The Damaged Arrogant SEAL’s Quirky Shrink

I came to Alejandro last night looking for some action. A small Chiquita came up to me and said, “Thank you for your service, Soldier,” and I said, “Show me.” That worked out beautifully yesterday. Rinse and repeat?

When they send you out to war, nobody tells you how messed up you get out there . . . or what comes back.

Nobody comes back the same. The gullible ones go for therapy, hoping for a fix, but I know better.

I live my life day by day, knowing that, for me, this is all there is—a soulless life.

I have no illusions of ever meeting a soulmate or having a HEA. . . that’s for normal people.

No one ever comes back normal from a war . . . that’s a fallacy.

I am back again at Alejandro’s, looking for Anjelica for a take-two.

So far, no show, but the stool next to me is now occupied by a spellbinding nymph whose fingers are painted gray with black French tips and a headband with sparkly black cat ears.

“What’s your name?” I ask, just to be social.

“I’m going by ‘Baby’ today.” is all I get.

What am I supposed to do with that?

She is like no other.

I’d like to peel her layers one by one until I find her name, but will she let me.