When he’d been a kid, talking to his grandmother about the woman he’d grow up to marry, she’d been pretty insistent that he wanted a lady. But when he’d become an adult—a real adult, Army Strong—she’d told him that ladies came in all sorts. “The kind you want,” she’d said, “is the kind who’s a lady during the day and a harlot at night.”
He had never forgotten those words. (Even when he sort of wished he had; that wasn’t a sentiment he’d enjoyed hearing out of his grandma’s mouth.)
Savannah was exactly that, or at least as close to that as Gray wanted or needed. He reached out and rubbed her knee, smiling up at her. “Well, I sure hope my luck holds. I’m on a hot streak today and I’d hate to wind up short where it counts.”