A Few Good Men by Cat Johnson Page A

was now a line of men behind him and he had yet to order his damn underwear. He would have to wait for another time.
    Scowling, he logged off and decided he had been correct in his initial opinion. Pen pals were nothing but a nuisance.
     
    Maureen leaned back from the laptop set up on her kitchen table and placed one hand over her pounding heart. Yup, she was sure, it was definitely beating faster than usual. It must be concern over Jazzy’s condition. That had to be it.
    So then why did her breath catch in her throat each time the alert listing Staff Sergeant John Blake’s name popped up on her screen announcing a new email?
    His emails were all serious and businesslike, so unlike Jazzy’s lighthearted banter. It was kind of sexy.
    Jeez. She didn’t even know him. And how could emails sound sexy? This was bad. She could not possibly feel chemistry with a guy when the only contact she’d received from him was three emails—could she? It was impossible. It was crazy.
    Besides, he could be married for all she knew.
    Wait. Jazzy had pictures of the tank crew posted on his page on the support site. Maureen glanced quickly at the clock. She had the double date with Peter and she still had to find something to wear and put on makeup.
    Ah, what the hell. She’d make it if she rushed.
    Maureen logged onto the support site and pulled up the photo Jazzy had posted showing his crew in front of their tank. Pushing her coffee mug farther away, she leaned forward and squinted. Finally, she located the man whose uniform read Blake across his chest. Immediately she looked at his left hand.
    No ring. That was a good sign, although she knew not all married men wore wedding rings.
    She looked closer at the other men in the picture. There was no wedding ring on Jazzy’s hand either.
    “Damn.” Her voice echoed through the empty apartment. This didn’t prove anything. They obviously didn’t wear rings while driving around in tanks or whatever else they did over there.
    Maureen looked back at John and studied his face. Serious, just like his emails. Handsome though, from what she could see beneath the dirt and dust and the body armor that covered him practically from head to toe.
    With a quick right-click of her mouse, Maureen set the picture as her desktop background, strictly so she could look at it and keep Jazzy in her mind while he recovered, she told herself.
    With one more glance at the photo now installed on her screen, Maureen rose and took the last sip from her mug. Caffeinated coffee in the evening would normally be the last thing she would ever be drinking. But then again, she was usually in her pajamas by the six-o’clock news, working or writing her book in bed on her laptop. Not tonight though. Tonight she would have to be witty, charming, funny, beautiful, awake and wear something other than flannel pajamas. Oh joy.
    The phone rang, and she’d barely said hello when Peter demanded, “Are you dressed yet?”
    “Um, yeah.”
    “Liar.”
    She sighed. “I’m deciding what to wear.” She moved to her closet and slid open the door so it wouldn’t be a total lie.
    “No, you’re procrastinating because although you asked me to—and I actually managed to—arrange for a pair of handsome eligible men willing to take the both of us out tonight, you don’t really want to go.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Maureen—”
    “Look. I do want to go. I just don’t know what to wear.” Good thing he couldn’t see her expression. A poker face she did not have.
    Peter let out a frustrated and extremely loud sigh in Maureen’s ear. “Lucky for you, my fashion-challenged friend, you have me. Wear the wrap dress and your boots.”
    She kicked her toe into the carpet and pouted. She wore that dress for work functions and stuff. “Really? I don’t think—”
    “You’re going to disagree with me about fashion ?”
    “No, of course not. But do you really think the wrap dress is dressy enough?”
    “Of course it is,