. A couple. One.

After Mandy and the French tag along order
alcohol, Haven orders a sweet tea, something she's become addicted
to she tells me, and I order water.

“You sure?” the waitress pops her hip out and
leans a hand on the table.

“I'm sure.”

“Not a beer or something stronger for a guy
like you....” her attempts at flirting makes Haven slink down in
the seat beside me. I can feel her body tense up.

“I'm good, thanks,” I insist and lean over
planting a kiss on Haven's cheek making sure to leave my lips
against it longer than necessary. While I enjoy her warm mocha skin
against my kiss, this is more about stating a fact. The waitress
sighs and strolls away. Haven's face warms and she giggles against
me.

“You're lucky I like you.” she turns and
pushes her lips on mine briefly.

“Just like me huh?”

Haven giggles again and Mandy lets out a soft
sigh. I lean forward to press my lips against hers again when a
French accent interrupts, “Better than nothing.”

My eyes immediately glare. Before I can
respond the waitress comes back placing down our beverages
insisting she will be back with the rest shortly. Instead of
bothering with my own menu, I peer over Haven's shoulder and listen
to her sweetly explain to me her favorites and recommendations. She
explains how the burgers are great, but the chicken sandwiches
aren't. The fries are so-so, the onion rings are better, but the
curly fries are the best. Every word that comes out of her mouth
feels like she's feeding something deeper inside of me.

After Haven explains, and the alcohol is
delivered, everyone places their usual order according to Mandy. I
copy my girl's order trusting her choices.

The conversation begins with them talking
about something they just went over in class. I would be full of
shit if I said I understand anything about the importance of
measuring certain ingredients or the importance of using whole milk
instead of skim milk. Fuck, I haven't felt this outside my element
since the first time she came into my life. I do my best to observe
and understand. To make notes on topics to discuss with her later.
To find ways to connect to her. To be a part of her world.

Mandy who has wiggled out of her Chef coat
revealing a black tank underneath, shifts subject as she folds her
arms on the table, “So...graduation is coming.” Seriously? That's
something else I didn't know. I fucking hate this list gets longer
and fucking longer. “You picked a dress?”

I move my arm so Haven can slide off her chef
jacket, a yellow spaghetti strap underneath, neckline revealing her
perky boobs. My eyes catch Michele's on them. I wish she'd put her
jacket back on. Instead she drapes her dog tags on. The sight makes
me grin like a child who just weaseled his way out of trouble. My
girl. See.

Realizing I'm staring, Haven tilts my head
up. “Hi honey...”

“Sorry.” my face flushes briefly.

Mandy giggles and leans against the window,
pulling the cosmo glass to her lips, “I think it's cute. He can't
keep his eyes off of you.”

“See. Mandy thinks it's cute.”

Haven rolls her eyes and giggles too. “Maybe
a little.”

She leans over to kiss my lips when Michele
buts in. “Not very gentleman like.”

My eyes lower to glare, but Mandy hops back
in the conversation. “What about that gold dress? The one you tried
on last weekend. Did you grab it?”

“The one without the straps?” Michele cocks a
grin obviously picturing my girlfriend in whatever dress she
wearing.
“You saw her in a dress?” my voice comes out much less stable than
I intended. My fingers start flexing an all too familiar buzz
coursing through them.

“It's not like I saw her naked,” the comment
startles me to automatically hop up to put my fist in his overly
whitened teeth, rage coursing so swiftly through my veins I'm not
sure anything can stop me from snapping his overly thin neck.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Clint,” Haven says softly, her hand landing
on my arms, which pushes me back in my seat. The warmth of her hand
manages to suck the poison rage straight from my blood, cooling me
down briefly.

When my eyes finally pry themselves away from
the prick, I let them fall into Haven seeing a desperate need for
me to calm down. To not embarrass her. To be civil. God. Am I
really behaving like such a savage?
Come on Marine! Hold your
shit together!

“Sorry,” my mouth whispers out the apology to
her.

She smiles sweetly and raises her hand to my
cheek. “It's okay.”

Before the conversation has a chance to
spiral back that direction, food is delivered. After dismissing the
waitress, the feeling at the table becomes incredibly less heavy,
which is good because the last thing I need is for Haven's friends
to fear me. Fuck. What was I thinking?

“So...” Michele lifts his attention off his
grilled chicken salad to me. What kind of man eats a grilled
chicken salad while the women eat hamburgers? “You're in the army
right?”

A long exasperated sigh escapes me. I have to
stay in control. Be. Calm. “Marines.”

“Really all the same, isn't it? Out
protecting this great nation of ours,” the words sound pretentious.
Stuck up. Even worse in his accent. My fingers dig into my burger
tighter.