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The loud crack of Johnny Martin breaking the pyramid and starting another game of billiards made you smile. Bull Randleman grunted, cigar between his lips and uttered a soft 'good one' as he stood next to the table with his own cue stick in hand.
At the booth nearby, you sat with a beer in front of you. Bill Guarnere was to your left on the same bench and Joe Toye sat across the table.
"Still can't believe you were that bad at billiards. I thought everyone could play." Toye teased you.
"I told you it was my first time!"
"Yeah, well, thought you was going to skewer one of us with the stick."
"I wasn't that bad!" You argued with a faux pout.
"We'll come back again, let ya practice some more." Guarnere stated in his thick Philly accent while giving you a wink.
You desperately tried to suppress the butterflies in your belly at his flirty wink. He was just being your friend, someone to make you smile. If only your physical reactions could remember that.
With a triumphant smirk, you pointed a finger at Toye. "See! That's how you help a friend, not make fun of them, asshole."
Toye rolled his eyes and gave you the middle finger salute, causing you to laugh and almost tip your beer.
You were not sure who found this particular bar but you owed them their next drink. It was a little further away from Camp Mackall than the paratroopers usually traveled on the weekends. But you were certainly glad of the extra travel time now. The bar was warm and bright with red cushioned booths, a handful of dart boards along the walls, three billiards tables, and black and white pictures of nearby landmarks. Even the locals seemed brighter, cheerfully greeting the five paratroopers, offering heartfelt words of gratitude for their service and the first round of drinks on the house. Of course, when a few of the locals noticed that you were not….um, male…a couple derogatory comments were flung your way.
Before the words could seep into your skin, Guarnere threw his arm around your shoulders, glaring at the men who were easily two to three times his own age. Toye stood resolutely on your other side, offering his own silent support. Martin blatantly said that if your presence was unwelcome at the establishment then the paratroopers would leave and take their business elsewhere. That seemed to be enough to silence the complainers, especially when the bartender glared at them in almost equal measure to Guarnere. The bartender apologized and promised there would be no more trouble.
Once that was settled, the four male paratroopers immediately jumped on the opportunity to play billiards, throwing bets down and heckling on another. They tried to convince you to join their tournament but you gracefully bowed out, telling them you had never played and were content with just watching.
After a few games between the guys, Guarnere finally dragged you over to the table, determined to teach you how to play. Only to yourself would you admit how much you enjoyed his singular attention, how his praises and compliments struck you with the force of a sledgehammer, making your knees weak and your heart race.
When he reminded you for the fifth time that you were holding the cue stick wrong and decided to help you out, you doubted the flush to your face was well hidden. He came up behind you, pressing his broad chest to your back, wrapping his arms around you to better demonstrate how to hold the cue stick. You prayed he did not feel the shiver that shot down your spine under his touch or the whimper that lodged in your throat when his lips grazed your ear. Then when you bent over slightly, to try and hit one of the solid colored balls, and he followed the movement with his own body….even now the memory made a heat ignite in your belly and your heart to race like a horse in the Kentucky derby.
You chided yourself on your reaction. Even if you logically knew you could not help it. The crush you developed on the Sergeant had slowly developed during your time at Camp Toccoa. Initially, it had taken some time for him along with the others to welcome you into their fold. The turning point for the sarcastic Philadelphian was the day you punched Cobb hard enough in the mouth to dislodge a tooth after Cobb spewed his usual misogynistic comments. As you stood above Cobb, shaking your hand from the sting of the punch, and hoping you would not get kicked out of the Airbourne for attacking another paratrooper, Guarnere laughed and slung his arm around your shoulders, guiding you towards the medic station. The whole way he complimented your punch, saying he 'ain't never seen a dame hit like that, should get a goddamn award for shuttin' that asshole up' while intermittently giving tips on how to punch better for next time. Somehow after that, your continual place by his side was cemented.
But in all the time you spent with him, you never caught even a hint that he saw you for more than a friend.
So that small flame you carried for him was tucked far away, hidden behind a brick wall in your mind. You cherished his friendship too much to potentially damage it with your schoolgirl crush. It was better this way. You were paratroopers preparing for war! There was no time for romance in war. But no matter what you did or tried to tell yourself, that small flame never extinguished.
"How much longer are we staying here?" You asked, tracing the condensation on the table with your pointer finger.
"Why?"
You lazily shrugged before answering Guarnere. "If it's a while, I should probably switch to water. Don't need one of you to have to carry me back."
"Forget how much of a fuckin' lightweight ya are."
You rolled your eyes, a smile hidden in the corner of your lips. "Yeah, yeah. Not all of us are built like a tank and are willing to rot their guts."
The two at the table chuckled, this argument a familiar one from over the many months that you had known them.
"You'll be fine, 'sides, ya know I'd help ya walk back. Carry ya if I 'ave too." Guarnere said.
