Page 3 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

Everyone at the table, including JAM, who was back, turned to assess the subject of Merrill’s affections as she stopped to talk to some big blond guy in a dark suit with a white shirt and blue tie (as compared to a dork in a white tux with pink accessories). It was Karl Gustafson, a local guy who owned a convenience store and gas station. She was chatting with him in a way she never talked to Merrill.

“Holy crap! Is that . . . yep, it’s Goose,” Hamr said.

“What?” several guys asked.

“Goose Gustafson. Remember him? Linebacker for the Cowboys before his knees gave out.”

On those words, Hamr stood and walked over to join Chatty Cathy and the blond god, who apparently pumped more than gas.

“Well, shiiiit!” Merrill muttered, feeling an unfamiliar tug of jealousy. Bad enough that she’d given him the cold shoulder, so far, but did she have to be all nicey-nicey with the Viking stud? Yeah, he’d pretty much given up the fight, so far, and yeah, he had enough on his plate at the moment without wasting time on an affair that would probably go nowhere. Still . . .

“This is the first I’ve heard about you biting the big one, Geek. I don’t recall meeting her when we were here at Christmas,” JAM mentioned. “What’s her name?”

“Delilah Jones,” Merrill answered, reluctantly, knowing what would come next. “She just moved here this spring.”

“Her name is Delilah . . . Delilah Jones?” Slick sputtered. “Sounds like a porn star to me.”

“Me, too,” Merrill said. “And I might have made the mistake of mentioning that the first time we met. Which is probably why she avoids me like crotch itch. One of the reasons, anyhow. I don’t know what else I’ve done that could have pissed her off so much.”

“Did you know there’s a website that tells women, and men, what their porn star names would be?” interjected Master Chief Frank Uxley, aka F.U. He was the rudest, crudest Navy man to ride the waves, and that was saying a lot. “Mine would be Frank Bonier. Get it? Bone Her.”

“Shut up,” Merrill ordered F.U., who sat opposite him.

“Up yours,” F.U. retorted with a smile, not at all insulted.

Merrill ignored F.U. and went on to explain to JAM and Slick his various encounters with Delilah and how not into him she was.

“When I asked her out on a date, she looked at me like I had three heads.”

“What are you, like fourteen?” Slick asked. “Even I know that people today don’t date. ‘Friends With Benefits,’ my man!”

“You guys are full of it. ‘Friends With Benefits’ is so 2016. The correct term is ‘Netflix and Chill.’ It’s the new ‘Friends With Benefits,’” explained Ensign Marcus Weller, new guy on the teams. And young for a SEAL, too, at only twenty-two. “Stream Ghost and you’re in like Flynn.” He waggled his eyebrows with meaning.

“Oh, that’s just great. I walk up to a woman and say, ‘Wanna watch some flicks and fuck?’”

“Whatever works,” advised JAM, who tended to lose his priestly attitude after a few beers. Never in a million years would JAM approach a female in that way, though, drunk or sober.

“Personally, I haven’t approached a woman in years,” Slick said. “Connections in a bar work for me.”

“That’s because you’ve been burned by your ex-wife so many times, you’re afraid of commitment,” Merrill said.

“Who died and named you Dr. Phil?” Slick countered.

“Flash used to swear by the Gospel According to Hank Williams,” contributed Lt. Cody O’Brien, who still mourned the death of his close friend, Travis “Flash” Gordon, who died in an explosion last year in Baghdad. In their decade-long stint as partners, Flash and Cody had been notorious for their continual arguments over the merits of country over rock, Johnny Cash over Steven Tyler. “Everything you ever wanted to know about love could be learned from a country song, according to Flash. ‘Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off,’ ‘Trashy Women,’ ‘Ain’t Much Fun Since I Quit Drinkin’,’ ‘Girls Lie Too,’ ‘She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,’ ‘She Only Loves Me For My Willie.’ No shit! A Willie referring to Willie Nelson, not a cock, though I prefer the latter.”

They all stared at Cody. Not just for his long spiel about his partner, whom he’d avoided talking about for months, but that he could remember all those song titles in a genre he hated.

Understanding their confusion, Cody shrugged and said, “The asshole bequeathed me his country music collection. Fuck!”

Into the silence, they all thought about their fallen comrade and then gave their attention to the babe who’d started this whole line of conversation. The babe who was now chatting with not one but two Norse god ex–football players.

“Well, Geek, my man, she had me with the tool belt and the Harley,” Slick said.

Tell me about it!

“And she is hot in a Marilyn Monroe kind of way,” JAM added.

Scorching hot!