Cobb by Maryann Jordan

2

Cobb pulled into his parents’ driveway, meandered around the front circle, and parked outside the garage. The large Spanish revival home always sent a feeling of calm throughout him. The tanned stucco exterior with the red-tiled roof had an old-world ambiance while the interior combined modern with the past. His parents had bought the house when his father was a U.S. Senator with plans to run for governor.

Twelve-foot ceilings throughout, paired with wide, sun-reflective windows gave it a light, airy feel along with wide verandas, a backyard that featured lush, green grass, a swimming pool, and a Tiki bar. And situated on a hill, the views of the mountains in the distant background were spectacular. Tiled and oak floors, exposed wooden beams, and sandstone brick complemented its heritage. Large yet cozy. Exquisite yet comfortable.

He walked into the kitchen and headed directly to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. The room was spotless, but he knew the family’s cook, Mrs. Sanchez, would have everything ready for tomorrow’s breakfast when she arrived early. Spying carefully wrapped slices of apple pie, he grabbed one and set it on the counter. He turned, hearing a slight noise, and watched as Mrs. Sanchez approached. “It’s late, Mrs. Sanchez. Are you all right?”

“Jorge? You’re home early.”

When back home in New Mexico he went by his given name, Jorge, although since the military he’d been referred to by his last name, Cobb. His last name had meant nothing to those he served with. The fact that his grandfather had once been the governor of New Mexico and his father had been in politics for years was not recognized by anyone. And that was perfect. He’d been treated differently his entire childhood and adolescence, and the military offered an equalizing opportunity for him to just be whatever he chose to make of himself. And he’d found himself not wanting Josie to recognize that she was talking to a relative of the governor. He swallowed a snort. For all the good it did me.

But, with Mrs. Sanchez, like his family, he would always be Jorge. Smiling down at her, he replied, “I had socialized with everyone I needed to.”

She walked over and patted his arm, her head inclined toward the slice of pie. “I’ll wager that’s better than any of the fancy food they had at the party.”

Taking a large bite and not having to fake his enjoyment, he nodded, moaning in delight as he swallowed. “You’re right. Nothing’s better than your cooking. But why are you still here? Do you need a ride home?”

She shook her head and smiled. “I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for your father’s family birthday party tomorrow. Since I was working late on the cake, your mother suggested I stay in the downstairs guest room overnight so that I wouldn’t have to travel back and forth. I was almost going to bed when I heard someone in here and thought I would check to see who was sneaking in.” Patting his arm again, she turned and began walking out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “Enjoy your pie, but make sure to rinse your dish before you go upstairs.”

Shaking his head, he grinned. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with affection. Finishing the pie and dutifully rinsing the dish, he headed to his bedroom. He pulled out the tie that had been shoved into his pocket and draped it over a hanger. He did the same with the tuxedo, knowing his father’s valet would have it cleaned and pressed tomorrow, ready for it to be taken back when he left New Mexico. Stalking into the en suite bathroom, he stripped while letting the shower water heat.

The delicate scent of orange and flowers hit him just before he stepped into the water. It was the scent he’d noticed with Josie, and for a second, he hated to wash it off. But knowing he’d never see her again, he scrubbed his body and hair, although he couldn’t scrub her from his mind. Beautiful, elegant. I’m not her type… she’s not my type… what the hell did that mean?

Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off before pulling on a clean pair of boxers. As the condensation lifted from the mirror, he stared at the reflection. Black hair. Dark eyes. Full lips. Broad nose. Heavy five o’clock shadow. His features were formed from a variety of genetics. His mother’s mother was Native American, and her father was Mexican American. On his father’s side of the family, his grandmother immigrated from Italy as a child, and his grandfather was of German descent.

He had no idea what type Josie was referring to but decided he didn’t give a fuck. When his father had served as a U.S. Senator, Cobb had certainly experienced times when racial slurs had been directed toward him and his mom. But seeing it, knowing it exists, and living through it were different things. Thinking back to his days in prep school, he shook his head. Some experiences had been wonderful, but other days he’d rather forget.

Walking back into the bedroom, he twisted off the cap to the bottle of water and drank deeply. Tired, he was ready to go back to his house in Maine, although he looked forward to the next day. His father’s annual birthday charity gala would be over, and it would just be the family at home. All of his grandparents would come along with some other relatives, and he knew he’d have a good time. But still, New Mexico was no longer home and hadn’t been for many years. He longed for the cool forests and ocean waves of Maine.

* * *

Two Weeks Later

Moose’s Bar was quite different from the gala event Cobb had attended earlier in the month. It was run by a crotchety veteran who’d served in Desert Storm, and his father had started the bar when he came home from the Vietnam War. Cobb was fairly certain that the interior hadn’t changed much in the past fifty years. The scuffed wooden floor and dented bar were original. It wasn’t fancy and some weekend nights got rowdy, but it made for a great place to unwind.

Sitting with his group of coworkers and friends, the laughter and camaraderie reminded him why he was so much happier here.

After serving as a SEAL, he’d been recruited for CIA special ops. That’s where he and the others had met their boss and iconic leader, Mace Hanover. Mace had started his own business, Lighthouse Security Investigations, hiring men and women who’d served with special operations in the military or CIA. Known as Keepers, Mace worked relentlessly, recruiting only the best and those that fit his idea of the team. Cobb counted himself lucky to have been chosen.

