Page 23 of Grunt: A Marine Romance

“Sure, that sounds great.” Selena gulped down her water and gave Xavier a hug and Robyn a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so excited about the season. I hope we all make it to the finals.”

Robyn clutched Selena’s hand. “We will. Have a great night. Nice to meet you.”

Bret waved to Robyn and Xavier and headed toward the door. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the bottom as if at a jog.

Once safely inside the truck, Selena turned to Bret. “See, it wasn’t that bad. They were nice.”

Bret’s lip curled. “Sure, they were nice enough. Too bad we got paired with a bunch of hippies. Tuberculosis? How convenient. He probably burnt his draft card and then protested the war. True spirit? Man, I can’t stand that new age crap. And what was with that incense smell? They were probably smoking weed. Next thing you know, they will want us to meditate and go on a vision quest.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, huh. You are so closed-minded. Not everyone has to share your views on life. It’s America, Bret. You know, the country that you fight so hard to protect. You are defending our freedom to be individuals, not self-righteous clones.” Everything was black or white to Bret. Not a single shade of gray. When they were young, she’d thought she could change him. But clearly this older Bret was even more set in his ways.

Selena fashioned herself a freethinker. Open, liberal, honest. The more time she spent with Bret, the more she realized how well matched she and Dima were. They shared the same beliefs and values. Maybe Robyn was right and Selena needed to use this experience to find her true spirit. Being forced to be close to Bret was part of her spiritual path. It would force her to defend her views and maybe challenge his.

“Don’t talk to me about freedom,” he said. “I’ve watched my buddies die protecting our country. Of course, everyone has the right to believe in whatever ludicrous ideas they want to. Just like I have the right not to be forced to listen to their crap.”

Bret pulled up in front of the hotel and scribbled his number down on a napkin. “Good night, Sel. Call me if you need anything. I’ll just be five minutes away. See you tomorrow.”

Selena took the paper and then watched as he drove away. Walking into the lobby, all she wanted was a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, she could focus on dancing. Bret would have to deal with Robyn on his own.

THE NEXT MORNING, Selena sat at Caffe Acri in downtown Tiburon sipping her vanilla latte. The rich roast of the espresso beans was divine and the strong vanilla syrup didn’t have a hint of an after taste. If she’d been in L.A., she’d have felt guilty that the milk wasn’t fat-free and the syrup contained real sugar. But in Marin, she was at peace, especially since the barista designed cool latte art in the shape of a heart.

Bret would be by any minute to pick her up. She looked out on the ferry docked on the bay. Refreshed, she’d forgiven Bret for his judgments last night and was ready to start fresh. Maybe she and Bret could ditch practice and take the ferry to San Francisco. When they were kids, they used to watch the skateboarders shred around the Embarcadero. Bret always wanted to jump in and join them but Selena wouldn’t let him, fearing he’d be injured and unable to dance. Last time she and Dima came to San Francisco to compete, she was saddened to learn that all the skaters had vanished, banned by the city. The new generation probably had nice skate parks. But her fond memories of seeing the young teens breaking the rules and living on the edge had always been a welcome change from her life back then of non-stop training and competing. Maybe she should’ve let Bret break the rules, but young Selena always had been completely focused. Her goal had always been to be a ballroom champion—no matter the cost.

Her phone blinked with a text from Bret. She looked outside. Bret’s truck was stopped in front of the coffee shop.

She gathered her latte and purse and waited outside.

“Hey.” Selena cautiously climbed up onto the seat of the high lifted truck. She decided to ease into the conversation, hoping Bret had calmed down from the previous night. “Did you have a good night?”

Bret looked more relaxed than he had yesterday. A loose polo shirt wrapped tightly around his bulging biceps. Dima had nice, lean, toned arms but nothing like Bret’s strong muscles. Selena turned her head away from him and stared out the window—afraid he would read her mind and know that she was imagining what his pecs and abs must look like underneath his shirt.

“Yes. Just ordered pizza, then watched a Warriors game with Banjo. Perfect night. And my neighbor is watching Banjo today so he won’t be lonely.”

“Neighbor? A lady I presume? One night in town and you already have a new girlfriend,” Selena teased.

“Yeah. She’s a looker. Old enough to be my mother, though, but I guess that’s the ‘in thing’ these days. Hey, you should get yourself one of those boy-toys that are all the rage.”

Selena forgot how witty Bret was. “Not my thing. When I’m ready to be in a relationship, I’d like to find a homegrown man—one that likes football and drinks craft beers. I’m so sick of watching hockey and drinking vodka.” Why was she flirting with him? What was wrong with her? A sharp pang of guilt gripped her when she remembered that just the other night she’d entertained the thought of getting back together with Dima.

“Good luck with that, Selena. Any American man wouldn’t put up with you dancing with Dima, having your ex run his hands all over your body. And you will never quit dancing until you win Blackpool—right?”

She clenched her teeth. “No, I wouldn’t quit my dance partnership. But dancing isn’t cheating. The emotions aren’t real. It’s just like acting.” Winning the Blackpool professional Latin championship had been her goal since she was a little girl. She and Dima had finaled three times and each year they were closer to winning the title. Even when they ended their personal relationship, they still competed together. Nothing could stop them. They had spent ten years training for this goal; what sense would there be in starting over from scratch?

“Well, maybe not for you,” Bret said. “When we danced together, there was nothing fake about my feelings. Training a celebrity student is one thing. But competing around the world, traveling, sharing hotel rooms with another man, wouldn’t be acceptable. Not to me—not to any guy.”

They pulled up to the Quintanas’ house. Selena blinked back tears. When the truck stopped, Selena jumped out and slammed the door. She couldn’t understand why she was so upset. Why did Bret’s irrational judgments bother her so much?

She jogged up the front stairs to the door. She would focus on training Xavier today and call Dima after practice. If he could come visit her like he offered, then maybe she could gain some clarity and everything would be back to normal. Like it had been before Bret reappeared into her life.