Mathilda sat at the bar near three big and muscular marines who could have treated me like a very very bad boy and had their s****l way with me. The three men were dark-haired, handsome, and eye-catching. Mathilda decided to dress in her Army greens. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her makeup was minimal. She made eye contact with me upon my entrance into the bar, but didn’t smile.
I sat down beside her and ordered a longneck, imported beer with a name that I could barely say let alone spell, but knew that I enjoyed. Mathilda had a martini with two olives placed on the bar in front of her.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said.
“I appreciate the invite. Glad to be here.”
She turned on her stool and faced me: straight-faced, no twinkle in her eyes, too serious. “You