Looking around the table that was now filled with almost as many women as men, he could not help but be envious as well as happy for his friends. They’d found love, something that so far had eluded him. Of the original ten Keepers, there were only three that were still single. Mace had increased their ranks with Knox, Rick, and Abbie, all siblings of various original Keepers who’d served in the military or CIA special ops. They were also single, and for some inexplicable reason, Cobb was glad. It made him feel less conspicuous.

“Are you okay?”

He startled and turned to his side, seeing Christina, now married to one of his closest friends, Clay, next to him. He cocked his head to the side, wondering why she asked.

“You’re here in body, but I’m not sure you’re here in spirit.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I’m fine.” When she continued to hold his gaze, he added. “I was just thinking that I’m glad I made Maine my home.”

“So, how was it when you went back to New Mexico for a visit?”

“Always good to see my parents and grandparents. But I think there comes a point where you realize that the place you were born and raised is no longer your home. For me, I’m lucky. It’s a great place to visit and filled with good memories for the most part. But it always makes me appreciate what I have here.”

Tate, another Keeper sitting across the table from him, nodded. His arms wrapped around his wife, Nora, both having left their home in Wyoming, Tate when he joined the military and Nora more recently when she and Tate reunited. “Yeah, it’s nice to go back and visit the family, but it no longer feels like home.”

As Cobb finished his beer, several of the couples made their way to the back where an old jukebox kept the music lively. A stacked blonde with painted on jeans left the bar and walked slowly toward their table. Her gaze moved around the single men before landing on his. Interest flared in her eyes, and she sauntered over. Leaning closer, her breasts on display, she winked. “Care to show a girl a good time on the dance floor?”

There was no doubt she was a beauty, and it had been a while since he’d been with anyone. Standing, he nodded and took her hand, leading her toward the back. “Can’t think of anything better than dancing with a beautiful woman.” As soon as those words left his mouth, the memory of Josie jumped into his mind.

She laughed as he gave her a twirl and pulled her in closer, his hand on her waist. She appeared not satisfied with the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him to pull him in tight. Her method of dancing was more grinding, which would’ve excited him years before but now felt a little desperate. Shoving those thoughts away, he looked down at her and smiled. Her straight blonde hair was long, hanging in a sheet down her back. Her curves were evident in her jeans and tight, low-cut T-shirt. And she was tall. In heeled boots, she almost looked him in the eye. She’s much taller than Josie.

Blinking, he hated that Josie was still in his thoughts, but in truth, she’d popped into his mind numerous times over the last several weeks. Deciding to exorcise all thoughts of Josie, he gave the blonde a twirl again, hoping to enjoy his night at the bar with friends and dancing with a beautiful woman.

She plastered her body against his front. Dancing this close, he felt her breasts press against his chest. She whispered against his ear, “I’m Rochelle,” then pulled his earlobe between her teeth. He jerked back, but she quickly maneuvered so her legs were straddling his thigh, continuing to grind herself on him in the middle of the dance floor.

A shockwave of embarrassment hit him. Aware of his friends and their wives nearby, he shot his gaze around but saw they only had eyes for each other. Regardless, he was glad when the song ended. She clung to his arm as they walked off the dance floor, her breasts still pressed tightly against him.

“You want to buy me a drink first or should we just head back to your place? Or my place… whichever is closer.”

He swallowed a sigh… this just wasn’t doing it for him. Especially when pale blue eyes haunted his thoughts. Hoping to let her down easy, he offered, “I can buy you a drink, but I’ll be heading home by myself.” He tried for a heartfelt smile, but it was as fake as the boobs pressed against his arm.

She cackled loudly and the nails-on-a-chalkboard sound grated on his nerves. “Oh, you’re so funny.” Peering up at him through half-lowered eyes, she said, “I know a man like you won’t go home alone. You look like just my type.”

“Your type?” Am I going to be stuck wondering what that word means? “Just what type is that?”

“You know… all big muscles… and I’ll bet you’re big everywhere.” Her hand snaked down his abs toward his crotch, and he snagged it quickly as she continued, “You look like the kind of man who knows he can satisfy a woman.”

Still holding her wrist, not willing to see what else she wanted to grab, he held her gaze. “You’re not afraid of going off with a man you don’t know?”

She barked out a laugh again. “I’ve seen you in here before. You don’t look like a serial killer to me. Anyway, the only woman who wouldn’t want to take you for a spin is one who doesn’t have what it takes. Hell, handsome, I’m ready for you.”

He stepped back, his mind no longer on the blonde in front of him but the beautiful Josie. Rochelle tried to move her hand toward him again, but he stopped her. “Not trying to be an ass, but seriously… we danced. That’s all. I’m not looking for more.”

As his refusal sunk in, her eyes narrowed. “Well, aren’t you just full of yourself?” she snorted as her hands landed on her hips. “Bet you’ve propositioned a shit-ton of women over the years after nothing more than a dance.” Shaking her head, she stomped off toward the bar, leaving him alone, her words slamming into him.

Propositioned a woman after nothing more than a dance.The air left his lungs in a rush. Exactly what I did with Josie. Shit, fuck, damn. He still had no idea what she’d meant by saying he wasn’t her type, but it didn’t matter. He’d done the same thing to her that Rochelle had done to him.

And the realization tasted bitter in his mouth.