Is that what you Northern boys think we do down here? Rory’s hand had dipped to her outer thigh and slowly worked up to the line of her cutoff jean shorts. Well, that’s what he remembered happening, but he may have been wrong.
What makes you think I’m a Northerner? he couldn’t help but challenge, moving in closer to her. The smell of the nearby honeysuckle fading away with her scent intoxicating his senses.
I detect a Boston accent you appear to be working hard to disguise. Rory’s eyes had traced over the lines of his washboard abdomen. He wasn’t naturally blessed with muscles like some of the guys on Bravo and Echo Teams. He’d been tall and lanky until he was sixteen when he’d made the decision he wanted to be a SEAL, and he’d worked his ass off ever since to earn the body he had. And every day, he had to keep at it, too. Nothing good in life came easy. And he had a feeling Rory would also be a challenge.
Am I up for that kind of challenge, though? Falling in love? He wasn’t so sure if he had it in him like the rest of the guys to marry and have a family, but he also hated avoiding something, or in this case, someone, out of fear of failure.
His parents’ marriage failed miserably, but not all great loves were doomed, he supposed.
And since he’d replayed the night he and Rory met over and over again in his head, unable to get her off his mind, well, that must be a sign that he should take a chance. See if Rory felt something, too.
Chris had had every intention of visiting Fourth of July weekend, but then he got called up to operate.
But there’d been a definite spark with Rory that night. A fierce, intense attraction.
A hot wave of je ne sais quoi had spilled between them so hard he still felt that sting in his chest three months later.
And when he’d learned Rory had given up her adventurous life to settle down in Louisiana and begin K9 training, well, he’d hatched a plan to head down there and ask for help. Unfortunately, his plan had gone to hell when his new rescue had been taken back by his owner a little over two weeks ago.
“Rory would be a kick-ass trainer,” A.J. said, interrupting Chris’s wandering thoughts. “But . . .”
“But do you expect her to not only work with this new dog but also play babysitter during training when we have to spin up?” Wyatt asked. “She’s gonna love that.”
“I don’t want to bust your balls or your hopes and dreams, but I know Rory, and she ain’t gonna come to Virginia. I mean, she hasn’t officially opened the doors to her training business since she has to update all her old licenses and coursework,” A.J. said, but he didn’t bust anything of Chris’s. He didn’t give up that easily, and A.J. knew that.
“Chris won’t know until he asks,” Finn commented, catching Chris’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Ana and Rory are friends, aren’t they? They get along, right?” Chris turned his attention back to A.J. “I mean, while you two lovebirds are building your place in Alabama, you’re living just outside D.C., so there’d be another familiar face other than your ugly mug.”
“Speaking of Ana,” A.J. began, squeezing the back of his neck, “there is something I should probably tell you guys now that I am back and operating again.”
“Oh, shit.” Wyatt twisted around in his seat to glimpse at A.J., the look on his face indicating he was preparing for bad news. A.J. had only returned from his physician-mandated three months off a day before this op. After one too many concussions, A.J. had finally seen a doctor and had been forced to take some time off. Chris had seen what head injuries could do—he’d witnessed some of the best men taken down from blasts on the battlefield back in Iraq, and the last thing he’d wanted was for something to happen to one of his best friends on an op. He wouldn’t be able to handle that. So, he was relieved to learn A.J.’s scans came back just last week with the all-clear to operate again, starting today, the first of October.
A.J. held one palm in the air in surrender, the other maintaining a grip on his gun. “I did a thing. Like a big thing. And maybe don’t kill me, but I saved you from wearing monkey suits, so—”
“I told you. You owe me a hundo,” Finn said, eyes on Wyatt before his focus turned back to the “road” they were on.
Chris scoffed. He’d wear the suit if it meant standing by one of his best friends on his wedding day. “The months you spent bouncing around the world—you were on a honeymoon, huh? You pulled an Asher and Jessica and got married without telling anyone.”
Bravo Three and Jessica had dropped the news at Wyatt’s wedding in late July that they’d eloped, and Chris had been pretty sure Jessica’s brother, Luke, who happened to be Bravo One, almost suffered from heart failure.
“Better than Liam and Emily’s rendition of Ross and Rachel get drunk-married in Vegas, I guess,” Finn joked.
“Who are Ross and Rachel?” Wyatt removed his ball cap and scratched his head, obviously confused.
“How’d your parents take it?” Chris asked when Finn didn’t answer. Wyatt righted his hat back in place, missing the Friends reference Finn had made about Liam’s Vegas wedding to Emily.
Chris fidgeted with his own hat and repositioned it, so the bill was at the back of his head. His normal go-to was his Red Sox hat, but on an op like this, personal details of any kind were not allowed. Every precaution was taken to prevent the scums of the earth from learning anything about them.
There are three of us left unmarried, Chris realized. Seven guys down. When did that happen? Echo Team had been dubbed FSG, the “Forever Single Guys,” by Jessica, but then Wyatt fell in love with a CIA officer and A.J. with a Fed. Everyone knew Roman was spoken for, even if Roman didn’t admit it. So, that left Finn and Chris to hold the single torch.
“We told them two weeks ago. The day after you called me about your rescue dog, actually.” A.J. grimaced with an apology for Chris’s dog loss. “They want to throw us a proper wedding, of course, but damn, neither Ana nor I want that. But uh, can y’all help me break it to the others later?”
“You mean you want protection from all the wives who will want to whack you over the head?” Chris reached for his phone, vibrating in his side pocket.
Only the wives of Bravo Team and Echo One and Two were aware of what the guys really did for work.
Chris would never forget the day he was recruited back in January of 2013.
At the time, he’d been stationed in Virginia. Even though Boston wasn’t all that far away, he hadn’t seen his dad in two years, so during a rare weekend off, he’d made the trip. His dad had flaked on him and gone out of town at the last minute, no surprise there. With nothing else to do, he’d hit up a local bar, a hidden gem near Fenway Park, and he almost couldn’t believe it when he bumped into one of his favorite Red Sox players. Literally bumped into him, spilling beer in his lap.
Before Chris had a chance to order a new drink for the guy, he’d spotted Luke Scott striding his way, the crowd peeling back as if sensing there was something special about the man. And there was. Luke Scott was a legend in the SEALs. Chris had also heard chatter Luke had up and left the Navy, and not due to an injury either. So, seeing Luke beckon him outside was more unexpected than spilling a beer on David Ortiz.