Gage:A Bad Boy Military Romance(7)

By: Cordelia Blanc

I wandered around the quiet outpost. The Chow Hall’s chef’s door flew open and slammed against the temporary tin wall, creating a loud, gunshot-like sound echoing through the camp. I was about to dive for cover before I realized it was just one of the Playmates stepping outside for a smoke.

It was Miss April with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. She was still in her bra and panties. The door closed and she slammed her back into the tin wall and tilted her face up to the sky. I could hear her sigh from halfway across the outpost.

She had a nice body. I could see why everyone wanted to see her naked so badly. Her legs were long, her tits were perky, and her face was pretty cute; from what I could tell, it wasn’t pumped full of collagen and silicone like the other girls. She took a long drag from her cigarette and held the smoke in her lungs, holding her eyes shut. It was a sight that reminded me of the day Major Richards found out his brother died in a roadside bombing. Except Miss April was significantly hotter than Major Richards.

She looked over at me and then jumped. “Jesus,” she said. “What the fuck are you doing? How long have you been standing there?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. A minute,” I said. I lit myself a cigarette and continued to stare. I thought about looking away—my mother always told me not to stare—but then I figured, she’s a Playboy Playmate. The only reason she was here was for us to stare at her. The polite thing to do was to keep staring.

She covered her chest with her arm. “I should get back inside,” she said. She tried to open the chef’s door, but it was locked.

“It only opens from the inside. You need to go around,” I said.

She tried the door again, as if she didn’t hear me. It continued not to budge. Her tits jiggled while she yanked on the door. I walked up.

“Miss April, right?” I said.

“That’s right.” She turned to me slowly and stood tense, with her arms still trying to cover her body.

“You okay? I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”

She kept her arms wrapped around herself, only releasing to have a drag from her smoke.

“Congrats. You were a hit in there,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said. “I should get back inside.” I watched as she tried the door one last time and then scanned the complex for another door in. She would have to walk all the way around, through the front where all the men were sitting.

“Just wait. Someone will come open the door sooner or later,” I said.

She looked again for a hidden entrance she may have missed when she looked last. There was none. But she didn’t head towards the front door either, knowing the Joes would make minced meat out of her. “Shouldn’t you be inside?” she asked.

I ignored the question. “Why are you here?”

“To promote the magazine,” she said.

Her eyes darted away from mine. She seemed to think I was the one she had to worry about, that I was going to make a mess of her. I could have if I wanted to. She was a small girl—frail-looking—probably less than half my weight. She would have liked it, too. If she could handle it, anyway. She was a lot smaller than the usual hoes that came through the compound. The BCs before her either had a good deal of meat on their bones, or they were too high to feel anything while they were fucked senseless.

But unlike the BCs before her, Miss April didn’t look like she wanted any action. Unlike the other Playmates inside, she was looking for something other than a good fucking.

She was better off out back with me. Inside, she stood no chance. And she knew it, too.

The door swung open. It was Private Ramis, the outpost’s chef. He was headed for the dumpster with a big black garbage bag, mumbling profanities under his breath as he emerged. “Goddamned Playboy Fucking Playmates and I’m stuck making Kraft Fucking Dinner,” I heard him say before he noticed us standing there. He paused. “Oh, sorry—didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He threw out his trash and then returned. He looked at Miss April and his eyes lit up. “Miss King—pleasure to meet ya. Bryce Ramis.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Miss April said, lowering her arm to cover more of her tits as Ramis’ eyes drifted down her body.

“Big fan,” he said. “I own the whole Daytona Beach boxset—all six seasons.”

“Thanks,” she replied.

Ramis hesitated then went back inside. Miss April watched the door close. She could have gone inside, but she didn’t. I even stopped the door from closing for her. “Well?” I said.

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