Seth ignored the sarcastic jab she lobbed his way and dried his hands with a dishtowel. Next to him, Dylan looked equally relieved. On the entire drive home from the base earlier, Dylan had been moaning about how the only thing that would ease his aching muscles was lying on his back while a hot chick rode him like a cowgirl, so no doubt the guy had been horrified to think he might have to spend the night babysitting instead.
“What time do you start?” Dylan asked.
“Nine,” she replied. “Why?”
“Maybe I’ll catch a ride with you. I’m meeting a few guys downtown tonight, right near your club. I’d take the Jeep, but I plan on getting hammered.”
“Sure, no problem. Oh, and if you’re interested, all domestic beers are half-price tonight, between ten and midnight.”
Dylan looked incredibly intrigued by that. “We might have to stop by then.”
Miranda walked over to throw out the paper towels. Seth was only standing two feet from the sink, and when she got near, her scent filled his nostrils and sent a dizzying rush of lust through him.
To make matters worse, all she ever wore was leggings. Super tight ones that clung to the contours of her shapely legs. She had a dancer’s legs—long and lean, not heavily muscled, but radiating strength. And grace. Damn, the woman was graceful. Sometimes when he watched her work the bar, it was like witnessing a ballet in progress.
“I’ll be at the club tonight too, so you might as well ride with me,” Seth told Dylan as he moved away from the counter to place some much-needed distance between himself and Miranda’s sexy body.
Her expression displayed sheer frustration. “No, Seth, you promised you wouldn’t bug me at work anymore.”
He had to laugh. “I made no such promise, babe. Wishful thinking on your part, maybe?”
She grumbled something under her breath.
“What was that?” he asked sweetly.
“Nothing.” With a frown, she drifted to the doorway. “I’m going to hang out with my kids until the sitter gets here.”
Both men watched her go, and then Dylan turned to him with a perplexed look. “What are you hoping to get out of this, bro?”
The question gave him legitimate pause. He took a moment to consider it, to ask himself, what did he want from Miranda?
Her body?
Her submission?
Her…approval?
No, the latter was so preposterous he fought a laugh. He didn’t need Miranda’s approval. So what if she viewed him as nothing more than a sexed-up bad boy with all the depth of a birdbath?
He was a sexed-up bad boy. Though he did have more depth and substance than anyone suspected. He just kept it to himself. He had nothing to prove to anyone, anyway, seeing as how he’d stopped caring a long time ago what people thought of him.
But you do care what she thinks. You care a lot.
“Fuck,” he muttered, turning away from his roommate’s inquisitive stare. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what I’m hoping to get out of it. No fucking idea.”
7
Something was going on with Seth. Dylan couldn’t figure out what, and he knew there was no chance in hell his smartass jerk of a roommate would shed any light on the matter. But it was easy to see that Miranda had gotten under the guy’s skin. Like really under the skin, burrowed deep like a tick.
He’d never seen Seth so rattled before, and he had no idea what to make of it. Out of all his teammates, Seth Masterson was by far the toughest. Not necessarily the biggest—at six-five Jackson had him in height, and Becker definitely outmuscled him—but Seth was unquestionably the most lethal. He possessed an eerie sense of calm in the face of danger, always the first one to enter a hot zone and the last one to leave.
Nothing scared Seth Masterson.
Except, apparently, two cute little six-year-olds and their sexy-as-sin mother.
Sighing, Dylan 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.
He definitely needed to get laid tonight. Earlier this morning during the 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 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 and scanned 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 craving 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. 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 weeknight.
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, asshole.”
“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 dance floor.
“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’s medical leave 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 fucking 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 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. 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. 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 a sultry hip-hop track. 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 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 area 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 the 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.”
Aidan opened his mouth to reply, only to get cut off by the creak of the door as it opened to let a few newcomers onto the patio.
Seth’s shoulders stiffened when he recognized Mr. Steroids. And look at that, the meathead had friends, two of them, both of whom clearly belonged to the same pansy-ass gym.
“Hate it when bitches act like they’re better than me,” Mr. Steroids was grumbling.
Seth noted that all three men were smokers, which kinda contradicted the whole health-fanatic vibe they were trying to give off.
“Dude, I hear ya. Those high-and-mighty types are grade-A cunts,” the second meathead declared.
Dropping the C-word? So these losers didn’t just dress like douchebags—they acted like it too. Shocking.
“Whatever, dude,” the third douche piped up. “Her tits weren’t even that nice.”
Seth and Aidan exchanged a look. Neither of them said a word, but Seth could tell Aidan was annoyed by the vulgar convo happening next to them. As Aidan’s shoulders tensed beneath his white polo shirt, Seth realized just how ripped the other man was. He tended to forget it, since Aidan was only five-eleven or so and therefore dwarfed by guys like O’Connor, who stood well over six feet.
“And at least come up with an excuse I could buy.” Mr. Steroids exhaled a cloud of smoke, then guffawed. “You’re busy run
ning a dance school? Yeah right, sweetie. You’re busy working the pole at the D-Cup Lounge, more like it.”
Now Seth’s shoulders were stiffer than a fence post. He’d figured the douches were talking about Miranda, but now that he had verification, it was difficult to control the anger simmering in his gut.
Slowly and methodically, he turned to face the three gym rats and cleared his throat to get their attention. “Quick question,” he said.
Mr. Steroids looked annoyed by the interruption. He flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the pavement instead of using the bucket of sand at his feet. “What is it?” the guy snapped.
“The girl you’re talking about—you mean the bartender, right?”
“Yeah. What’s it to you?”
Seth purposefully dropped his cigarette in the ashtray bucket and met Mr. Steroids’ impatient blue eyes. “She’s my girlfriend,” he replied coldly.
Cue: apology.
Or maybe even a mumbled “whatever”.
What he didn’t expect?
“Well, sorry to break it to you, dude, but your girlfriend’s a cunt.”
8
Heaven. Dylan was in heaven. Hidden away in one of the shadowy alcoves of the club, he had his back against the wall, an eager girl on her knees before him, and a warm mouth surrounding his dick. Groaning, he pushed his hips forward, threading both hands through the blonde’s silky hair as he thrust deeper.
“That’s it, honey. Nice and slow.”
She moaned in approval, then teased the hard length of him with the tip of her tongue, torturing him with featherlight licks that drove him fucking crazy. He was dying to get inside her, but she wasn’t ready to leave the club yet, so they’d ended up striking a bargain—she’d help him take the edge off with a quick BJ, he’d stick around and dance with her until last call, and then they’d head back to her place for a night of fun. Win-win-win.
Out of Uniform Box Set: Books 4-6 plus 2 Bonus Novellas Page 9
