As Hot as It Gets
Page 7
Jackson shared his teammate’s curiosity. It was rare for the West Coast SEAL teams to interact with the East Coast teams.
“Special Operations wants us to conduct some joint training missions,” Becker replied. “I’ll let you know the details when I’ve got ’em, but just be prepared to run a few ops with some new faces. They’ll be staying in the barracks here, so none of you boneheads get any ideas about letting them crash at your places.”
Seth hooted. “Are you ordering us to deny our fellow servicemen hospitality?”
Becker glared at him. “They don’t need your kind of hospitality, smartass. And from what I’ve heard, Team Eight is the East Coast equivalent of you troublemakers, so don’t go inviting them to your swinging parties or whatnot.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
“How dare you,” Seth said in mock outrage. “I am a married man, sir.”
“Swinging parties?” Cash echoed. “None of us are swingers.”
“Trust me, I’ve got enough lovers to deal with at home,” Dylan spoke up wryly.
Their CO just scowled again. “I mean it. No partying with Team Eight. I’m not in the mood to bail anyone out of jail again. Understood?”
“Understood,” they chorused.
After Becker stalked out of the room, Seth turned to the others and grinned. “Let’s throw the Eighters a welcome orgy.”
“Pass,” Dylan answered. “Claire and Aidan would kill me if I touched anyone else.”
“So would Jen,” Cash said ruefully.
Seth sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Bad idea. Miranda would kick my ass.”
Jackson stayed quiet, and experienced an odd pang of regret about it. He didn’t have a lovely lady—or in Dylan’s case, a lovely lady and a hot dude—getting all possessive over him. It bummed him out a little.
“Damn, I can’t wait to get home and sleep,” Dylan announced as the four men strode out of the locker room.
“Do you need a ride or did you take Aidan’s car this morning?” Cash asked, running a hand through his dark hair.
“Negative on the car. Claire took it to run a few last-minute errands before she leaves.”
Jackson glanced over. “Where is she going?”
“Los Angeles, for business. She’ll be gone for three weeks,” Dylan told him.
“I guess that’s the good thing about living a life of sin—your girl’s away but you’ll still have your man at home,” Seth cracked.
“Actually, Aidan’s gone too,” Dylan said glumly. “He’s got some downtime so he’s spending a few days in LA with the missus and then heading to Chicago to see his dad. Which means I’ll be all by my lonesome for three whole weeks.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Poor baby.”
“Poor baby is right,” Dylan muttered. “That means no sex for twenty-one days.”
“That’s an eternity in manwhore years,” Cash agreed solemnly.
Jackson snorted. Cash had totally called it—there was nobody who loved sex more than Dylan Wade. Men, women, didn’t matter the gender. Dylan was a serious horndog, which probably made it a good thing that he was now in a relationship with not one, but two partners.
Truthfully, Jackson still had no clue how he felt about Dylan’s unorthodox love life. Growing up in a tiny town in Texas, he hadn’t encountered many polyamorous relationships. The residents of Abbott Creek were hard-workin’, God-fearin’ folks who loved their football and believed that marriage was reserved for a man and a woman, thank you very much. If there were any liberal-minded folks in town, Jackson sure as heck hadn’t encountered them. That was one of the reasons he’d skipped town and joined the navy—he hadn’t been able to put up with those narrow-minded busybodies for one more second.
Needless to say, the fact that one of his best friends was involved in a permanent ménage a trois was a bit of a head-scratcher, yet Jackson honestly couldn’t say he disapproved. He adored Claire McKinley, Dylan’s girlfriend, and thought Aidan Rhodes, Dylan’s boyfriend, was pretty dang awesome. And as long as Dylan was happy, who was he to pass judgment?
The four of them continued chatting as they left the base, but Jackson’s head was elsewhere now. He was going to see Mia again. In about, oh, ten minutes, according to the tactical watch strapped to his wrist.
He couldn’t frickin’ wait.
“See you boys later,” Cash said when they reached the parking lot.
Dylan glanced at Jackson. “We still on for that COD sesh tonight?”
“He might have other plans,” Seth spoke up with a barely restrained grin.
That got the other two men’s attention.
“Another date?” Cash blurted out. “Oh man, if it’s another date can you please, please videotape it for me?”
“Are you seeing the sex addict again?” Dylan demanded. “Because I want pictures of her cowboy outfit—oooh, and try to get a shot of the two of you where you’re holding your gun.”
“Fuck you both,” Jackson said darkly.
Cash’s blue eyes twinkled. “Aw, come on, turn that frown upside down. A sex addict broke into your house. Most men would consider that a high-fivable story.”
“Seriously, though—you, me, Call of Duty tonight?” Dylan prompted.
