Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 19

"Reid is preaching about tax cuts here in Nevada, but he's not telling his constituents that he's enriching the folks over in Washington." Lieutenant Colonel Gregory Green shook his head behind the wet heat of the BBQ. "It's already too bad that my daughter will take that surname. Only flaw in that young man." He hinted at Samuel as chuckles rose from the group of baseball-cap wearing men.

With his boring jokes and self-assured demeanor, Cheryl's father wasn't unlike most guys in the military. What made him borderline insufferable was that he turned his political party into his entire personality; and when that party was red, Rivers' patience always ran thin.

Samuel raised his sweaty Budweiser as his tongue brushed the edge of his teeth. "Don't worry, sir. I'll take much better care of your property."

The guests chortled again. Apparently, the thought of owning people amused them. But Cheryl disagreed. She elbowed Samuel in the ribs, eliciting more chuckles that this time Rivers joined.

"I'm joking, baby." Samuel stamped a kiss on Cheryl's lips just as she left his side.

She stepped off the porch and walked backwards on the grass, her unimpressed gaze on Samuel. "You know. You should pick your words carefully around a woman who knows how to use a scalpel." She traced a Z in front of her crotch.

Samuel scoffed as general warnings and whipping sounds came from the men, leaving Rivers to hide a smirk behind his can of Pepsi.

Good for her.

Shaking his head, Greg dropped a tray of sausages on one side of the grill as big as a car trunk, true to the size of everything in Cheryl's brother's estate. The gray stone three-story building alone could have fit Rivers' parents' townhouse three times. In the back, a twelve-meter waterfall pool, a wooden deck, a gazebo with annexed outdoor bar and an improbable mix of palm trees and oaks filled the manicured garden that ran fifty yards downhill to a dock into the Las Vegas Wash. They must have spent a small fortune in decorations—every inch was covered in red, white and blue balloons, ribbons, wreaths and paper drapes that made it look like a 1940s war bond manifest had exploded over the property.

"You should let Rivers take care of the stakes. He's a wizard on the grill." With another braggart grin, Samuel put him under the spotlight. Shooting him a death stare would have been too obvious, so Rivers killed him with a sickly smile.

"Is it so?" Greg asked.

Rivers scratched the back of his sweaty neck. "I usually get a compliment or two, yeah."

"He's being modest. Rivs' a self-proclaimed grill master." Another smirk from behind the rim of his Budweiser bottle.

If Samuel wanted to die, he only had to ask. Maybe pushing him into the pool and keeping his head underwater would have exorcized the Smug Sam out of Samuel's perfect body.

"Self-proclaimed?" Paul asked. Cheryl's same blue eyes shone with amusement.

"Come on, Sergeant." Greg hinted at the barbecue. "Let's see what you can do."

"Staff Sergeant." Was Samuel trying to make Greg mad, or was his annoyance only on Rivers' behalf?

"Alright, Staff Sergeant. Show us what you got."

"Come on, Rivs. Don't be shy."

Rivers' palms itched with the desire to slap that half-grin off Samuel's face and then lick it better.

Eight pairs of conservatives eyes fixed on Rivers. It was now personal; he'd be damned if he let them win without a fight.

He wet his lips, placing his can on the wooden banister of the patio. "Alright."