Getting Hotter
Page 27
Nothing scared Seth Masterson.
Except, apparently, two cute little six-year-olds and their sexy-as-sin mother.
Sighing, he turned away from Seth’s stiff, gloomy profile and focused on the storefronts whizzing past the Jeep’s passenger side. It was getting dark out, and most of the shops were closing up for the night. Good. That meant all the cute salesgirls would be done with work and heading to the city’s bars and clubs to unwind.
Shit, he definitely needed to get laid tonight. Earlier this morning during that training op, a wave had slammed him into the side of the boat, and now his shoulder ached like a motherfucker. He could hardly be considered injured, but the CO had ordered him to take a day to rest the shoulder, so Dylan had tomorrow off. Meaning there was nothing stopping him from getting drunk tonight. And laid. Yup, he had the green light for that too.
“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” Seth asked, his hands moving over the steering wheel to make a left turn.
“O’Connor, Rhodes and a few ensigns from the base.”
Seth slowed down as they reached the heart of downtown San Diego, scanning the street for parking. “What about Cash and Texas?”
“Cash is chilling at Jen’s place. Jackson pled exhaustion.”
And although he wouldn’t say it out loud, Dylan was much more troubled by the former than the latter. Up until six months ago, Cash had been his wingman, but nowadays, he was in a relationship with a woman he adored. Dylan couldn’t even fault the guy—he adored Jen too, and why wouldn’t he? She was not only beautiful, but funny, sweet and way too kindhearted for her own good. She kept trying to find ways to “include” him, whether it was dinner invites or movie nights or swimming over at Cash’s place. He totally appreciated the effort she was making to ensure he and McCoy didn’t drift apart—bromances were common casualties of committed relationships—but the thing of it was, Dylan wasn’t worried about losing Cash.
The reason he was allowing this distance between them to grow was because seeing Cash and Jen together made him…yearn.
For what, he had no clue. A relationship of his own? A woman who loved him?
Whatever it was, it freaked him out, because that strange yearning was always accompanied by a vise of self-doubt that squeezed the living shit out of his chest. Because he didn’t want to face the fact that maybe he wasn’t cut out for what Cash had. And because he hated hearing that nagging voice in his head, the one that reminded him of everything he was.
And everything he wasn’t.
“Somebody’s pissed off.”
Seth’s voice, half-taunting, half-amused, jolted him from his disturbing thoughts. “I’m not pissed off. I just spaced out.”
“Oh really, so you’re not sulking about McCoy blowing you off again?”
“Like I said yesterday, I’m happy for him.” He paused. “Hey, did I tell you my brother’s getting married?”
“Seriously? Mr. Boring’s getting hitched?”
Dylan didn’t bother being offended on Chris’s behalf. It was true—Chris definitely had the tendency to be boring, but then again, didn’t that go with the territory when you chose to be a lawyer? Fortunately, Chris was capable of letting loose every now and then, usually after a few beers and some extra convincing on Dylan’s part.
“He proposed to Claire a couple of nights ago.”
Seth parked the Jeep and killed the engine. “The shrew?”
“Yep,” he said glumly. “Ms. Snooty is gonna be my sister-in-law. Fun.”
His phone buzzed as he and Seth got out of the car. He was getting an incoming text from O’Connor—Already inside. Come find us.
“The guys are inside,” he told Seth.
They approached the front door, which was painted black and manned by a bored-looking bouncer in a muscle tee. There was no line out front, one of the upsides of showing up on a Monday night.
Inside the club, the music was blasting and the strobe lights were flashing. The place wasn’t packed, but Dylan glimpsed several promising candidates for what he had in store for tonight, including a cute blonde who openly eye-fucked him as he passed her. He made a mental note to find her again and led the way to the bar counter, Seth on his heels.
Miranda was already on duty, looking damn sexy in a low-cut red top. He couldn’t judge the length of her skirt because the counter shielded her lower body from view, but he suspected it was indecently short.
Yup, indecent—confirmation came as Miranda stepped toward the mirrored wall that housed shelves of liquor bottles in all shapes and sizes. When she stood on her tiptoes to reach for some Jägermeister, her skirt rode up, revealing the backs of her firm, tanned thighs and the underside of her curvy ass.
“Check her out again and I’ll rip your balls off.” Seth’s voice was deceptively calm as he came up beside him.
Dylan just grinned. “Meow.”
“I’m serious, ass**le.”
“Double meow.”
Miranda greeted them with a resigned smile, which was mostly directed at Seth. “What’ll it be, guys?”
They ordered Bud Lights, paid Miranda, then moved away from the counter to let a group of scantily clad chicks place their orders. Dylan scanned the dance floor for their buddies but didn’t see them. OMG had a cool layout—the dance floor was like a sunken room, sectioned off by a railing that wrapped around it. Low sets of steps on each side of the space led to curtained-off, darkened alcoves—which Dylan had made use of on more than one occasion—as well as seating areas with high tables and stools that overlooked the throng of dancers.