"After you laughed at me first."
"Yeah, I would. I'll take care of ya though, sweetheart."
You laid your head on Guarnere's shoulder, smiling up at him. "Awww….that's why you're the bestest of friends. Not like that asshole." You gestured vaguely at Toye, who snorted into his beer.
Instead of receiving a teasing comment or his signature smirk from the Sergeant, something darkened momentarily in his expression. His jaw clenched and eyes hardened for the briefest of seconds, before he tipped his beer back and chugged the rest of it. You leaned back up, watching him, wary of the sudden shift that just occurred. A glance over at Toye only revealed him staring resolutely at Guarnere, a silent conversation passing between the two of them.
"Bill?" You glanced again at Toye before turning your body to face Guarnere. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"
"I don't wanna be your goddamn friend." He muttered.
A stab in the back would have been more expected than this. Your heart stuttered in your chest. A gasp dwelled on your lips. Embarrassing tears filled your eyes that you valiantly fought to suppress. Your mind struggled to figure out why he suddenly did not want to be your friend. You replayed different moments of time, determined to figure out what you had possibly done to undermine the friendship you shared….or at least you thought you shared.
"Bill…." Toye said cautiously, his gaze sliding to you for a brief second.
"Nah, fuck it." Guarnere shifted his body towards you with a determined set to his sharp jaw and a fire in his eyes you had never seen before. "I don't wanna be your friend. I wanna kiss your neck."
You froze. Any thoughts crashed to a halt. Even the sound in the bar ceased as you stared at him with wide eyes. Your mind moved at a sluggish pace, trying to reconcile his previous statements. None of it made sense to your confused and conflicted mind.
Your eyes shot over to Toye, curious to see if he was as shocked as you. Instead, he seemed almost resigned. With a softly muttered 'fuck', he grabbed his beer and slid out of the booth, leaving the two of you alone.
Your gaze settled back on Guarnere. Butterflies somersaulted in your belly and your palms dampened with the sheer intensity he was looking at you with. He stared as if attempting to see past any facade you wore, to decipher the secrets written on your heart. Many of those secrets involved his name, but surely he did not know….right?
"Bill?"
"Yeah, yeah, I wanna kiss your neck. This right 'ere." His calloused thumb traced from your pulse point down almost to your collarbone. Tingles danced across your nerves under his touch, only increasing as he leaned slightly closer, laying an arm against the back of the booth seat to hover over you. His thumb never left your skin, trailing a burning line along your throat as it ever so slowly moved up and down. The rest of his hand cupped the back of your neck, forcing your gaze to meet his.
All you could do was stare back completely lost in him and his hypnotizing touch.
"Fuckin' distractin' is what it is. Ya always got ya hair pulled back….I swear it was made for me to kiss and touch. Can't tell ya how many times I've thought 'bout it. Kissin' ya right here, imagin' the sounds you'd make, wonderin' what ya taste like. Fuckin' distractin'. Ya ever wonder why I'm always havin' to borrow someone's notes after class? Ya always sit in front of me or beside me, playin' with ya hair. Fuck, sweetheart. Ya know how hard it's been to not drag ya onto my lap and touch ya myself."
Suddenly, his hand pulled back, snapping your eyes wide open from their half-lidded, delirious state. A needy whine barely escaped your lips. At that moment, you would have willingly volunteered to run Currahee back to back in full-pack if Guarnere would just touch you again.
"But ya could do better than someone like me." He continued gruffly, unaware of your distraught state. "So I'll be ya friend, till hell and back and afterwards. There's always gonna be a part of me that wants more with ya. I just….hearin' ya call me ya friend…fuck." He trailed off, rubbing a hand down his face.
"And….if I said….I wanted you for more than a friend?"
His gaze bored into yours, momentarily stunned. Then a smug smirk turned the corners of his lips up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You reached over, letting your fingers trace his sharp jawline to his tantalizing lips. "And if I said I wanted you to….to touch and kiss me there…."
He grabbed your hand still on his face, tilting his head to press a heated, lingering kiss to your palm. "Well then, good thing I just 'appen to know a place nearby that ain't no one will bother us."
"Lead the way, Sarge." You whispered breathlessly.
Still holding your hand, he tugged you out of the booth, sparing only a brief wave at Toye, Martin and Randleman, before leading you out of the bar. A giddiness spilled out of you with each step. A goofy smile lit up your face but for once, you did not care. You happily followed Guarnere, your heart soaring at his confession. When he peeked down at you, his smugness transformed into something softer that set your heart alight.
And when the two of you finally arrived where no one would bother you, when his lips and teeth and tongue finally descended onto your skin in a way that made you lose awareness of yourself except for the desperate, burning need for more of him….you somehow knew that you and Guarnere were always meant to be more than just friends.