Page 62 of Victorious

She met her gaze one last time, then forced it down, the auburn hair and heart-shaped face vanishing like a body underwater, leaving a stranger in its wake.

VIINOW. THEN.

THE woman who stepped into the bar an hour later was no longer blond.

She was a brunette now, slender with a boyish build. Short hair, straight back, small tits. Not June’s usual choice, but as she ran a hand through the cropped cut, she had to admit, she liked how light it felt.

As for the bar—well, bar was a broad term, wasn’t it?

The word encompassed everything from ritzy lounges to absolute dives, and this was definitely one of the latter. From the sticky floors to the trinkets plastering the walls to the four separate games playing on mute, the place was crowded, and raucous, and right up June’s alley. The kind of dive where punches were thrown, and glasses were broken, and two old friends could reminisce without being overheard.

She grabbed a beer and scanned the room, until she found who she was looking for—the woman sitting at the high-top in the far corner, her back to the wall and her eyes on the room.

Once a soldier, always a soldier.

“Rios!” she called in a brassy voice.

The woman looked up, her stern features cracking into a grin. “Leigh,” she said, rising to throw an arm around June’s borrowed shoulders. Somewhere underneath the shirt, she knew, they had the same tattoo. “What’s it been? A year?”

“Closer to two,” June answered, grateful that Leigh kept tabs on things like that. “They must keep you busy over at—what’s it called again?”

“Biohub Advance,” said Rios.

June snorted. “The kind of name that tells you absolutely nothing. No wonder I can’t remember it.” She hoisted herself onto the opposite stool. “Gotta love the private sector, though. How’s it treating you?”

Rios shrugged. “Less roadside bombs. Still plenty of headaches.” As soon as the words were out, the ex-soldier seemed to regret them. But June jumped in, glad that Leigh wasn’t the type to beat around the bush.

“Oh please, regale me. I’m dying for stories that don’t involve guys shitting their pants on patrol.”

Rios chuckled but shook her head. “I’m just glorified security.”

“Come on,” pressed June. “Tell me you’re at least seeing some action. Or getting it,” she added coyly.

“Very little to the first, and zero to the second.”

“Well that’s a tragedy.”

“What about you?” asked Rios, taking a swig of beer. “How long are you on leave?”

“Till next week,” said June. “But truth be told,” she added, picking at the label on her bottle, “I’ve been thinking of getting out.”

That took Rios by surprise. “No shit.”

June shrugged her borrowed shoulders. “Just looking ahead. Wondering what’s next.” One corner of her mouth tugged up. “Think Biowhatsit needs more muscle?”

Rios hesitated. Shook her head. “There are a million better places.”

“If it’s good enough for you,” said June. “And if it’s not…” The shutters were coming down on Rios’s face. June reached out and put a hand on her wrist. “Hey. You good?”

The soldier’s jaw clenched, but then she forced a smile back onto her face. “I’m good. Just a long day.”

“Table of trust,” said June, drawing a circle in the condensation on the wood. “You can tell—”

But she was cut off by the sudden buzz of Rios’s phone, which lay face up on the table. The screen lit up, and a face and name appeared. Leigh.

“Oops,” said June, letting her accent seep through.

Rios recoiled from her touch. She kept her gaze locked on June’s face—Leigh’s face—as she answered the call. June could hear the all too familiar voice on the line. “Sorry, I don’t know if I’ll make it. Some fucker slashed my tires and of course I didn’t have a spare.”