Except, apparently, two cute little six-year-olds and their sexy-as-sin mother.
Sighing, he turned away from Seth’s stiff, gloomy profile and focused on the storefronts whizzing past the Jeep’s passenger side. It was getting dark out, and most of the shops were closing up for the night. Good. That meant all the cute salesgirls would be done with work and heading to the city’s bars and clubs to unwind.
Shit, he definitely needed to get laid tonight. Earlier this morning during that training op, a wave had slammed him into the side of the boat, and now his shoulder ached like a motherfucker. He could hardly be considered injured, but the CO had ordered him to take a day to rest the shoulder, so Dylan had tomorrow off. Meaning there was nothing stopping him from getting drunk tonight. And laid. Yup, he had the green light for that too.
“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” Seth asked, his hands moving over the steering wheel to make a left turn.
“O’Connor, Rhodes and a few ensigns from the base.”
Seth slowed down as they reached the heart of downtown San Diego, scanning the street for parking. “What about Cash and Texas?”
“Cash is chilling at Jen’s place. Jackson pled exhaustion.”
And although he wouldn’t say it out loud, Dylan was much more troubled by the former than the latter. Up until six months ago, Cash had been his wingman, but nowadays, he was in a relationship with a woman he adored. Dylan couldn’t even fault the guy—he adored Jen too, and why wouldn’t he? She was not only beautiful, but funny, sweet and way too kindhearted for her own good. She kept trying to find ways to “include” him, whether it was dinner invites or movie nights or swimming over at Cash’s place. He totally appreciated the effort she was making to ensure he and McCoy didn’t drift apart—bromances were common casualties of committed relationships—but the thing of it was, Dylan wasn’t worried about losing Cash.
The reason he was allowing this distance between them to grow was because seeing Cash and Jen together made him…yearn.
For what, he had no clue. A relationship of his own? A woman who loved him?
Whatever it was, it freaked him out, because that strange yearning was always accompanied by a vise of self-doubt that squeezed the living shit out of his chest. Because he didn’t want to face the fact that maybe he wasn’t cut out for what Cash had. And because he hated hearing that nagging voice in his head, the one that reminded him of everything he was.
And everything he wasn’t.
“Somebody’s pissed off.”
Seth’s voice, half-taunting, half-amused, jolted him from his disturbing thoughts. “I’m not pissed off. I just spaced out.”
“Oh really, so you’re not sulking about McCoy blowing you off again?”
“Like I said yesterday, I’m happy for him.” He paused. “Hey, did I tell you my brother’s getting married?”
“Seriously? Mr. Boring’s getting hitched?”
Dylan didn’t bother being offended on Chris’s behalf. It was true—Chris definitely had the tendency to be boring, but then again, didn’t that go with the territory when you chose to be a lawyer? Fortunately, Chris was capable of letting loose every now and then, usually after a few beers and some extra convincing on Dylan’s part.
“He proposed to Claire a couple of nights ago.”
Seth parked the Jeep and killed the engine. “The shrew?”
“Yep,” he said glumly. “Ms. Snooty is gonna be my sister-in-law. Fun.”
His phone buzzed as he and Seth got out of the car. He was getting an incoming text from O’Connor—Already inside. Come find us.
“The guys are inside,” he told Seth.
They approached the front door, which was painted black and manned by a bored-looking bouncer in a muscle tee. There was no line out front, one of the upsides of showing up on a Monday night.
Inside the club, the music was blasting and the strobe lights were flashing. The place wasn’t packed, but Dylan glimpsed several promising candidates for what he had in store for tonight, including a cute blonde who openly eye-fucked him as he passed her. He made a mental note to find her again and led the way to the bar counter, Seth on his heels.
Miranda was already on duty, looking damn sexy in a low-cut red top. He couldn’t judge the length of her skirt because the counter shielded her lower body from view, but he suspected it was indecently short.
Yup, indecent—confirmation came as Miranda stepped toward the mirrored wall that housed shelves of liquor bottles in all shapes and sizes. When she stood on her tiptoes to reach for some Jägermeister, her skirt rode up, revealing the backs of her firm, tanned thighs and the underside of her curvy ass.
“Check her out again and I’ll rip your balls off.” Seth’s voice was deceptively calm as he came up beside him.
Dylan just grinned. “Meow.”
“I’m serious, ass**le.”
“Double meow.”
Miranda greeted them with a resigned smile, which was mostly directed at Seth. “What’ll it be, guys?”
They ordered Bud Lights, paid Miranda, then moved away from the counter to let a group of scantily clad chicks place their orders. Dylan scanned the dance floor for their buddies but didn’t see them. OMG had a cool layout—the dance floor was like a sunken room, sectioned off by a railing that wrapped around it. Low sets of steps on each side of the space led to curtained-off, darkened alcoves—which Dylan had made use of on more than one occasion—as well as seating areas with high tables and stools that overlooked the throng of dancers.
