by Sylvia Fox
“I never wanted a military man for you. Definitely not a SEAL. I know too many of them. They’re all good men. The best. Hell, he’s the best of the best. But baby, a life with him could never be normal, you know? Not only the age thing. He lives in Las Vegas. He’s my best friend. I’d be the butt of every joke on the team. And you’re getting your education. Your dreams are way bigger than one of us. We’re trained to kill. You deserve… I don’t know, but you deserve the best.”
“Dad, you just said he is the best. I was raised around military guys. SEALs. I always knew I’d wind up with one. They’re the only guys I’m attracted to. He’s the only guy I’ve ever been attracted to.”
Sledge gave me the slightest hint of a smile and a nod of thanks.
My mom and dad looked at each other a long while before either one spoke again. I searched for Sledge’s shoe under the table and placed mine next to his.
“It’s just… unseemly. You know what I mean? You get that, don’t you, Sledge?” my father asked.
“I do. I’ve gone over all the reason this can’t work. But I keep coming back to the most important reason it can work. Because I love her. I love Ambrose deeply and I could only ever want what’s best for her. To love her and respect her and protect her. Luke, we’ve been through a hell of a lot together, and I’ve never lied to you.”
“No, you haven’t. I respect and trust you more than anybody in the world who doesn’t share my last name. Shelly, help me out here.”
My mother looked at Sledge, then me, then my father, then back across the table before clearing her throat.
“We both knew the day would come when Ambrose dated. When she got serious about a boy. And we talked about it over the years, about certain expectations we’d have of the young man. That he be somebody we could respect. And who respected our daughter. That he could protect her. That if it got to the point of getting serious, that he could provide for her. The way I see it, Shane checks all those boxes. All except the part about being a ‘young man’. But we know what Shane’s intentions are, we know he’s an honorable man, and if his age isn’t an issue for her, why should it be for us?”
“School comes first,” my father shot back. “She has to get her degree. She worked too hard in school for too long to give up on that dream.”
“Naturally,” my mother replied, looking across the table for support.
Sledge nodded his head. “Absolutely. I would do nothing but encourage her to get her degree. Or degrees. That’s not even a question. I know how important that is, and how important doing it with Taylor and Christina is. I’d never ask her to do anything that would get in the way of that.”
“And here I thought Chechnya was scary,” my father replied. “Somalia was a cakewalk compared to being a parent.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. He caught my eye and raised his index finger. “School comes first. First and second. That old guy over there is a good man. And I love him like a brother. If being together can make the two of you happy, it would be wrong for me to do anything to get in the way.” My dad turned back toward Sledge. “Understand, if you break her heart, the entire team will come after you.”
“That’s affirmative,” he answered.
Both men stood up and met in as aggressive a hug as the definition of the word allows. My mother was up next, disappearing into Sledge’s embrace.
He hugged me, finally, but it was more of a big brother-little sister hug out of respect for my folks, instead of the ass-grabbing, body-mashing sort of hugs I craved from him.
We went back inside, where whispered questions and answers whipped around the room until everyone seemed satisfied by the solution we’d come to around the patio table with the wind chill approaching freezing.
I saw little of Sledge during the rest of his stay, as he had catching up to do with the rest of his team and he spent an afternoon in D.C. at FBI headquarters discussing the dead Romanians back in Las Vegas.
When it came time for him to return to Las Vegas, I drove him to the airport, and we made out like horny teenagers in the long-term parking garage for so long that he had to run through the airport to make his flight.
I cried on the drive home, but my girls were waiting for me when I got there and we got through it together. Nothing beats having friends. True, through thick and thin type of friends. Christina and Taylor. Ride or die.
Sledge and I agreed to make do with the long-distance relationship thing as best we could, supplemented by the occasional visit, one direction or the other.
I plan to enroll in summer classes and double up my coursework to graduate as early as possible. Knowing the reward waiting for me, aside from whatever weight and earning power an English degree carries, makes all the extra studying and missed beach time well worth it.
Cap, gown, and endless soul-quaking orgasms are powerful motivators.
8
Epilogue
It wasn’t easy, but I managed to graduate at the end of what should have been my junior year. Taylor and Christina hated to see me go, and I didn’t relish leaving the life the three of us built at Martha Jefferson.
A sisterhood like we shared is a treasure, and the memories of all-nighters, studying or otherwise, with those two, will stay with me for a lifetime.
The day after graduation, Sledge flew me to Hawaii. He was waiting for me when I landed, and we spent a sun-drenched week in Maui. I don’t remember wearing any clothes for the entire first two days we were there. Our pent-up sexual energy made our lovemaking more like hand to hand combat, and I was determined to exhaust him before he did me in.
By the end of the second day, I’d conquered his libido to the point where he said he might need a day or two to “recharge his batteries.” Not that his tongue needed any rest, mind you. That never seems to get tired. He’d tell you mine never does, either. But in my case, I never stop talking. He can’t stop eating my…well, he enjoys putting his tongue in some filthy places. That’s another book.
