Getting Hotter
Page 28
“Wade!”
Hearing his name over the pounding bass line, Dylan searched the crowd, finally spotting Matt O’Connor and Aidan Rhodes. He gestured for Seth to follow, but the other man just shook his head and edged back in the direction of the counter.
With a shrug, Dylan left his roommate and wandered up the stairs toward his buddies. O’Connor, who boasted a shaved head and a southern drawl, served on his squad, and they exchanged a quick side hug when Dylan approached. He didn’t know Aidan that well, but the dark-haired intelligence officer was a good friend of Matt’s, and he greeted Dylan with a friendly nod.
“Where’s Masterson?” Matt asked.
“Playing guard dog. He’s got a thing for the bartender.”
The other two men laughed.
Matt sipped his beer, then set the bottle on the wide railing. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Hurts like a bitch,” Dylan admitted.
Aidan’s dark brows furrowed. “What happened?”
“Banged it up during a training demo this morning. And I’m pretty sure our medic was unnecessarily rough when he examined it to make sure it wasn’t broken.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah, wouldn’t surprise me. Texas didn’t look too happy when you kept riding his ass about not setting the charges fast enough.”
“’S’all good.” Dylan smirked. “I got a day off outta it, and Texas gets to report to the base at oh-dark-hundred hours for underwater demolition part two.”
“Way to rub it in. I’m in Jackson’s boat. Literally.” Grinning, Matt picked up his beer and drained it. “One more,” he decided. “After that, you boys need to cut me off, deal? ’Cause Becker will kick my ass if I show up hungover tomorrow.”
“Deal.” Dylan tipped his head and consumed half his beer in one gulp. “Don’t worry. I plan on drinking enough for the both of us.”
The unnaturally muscular meathead in the cheesy mesh tank top had been hanging around the counter way too long for Seth’s liking. Leaning against the wall just off the dance floor, Seth tuned out the blaring house beat and waited for the next flash of strobe lighting to illuminate Miranda’s face so he could gauge her expression.
She had to be annoyed with Mr. Steroids as much he was, right? The last time Seth had walked past, he’d heard the meathead bragging about how many reps he did at the gym. The f**king gym. Ha. Idiot wouldn’t survive a day of SEAL training. In fact, Seth would just love to see Mr. Steroids spend hours on the hot asphalt doing mass calisthenics. Or get hosed down with frigid water while being ordered to jump on and off a pier over and over again.
The gym.
Scowling to himself, Seth finally got a good look at Miranda, who was smiling at something Mr. Steroids had said. What the hell? How was she even remotely amused by anything that came out of that superficial jerk’s mouth?
No, wait. That wasn’t a genuine Miranda smile. This one was tight, didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He finished his beer, then ditched the bottle on the little ledge behind him. He was dying for a smoke, but he didn’t want to go outside while that meathead was still drooling over Miranda.
When Mr. Steroids leaned in closer and said something that made her frown, only the memory of how angry she’d been last time he’d interfered stopped Seth from marching over there. She claimed she could handle herself? Fine. He was willing to give her the chance.
Three minutes later, when a visibly disappointed Mr. Steroids stalked away from the counter, Seth had to give credit where credit was due. Whatever she’d said had successfully gotten rid of her admirer, and now she was at the other end of the bar, preparing a complicated-looking fruity drink that Seth wouldn’t be caught dead drinking.
He waited a few more minutes, just to make sure Mr. Steroids didn’t return, then left his perch in the shadows and made his way through the crowd. He fished his Marlboro pack from one of the pockets of his black cargo pants and shoved an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. A glance at his military-issue tactical watch showed it was past midnight. Shit, he had to be up in five hours. But he didn’t want to leave yet. He hated not being here for last call. That was when the creeps and a-holes came out to play.
For a moment, he considered asking Dylan to stick around in his stead—dude had tomorrow off, after all—but a quick inspection of the dance floor shot down that idea. Dylan and some blonde were wrapped all over each other like a pair of eels, grinding to the beat of the sultry hip-hop track now pouring out of the PA system. The lights zigzagged directly over the couple, and…yep, Seth’s roommate had one hand under the chick’s shirt, the other tangled in her long blonde hair.
No way would he be able to pry those two apart tonight.
Fine then. One quick smoke, and then he’d say good night to Miranda, and trust that she could take care of herself.
The club offered a small smoking patio at the back of the building, and when he exited through the rear doors, he was surprised to find Aidan Rhodes out there with a cigarette. A stocky bouncer stood by the door, nodding at Seth before going expressionless.
“Hey, man.” Seth nodded at Aidan in greeting. “Didn’t know you smoked.”
“Only when I’m drinking.” The tip of his cigarette glowed in the darkness as the naval officer took a deep drag. “You heading out?”
“Soon.” He lit up, inhaled, and blew a gray plume into the night air. “Just need to figure out how my very drunk, very horny roommate plans on getting home.”
