19 Headed for Trouble by Suzanne Brockmann

It’s easier, more comfortable
, and I said,
Not for me
. I said,
I’m not climbing into your closet with you
, and … that was that. I haven’t seen him since.” He paused. “The stupid thing is, I really like him. The
really
stupid thing? I’d be genuinely upset if he resigned his commission. The Marines need more officers like Ben.”
    “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Sam said.
    “Thanks.”
    They sat in silence for a moment.
    “Thing is, I’m thinking about doing it.” Jules finally spoke. “Calling him and … You know, maybe if it’s just sex, it won’t bother me. As much. You know, keeping it on the down-low.”
    Sam took a sip of his coffee, choosing his words carefully. “I guess whether or not you decide to do that should really depend on what you want. If it’s sex …”
    “Who doesn’t want sex?” Jules pointed out.
    “If it’s
just
sex,” Sam said, “there’s a waiter over there who’s been checking you out.” Part of him could not believe he was having this conversation. “Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea, hooking up with some stranger …”
    At least Jules wouldn’t get the guy pregnant. Years ago, Sam had had sex with a stranger—a bar bunny—and he now had a daughter, Haley, and an ex-wife, Mary Lou. Talk about careless mistakes. Although Haley was definitely the best mistake he’d ever made. She was a real peach of a kid. It had all worked out in the end, but for years it had been bad. He’d messed up his life, along with Mary Lou’s, Haley’s, and even Alyssa’s.
    “Ben’s not a stranger,” Jules pointed out, taking out his wallet and paying the bill.
    “What happens when you fall in love with him?” Sam asked. It was another question that he couldn’t believe he was asking. Still, the words needed to be said. “You know, I should pay that.”
    Jules shook his head to both the question and the offer. “That won’t happen.” He said it with such finality and stood up as punctuation. “Let’s get back. I want to make those phone calls.”
    “How much do I owe you?” Sam persisted, opening his own wallet.
    Jules waved him off. “It’s on me.”
    “You come out here to do me a favor,
and
you pay for lunch …?”
    “You have no idea how much I appreciate your friendship,” Jules said.
    Sam held out several bills. “Yeah, actually I do,” he said. “It’s probably as much as I appreciate yours.”
    Jules couldn’t just take the money and be done with it. He had to go and hug Sam. “Thanks.”
    Of course, now the gay waiter was checking Sam out, too. He even followed them out into the square as they headed up the road.
    Which turned out to be provident, since they hadn’t gone far before a group of men, ranging in ages from teens to much older, blocked their path. They werescowling and grim, and their postures were clearly meant to menace.
    Jules stepped in front of Sam, his body language relaxed, a smile on his face. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said in close to perfect Italian. “Is there a problem?”
    Sam counted them quickly. There were nine, but only three—red shirt, goatee, and tattoo—looked capable of holding their own in a brawl.
    Tattoo let out a stream of Italian that was far too rapid-fire for Sam to understand. He definitely caught the words
Rome
and
the Pope
along with what sounded like negative language. He wasn’t quite sure what the man was saying, but there was no mistaking his intention when he roughly shoved Jules.
    And just like that, the talking was over. Well, almost over. “I got Tattoo and Red Shirt,” Jules announced in English, as he effortlessly took down the man who’d shoved him.
    That left Goatee for Sam. But ouch, the man had a fishing knife. Sam quickly adiosed it, breaking more than a few fingers in the process.
    That was all it took. Goatee ran home, crying for his mommy, eating the dust of the rest of the gang. They’d all long since am-scrayed, except for the delusional