“So, cuddle muffin. Are you really a soldier like Papa Swan said?” James asked me when there was a quiet moment between customers.
“I used to be,” I replied and took a drink from my water bottle. I was kind of missing patrols right about then.
“Really? Do you still have your uniform?” he asked and leaned back against the counter next to me. “Wait, what kind of soldier? Thanks to Tom Cruise, I kind of prefer Navy Dress Whites. Yummy! Although fatigues are kind of hot, too. I’d give my left nut for a soldier to call my own. Okay, maybe not my actual left nut, but you know what I mean. Got any buddies who are taking the whole don’t ask, don’t tell thing to the extreme?”
“Um…yes, no, Army, and not that I know off,” I replied. “There are customers waiting.”
James frowned. “Don’t think we won’t be returning to this conversation, lamb chop.”
I entertained myself with thoughts of lamb chopping James’ ass with a butcher knife until we closed.
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