We spent an unforgettable week in paradise, and on the last night of our stay, we sat on the beach watching the sun set over the Pacific.
As we walked back to our villa, dodging crabs, he spotted something in the sand and knelt to pick it up. When he turned to show me, he remained on one knee, and I screamed.
The ring was gorgeous, sparkling even in the moonlight, and I couldn’t even wait for him to finish asking me before I jumped up and down and squealed “Yes, yes, yes!”
A family walking on the beach gave us a round of applause and their daughter, all of seven or eight years old, serenaded us with her version of My Heart Will Go On, the Celine Dion song.
We were married in Little River, with Christina and Taylor in my line, and both their fathers in my husband’s.
Married life took us to Las Vegas, and although I didn’t need to work, I found my niche self-publishing action adventure books. About Navy SEALs.
Finally, my first name worked in my favor.
Nobody would believe a female author writing about SEALs, right?
Unless they were the kind who could fuck all night. The kind I write about spend their nights shooting and getting shot at. My friends have tried reading them, but they tell me only dudes could read that stuff. Christina suggested I try writing romance, but I don’t think I could write the sex. Or maybe I could. Sledge continues to be inspirational in that respect.
Speaking of Christina, two years after college she had a one night stand with a high-powered attorney she met at a bar in D.C.
They’re getting married in the spring. She’s hoping she won’t be showing yet.
Taylor’s communications degree, good looks, and presence in front of the camera has made her the youngest news anchor in Columbia, South Carolina. She’s hoping to parlay that job into a bigger market within a few years. I keep telling her that Las Vegas is that bigger market.
Sledge and I bought a place out in the suburbs, since a condo tower on the Las Vegas Strip isn’t really the ideal setting for a rambunct
ious little boy who loves to run and climb. Our son, Luke Anthony Hammer, just turned two and he’s an absolute wild man.
Just yesterday, Little Luke walked in the back door to show me his new “friend.” He was carrying a scorpion. I can’t make this stuff up.
Our four-bedroom house has an empty room that Sledge painted pink in hopes that our second child will be a girl. Luke votes for a boy. My test just came back positive yesterday, so we won’t know for a while yet, but the thought of my rough and tough husband holding a little baby girl makes my heart melt. I just have to make sure Little Luke doesn’t want to introduce her to any of his “friends.”
Life couldn’t get much better around here. If there’s anything I have learned is that it’s worth taking the risk for love.
Even when it seems impossible.
My SEAL saved me. And I plan on showing him how grateful I am for the rest of both of our long lives.
THE END
Thank you for reading Save Me, SEAL! To find out when my next book is coming out, subscribe to my newsletter. Please enjoy a short excerpt on the following pages of my good friend Alison Ryan’s book, HUCK: The Montana Brothers Book 1. It’s about a hot country mountain man who falls for a runaway debutante.
And Happy New Year!
HUCK: Chapter One
“Whiskey is sunlight held together by water,” the bartender said as he slid me a glass of Maker’s across the weathered bar.
“Is it now?” I asked, as I took it all down in one gulp. The burn of it sliding down my throat was a welcome reprieve. It made me feel something other than the pain that brewed in my heart and in the marrow of my bones.
I’d shown up in this tiny-ass town and in this tiny-ass bar about 20 minutes ago after driving for almost 2 days; away from Kentucky and all that was in my past.
I wasn’t interested in ever going back, either. So I’d driven until the money ran out, which ended up being when I hit Whitmer, Montana.
Google Maps didn’t even have it on its app if that tells you anything.
I’d checked into a Traveler’s Inn right off the freeway exit. After getting my car unloaded, I noticed the bar across the street. The Side Pocket is what the rusted sign said. I didn’t much care about what it was called, but I had to admit it was a clever name.
But I wasn’t here to play pool. I was here to get blazing drunk. I wanted to wake up tomorrow with no memory of anything before this very night. I wondered if the bartender had anything with that kind of potency and magic on his drink list.
If only.
“Just so you know,” the bartender said, leaning in. “If you’re here for ‘Shitfaced Mondays’, we had to cancel them. On account of all the fights over pretty little things like you. So go easy on that Maker’s, darlin’. It’s full price after that one. But the first one’s always on me.” He grinned.
“Well, thanks,” I said. “I’ll have another.”
“What the pretty girl wants, the pretty girl gets,” the bartender said, as he walked to the other end of the bar and pulled out another glass. He was an older man, handsome. He kind of reminded me of Sam Elliott in the movie Road House.
As a matter of fact, this whole bar kind of reminded me of that movie.
Large, burly, dangerous-looking men surrounded the bar and the tables sprinkled around the room. Women in short skirts and tight shirts paraded around, shaking their asses in exaggerated fashion, hoping to catch the eye of a man who would show them a good time later on.
Sexual tension hung in the air. I could reach out and touch it.
The thought of going home with one of these men and getting fucked wasn’t the most unappealing thing I’d ever considered. I wasn’t usually a girl who did the one-night stand thing. But part of this journey was me getting rid of everything about my old life.
So if that meant going home with one of these rugged strangers tonight and letting him do whatever he wanted to my body? So be it.