“We’ll see,” he answered, shrugging. “I’ll text you later to let you know.”
“Special Operations wants us to conduct some joint training missions,” Becker replied. “I’ll let you know the details when I’ve got ’em, but just be prepared to run a few ops with some new faces. They’ll be staying in the barracks here, so none of you boneheads get any ideas about letting them crash at your places.”
Seth hooted. “Are you ordering us to deny our fellow servicemen hospitality?”
Becker glared at him. “They don’t need your kind of hospitality, smartass. And from what I’ve heard, Team Eight is the East Coast equivalent of you troublemakers, so don’t go inviting them to your swinging parties or whatnot.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
“How dare you,” Seth said in mock outrage. “I am a married man, sir.”
“Swinging parties?” Cash echoed. “None of us are swingers.”
“Trust me, I’ve got enough lovers to deal with at home,” Dylan spoke up wryly.
Their CO just scowled again. “I mean it. No partying with Team Eight. I’m not in the mood to bail anyone out of jail again. Understood?”
“Understood,” they chorused.
After Becker stalked out of the room, Seth turned to the others and grinned. “Let’s throw the Eighters a welcome orgy.”
“Pass,” Dylan answered. “Claire and Aidan would kill me if I touched anyone else.”
“So would Jen,” Cash said ruefully.
Seth sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Bad idea. Miranda would kick my ass.”
Jackson stayed quiet, and experienced an odd pang of regret about it. He didn’t have a lovely lady—or in Dylan’s case, a lovely lady and a hot dude—getting all possessive over him. It bummed him out a little.
“Damn, I can’t wait to get home and sleep,” Dylan announced as the four men strode out of the locker room.
“Do you need a ride or did you take Aidan’s car this morning?” Cash asked, running a hand through his dark hair.
“Negative on the car. Claire took it to run a few last-minute errands before she leaves.”
Jackson glanced over. “Where is she going?”
“Los Angeles, for business. She’ll be gone for three weeks,” Dylan told him.
“I guess that’s the good thing about living a life of sin—your girl’s away but you’ll still have your man at home,” Seth cracked.
“Actually, Aidan’s gone too,” Dylan said glumly. “He’s got some downtime so he’s spending a few days in LA with the missus and then heading to Chicago to see his dad. Which means I’ll be all by my lonesome for three whole weeks.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Poor baby.”
“Poor baby is right,” Dylan muttered. “That means no sex for twenty-one days.”
“That’s an eternity in manwhore years,” Cash agreed solemnly.
Jackson snorted. Cash had totally called it—there was nobody who loved sex more than Dylan Wade. Men, women, didn’t matter the gender. Dylan was a serious horndog, which probably made it a good thing that he was now in a relationship with not one, but two partners.
Truthfully, Jackson still had no clue how he felt about Dylan’s unorthodox love life. Growing up in a tiny town in Texas, he hadn’t encountered many polyamorous relationships. The residents of Abbott Creek were hard-workin’, God-fearin’ folks who loved their football and believed that marriage was reserved for a man and a woman, thank you very much. If there were any liberal-minded folks in town, Jackson sure as heck hadn’t encountered them. That was one of the reasons he’d skipped town and joined the navy—he hadn’t been able to put up with those narrow-minded busybodies for one more second.
Needless to say, the fact that one of his best friends was involved in a permanent ménage a trois was a bit of a head-scratcher, yet Jackson honestly couldn’t say he disapproved. He adored Claire McKinley, Dylan’s girlfriend, and thought Aidan Rhodes, Dylan’s boyfriend, was pretty dang awesome. And as long as Dylan was happy, who was he to pass judgment?
The four of them continued chatting as they left the base, but Jackson’s head was elsewhere now. He was going to see Mia again. In about, oh, ten minutes, according to the tactical watch strapped to his wrist.
He couldn’t frickin’ wait.
“See you boys later,” Cash said when they reached the parking lot.
Dylan glanced at Jackson. “We still on for that COD sesh tonight?”
“He might have other plans,” Seth spoke up with a barely restrained grin.
That got the other two men’s attention.
“Another date?” Cash blurted out. “Oh man, if it’s another date can you please, please videotape it for me?”
“Are you seeing the sex addict again?” Dylan demanded. “Because I want pictures of her cowboy outfit—oooh, and try to get a shot of the two of you where you’re holding your gun.”
“Fuck you both,” Jackson said darkly.
Cash’s blue eyes twinkled. “Aw, come on, turn that frown upside down. A sex addict broke into your house. Most men would consider that a high-fivable story.”
“Seriously, though—you, me, Call of Duty tonight?” Dylan prompted.
“We’ll see,” he answered, shrugging. “I’ll text you later to let you know.”