Hearing his name over the pounding bass line, Dylan searched the crowd, finally spotting Matt O’Connor and Aidan Rhodes. He gestured for Seth to follow, but the other man just shook his head and edged back in the direction of the counter.
With a shrug, Dylan left his roommate and wandered up the stairs toward his buddies. O’Connor, who boasted a shaved head and a southern drawl, served on his squad, and they exchanged a quick side hug when Dylan approached. He didn’t know Aidan that well, but the dark-haired intelligence officer was a good friend of Matt’s, and he greeted Dylan with a friendly nod.
“Where’s Masterson?” Matt asked.
“Playing guard dog. He’s got a thing for the bartender.”
The other two men laughed.
Matt sipped his beer, then set the bottle on the wide railing. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Hurts like a bitch,” Dylan admitted.
Aidan’s dark brows furrowed. “What happened?”
“Banged it up during a training demo this morning. And I’m pretty sure our medic was unnecessarily rough when he examined it to make sure it wasn’t broken.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah, wouldn’t surprise me. Texas didn’t look too happy when you kept riding his ass about not setting the charges fast enough.”
“’S’all good.” Dylan smirked. “I got a day off outta it, and Texas gets to report to the base at oh-dark-hundred hours for underwater demolition part two.”
“Way to rub it in. I’m in Jackson’s boat. Literally.” Grinning, Matt picked up his beer and drained it. “One more,” he decided. “After that, you boys need to cut me off, deal? ’Cause Becker will kick my ass if I show up hungover tomorrow.”
“Deal.” Dylan tipped his head and consumed half his beer in one gulp. “Don’t worry. I plan on drinking enough for the both of us.”
The unnaturally muscular meathead in the cheesy mesh tank top had been hanging around the counter way too long for Seth’s liking. Leaning against the wall just off the dance floor, Seth tuned out the blaring house beat and waited for the next flash of strobe lighting to illuminate Miranda’s face so he could gauge her expression.
She had to be annoyed with Mr. Steroids as much he was, right? The last time Seth had walked past, he’d heard the meathead bragging about how many reps he did at the gym. The f**king gym. Ha. Idiot wouldn’t survive a day of SEAL training. In fact, Seth would just love to see Mr. Steroids spend hours on the hot asphalt doing mass calisthenics. Or get hosed down with frigid water while being ordered to jump on and off a pier over and over again.
The gym.
Scowling to himself, Seth finally got a good look at Miranda, who was smiling at something Mr. Steroids had said. What the hell? How was she even remotely amused by anything that came out of that superficial jerk’s mouth?
No, wait. That wasn’t a genuine Miranda smile. This one was tight, didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He finished his beer, then ditched the bottle on the little ledge behind him. He was dying for a smoke, but he didn’t want to go outside while that meathead was still drooling over Miranda.
When Mr. Steroids leaned in closer and said something that made her frown, only the memory of how angry she’d been last time he’d interfered stopped Seth from marching over there. She claimed she could handle herself? Fine. He was willing to give her the chance.
Three minutes later, when a visibly disappointed Mr. Steroids stalked away from the counter, Seth had to give credit where credit was due. Whatever she’d said had successfully gotten rid of her admirer, and now she was at the other end of the bar, preparing a complicated-looking fruity drink that Seth wouldn’t be caught dead drinking.
He waited a few more minutes, just to make sure Mr. Steroids didn’t return, then left his perch in the shadows and made his way through the crowd. He fished his Marlboro pack from one of the pockets of his black cargo pants and shoved an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. A glance at his military-issue tactical watch showed it was past midnight. Shit, he had to be up in five hours. But he didn’t want to leave yet. He hated not being here for last call. That was when the creeps and a-holes came out to play.
For a moment, he considered asking Dylan to stick around in his stead—dude had tomorrow off, after all—but a quick inspection of the dance floor shot down that idea. Dylan and some blonde were wrapped all over each other like a pair of eels, grinding to the beat of the sultry hip-hop track now pouring out of the PA system. The lights zigzagged directly over the couple, and…yep, Seth’s roommate had one hand under the chick’s shirt, the other tangled in her long blonde hair.
No way would he be able to pry those two apart tonight.
Fine then. One quick smoke, and then he’d say good night to Miranda, and trust that she could take care of herself.
The club offered a small smoking patio at the back of the building, and when he exited through the rear doors, he was surprised to find Aidan Rhodes out there with a cigarette. A stocky bouncer stood by the door, nodding at Seth before going expressionless.
“Hey, man.” Seth nodded at Aidan in greeting. “Didn’t know you smoked.”
“Only when I’m drinking.” The tip of his cigarette glowed in the darkness as the naval officer took a deep drag. “You heading out?”
“Soon.” He lit up, inhaled, and blew a gray plume into the night air. “Just need to figure out how my very drunk, very horny roommate plans on getting home.”
