21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales by Heather Long Page A

Where did you learn your technique? The Bachelor?
    “Thank you, I think. And I’ll see your confession with one of my own. I have decided that I would have sex with a woman at one glance before.”
    Straightforward, blunt-edged honesty without arrogance. Where the hell has this guy been hiding?
    “Oh?” She played with fire.
    The waitress returned with a chilled bottle of wine in an ice bucket for her and a square, tumbled glass with ice and a splash of something clear and bubbly for him. “Would you care to hear the specials tonight?”
    He glanced at Lauren, eyebrows raised in inquiry. Smile widening, she nodded a silent assent. “Please,” he told the waitress. She listed off several dishes, but Lauren barely heard her. He canted his head to the side, his expression attentive and patient throughout the full list.
    “What would you like?” The smoky, sex-on-a-stick gray gaze slid toward her and she had to fight the urge to bite her lip.
    “The parmesan encrusted salmon, fresh vegetables and lemon spears, white rice.” He was steak medium rare, and baked potato with butter and sour cream, and avocado bread.
    He’s chocolate-drizzled cheesecake and white chocolate dipped strawberries, too. Stop drooling .
    The waitress smiled and disappeared with their order. Dabbing her mouth with the napkin, Lauren took a drink of wine to buy her composure some time. “So, how did that go?”
    “How did what go, ma’am?”
    “The woman you wanted to have sex with at one glance.”
    “I don’t know. We just met.” It could have been a line, but the simplicity and directness coupled in his tone melted her reservations.
    “Well, you will definitely have to let me know how that turns out.” She raised her wine glass.
    “You will be the first to know.” He clinked his tumbler to her glass and grinned.
    “So what do you do, James with no last name?”
    He set down his drink and frowned. “I apologize. James Westwood, ma’am.”
    “It’s a pleasure, James Westwood, and please, call me Lauren, not ma’am.”
    “Yes, ma—Lauren.”
    They both laughed, the artificial tension melting like the ice in his glass.
    “I’m a psychologist, boring on the surface, I suppose. But a field I enjoy.”
    “It doesn’t sound boring, I played a psychologist once.” Lame, Lauren. Lame. “Look you do something real for a living, but I played one on TV .” She swallowed another mouthful of wine to cover her discomfort.
    “You were charming. I loved watching you trying to ferret out the murderer.” He turned his glass in an easy circle on its napkin.
    “Yes, well, I wouldn’t have sent patients to me. I barely understood the issue the profilers were describing or why my character was so defensive.” And can we stop talking about my career…isn’t that what bores the hell out of me when every other date I’ve had does it?
    “I don’t know. You disagreed on the underlying cause, and as it turns out you were right. The triggers were not psychosexual and indirect, but directly related to his immature understanding of social interactions due to a lifetime of bullying. The man literally couldn’t comprehend kindness, which was why the perp kept coming back to see your character week in and week out. You were the first one to accept him for who he was and why, when he experienced the break, he didn’t hurt her and she was able to talk him down.”
    “Well, when you put it that way…I was brilliant.”
    He laughed, a kind, cheerful sound devoid of any condescension or judgment and she grinned.
    “Half of my job is listening, hearing what a patient says. Too often we don’t really listen to the people around us. We talk to them, we listen to them talk, but we don’t hear them. We judge people whether it’s a social situation or business relationship, we categorize the worth and value of their words before they even open their mouth. In some cases, we label them and box them up as people and never allow them to step beyond