I could feel eyes on me as I gulped down my second Maker’s. I hadn’t drunk like this in a very long time, so I knew it wouldn’t take long for me to be loaded. I wanted to lose complete control of myself and just allow my destiny to take over.
I was tired of having to think.
Suddenly, I felt the presence of a man next to me. Before turning to look at him, his essence hit my nostrils. He smelled like the woods- like fresh grass and hard work.
When I finally laid my eyes on him, I almost gasped.
He was fucking gorgeous.
Not just the typical tall, dark and handsome, though he was all of those things. He had dark brown hair and a square jaw that was covered in stubble. His eyes were brooding and looked a little angry in the dim lighting that was all around the bar. He wore just a simple black t-shirt, a tattoo peeking out from the left sleeve. His arms were ropey and thick. He was all muscle and I imagined leaning into him would make me feel safe and protected. This man was walking granite; a wall of sex.
I wanted him to talk to me. I needed to know if his voice was how I imagined it would be. Deep. Like it came from the bottom of a well.
“Another drink for the pretty girl!” the bartender said, placing a glass in front of me. “Want to start a tab?”
I looked at him, suddenly out of the trance the handsome stranger had put me in. “Tab? Yeah. Sure. Let me find my credit card.”
I slid my purse around from my shoulder to my lap to dig through and find my American Express.
“I see you met Huck,” the bartender replied. I looked at him, confused.
“Who?” I asked. The bartender laughed.
“The guy next to you,” he said. “He’s Huck. And he’s a whiskey man too.”
Huck.
The handsome stranger’s eyes were on me now. I found myself completely lost in them for a moment. I’d never seen someone so effortlessly perfect. But he didn’t seem as enamored with me. He was expressionless. Bored, even…to my chagrin.
Great. Like I needed a blow to my ever shrinking ego right now.
“Well,” I said, looking back at my bartender buddy. “Buy Huck a round, too. On me. He looks like he could use a little sunlight with his water.”
The bartender laughed, “Ain’t that the fucking truth.”
Huck was looking at me again, his expression more curious now.
“You’re buying me a drink?” he asked.
Oh fuck, his voice. It was just as sexy as I imagined it would be.
“Maybe,” I said. “Why not, right? You look like you could use one.”
“Why is that?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing. I couldn’t read this guy at all.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just assumed. We’re both sitting at a bar.”
“I’ll be standing in a moment. After that, walking,” he replied.
I had hoped to make him smile, but he punctuated his brush off by turning away from me. It felt like he was recoiling.
I guessed I wasn’t his type.
Fuck it, I thought. Hot guys are such assholes anyway.
“By the way,” the bartender said to me as he approached with Huck’s glass of bourbon, “I’m Rick. And this rude asshole is my nephew. Forgive me for being related to someone who has no idea how to talk to women.”
I glanced over at Huck again. He was glaring at his uncle as he took the glass from his hand.
But he didn’t reply. And what was I supposed to say to that?
“And your name?” Rick asked, placing one elbow on the bar.
“Belle,” I replied, downing my third glass in one swoop. Both men stared at me, clearly in awe.
What can I say? I’m a Kentucky girl. And we know how to hold our bourbon.
But I was definitely feeling it’s effects. My head was getting lighter now. Everything around me swirled. I liked this feeling.
“Did you hear that, Huck?” Rick asked, his eyes still on me. “This pretty girl’s name is Belle. And she just bought you a round. How about you thank her?”
Huck too
k down his own glass and I watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. God, he was sexy. I seriously hated myself for wanting him so much.
“Thank you, Belle,” Huck said. His voice was flat.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
“But,” he continued. “I can’t let you do that. Rick, put it on the house’s tab. And whatever else Belle wants tonight.” Huck stood up. I stared up at him, still in awe. He was probably at least 6’4.
I felt small and submissive next to him. I’d always rolled my eyes at the term “weak in the knees,” but that’s how Huck made me feel.
Or maybe that was the liquor.
“Don’t drink too much,” he said. “There are men in here that would take advantage of you. Stay close to Rick.”
I blinked. “I’m fine. I know how to handle myself.”
Huck looked me up and down. I’m a curvy little thing but I’m only about 5’2 on my best day.
“Sure you do. This is Whitmer, Belle. It’s a rough town and you’re in a rough part of it. And these,” he tilted his head out toward the crowd. “Are some roughnecks. Where are you staying?”
I looked down at my Tory Burch flats. “The Traveler’s Inn across the street.”
Huck shook his head. “What the hell are you doing there?”
I put my hand on my hip. I was a little annoyed at the judgement in his tone. “Sorry, fancy pants. It was cheap and it was off the freeway. I only just showed up here maybe 30 minutes ago. I don’t know where I am, all I know is I want to drink until I forget my own name and how I got here.” I turned back to the bar and to Rick who was still standing there listening to us. “So, with that said, bring me another Maker’s. And another one after that.”
Huck shook his head. “No. She’s cut off after this next one.” He turned to walk away.
“And who the hell do you think you are?” I called after him.
