Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2)

by Rachel Robinson

  Ah, something worthy of her words. A few moments later Tahoe lands safely. Landings are always sketchy depending on the winds. Knees get blown pretty easily. We’re big men and unless conditions are for us, landings are against us. I watch as he unhooks his chute and bends down to start retrieving the nylon fabric that spreads across the ground around him.

  Your foot was so beautiful. I wasn’t sure what could compete with it, I reply back to her quickly.

  The gray bubble pops up instantly. She’s into our conversation, or she’s bored, perhaps in between classes or already off for the day. She told me her schedule, but I’ve already forgotten it.

  I wouldn’t be disappointed if you wanted to send me photos of other body parts. I send it before I think twice.

  My heart hammers, but I try to distract myself by watching landings as I type out a list of the things in life worthy of my love. There are a lot. It’s not as if boobs and pussies aren’t something I typically get in messages, but they aren’t from people I’ve met before. They’re strangers I’ll meet up with later. This is somehow different. Everything about Teala and me is different. The gray bubble disappears, and her message comes through. A photo of her hand. Red nails. I laugh, and then another message.

  Your list is longer than War and Peace. I just rattled off the first things I could think of. I pocket my phone.

  Making my way to the plane, I pick up my chutes—the main and the backup. With a stomach bordering on too full, I get on the small aircraft and ready myself to deal with nerves. Believe it or not the worst part of skydiving is the ride in the plane. They pack us in too tightly. What if someone bumps my gear in a way that makes it defective? The smell of fucking farts is also foul and nerve-wracking. Ascension causes gasses in the body to exit. I still curse out Moose and scowl at the shit-eating, or better yet, shit-stinking grin on his face. There are two benches lining each side of metal tube of death. Lights that the pilot turns on let us know when it’s time to start falling out into the sky. I stare at the red light above the hatch with disdain and will it to turn green.

  My heart thumps a little jaggedly and I have more adrenaline in this moment than I will when they finally let me out into the vacant atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground. Because I control that. It’s all on me. I’m not relying on pilots, or worried about the dickhole sitting behind me accidently screwing with something. I play well with others when in it’s in my best interest.

  I stare at the red light while I let my mind fill with everything that needs to happen next. Plan A and then Plan B and everything after that and in between. It’s mostly autopilot at this point in my career. I’ve skydived hundreds upon hundreds of times. I’ve jumped out of an airplane at night when it’s pitch-dark, when it’s raining, when we’re so high we have to wear oxygen, and it almost feels like we’re in outer space. Someone lets a fart rip and it’s so loud I hear it over the goddamn roar of the engine.

  The light turns green. Just in time. I was about to add another name to my hit list. The hatch is opened and the sound of the wind overtakes the small space. I stand immediately, holding on to the bars overhead. Sweat beads on my forehead as I watch a few of my teammates exit the plane. They drop like rocks the second they leave the hatch. We only have a certain amount of time and it’s with precision accuracy that everything is measured. A few moments later I’m freefalling, finally able to take a deep breath. I have my altimeter on my right wrist and I glance at it every few seconds so the ground doesn’t creep up too quickly.

  The world looks round up here. If Christopher Columbus had this view there would be no doubt the Earth is just one spinning dome. The sky is the place where I feel smallest. There’s no way I can change anything significant in something so large. I’m a fleck. A miniscule thread woven into a tapestry so vast you can’t even tell what the pattern is. My altimeter says I’m at three thousand feet, so I pull the ball on the right side of my parachute strapped to my back. I look up and over my shoulder to make sure it’s deploying properly and grab on to the handles as they rise over my head.

  I see my friends who jumped out before and after, everyone a perfect distance away, forming an octagon of sorts. I steer, pulling one handle and then the other to close a gap. Under parachute is the longest part of a jump. After falling at what feels like warp speed, cruising to my landing seems to be at a snail’s pace. Studying my surroundings and the tiny buildings on the ground, I find my way to the landing zone. Minutes pass, as does the agonizing thump as I hit the rough grassy patch of field.

  I look at my left wrist and calculate the time. I did it.

  I went a whole thirty-six minutes without thinking about Teala. I snap a photo of my parachute behind me and send it off without another word.

  I did it. Why does this make me so happy? I start cutting away so I can drag my rig over to begin the packing once again. She doesn’t respond right away, but when she does, it simply says, Take me next time.

  I raise my brows. That definitely has potential for a date. “Why do I care about a date?” I chastise myself under my breath.

  Tahoe grunts from behind me. A place I didn’t realize he was. “You’re acting like a straight fool today, man. What’s going on?” His voice is cavalier. He doesn’t really care, he’s just asking because he’s my friend. That’s the way it is with dudes.

  “I hate this shit,” I mutter. I turn to glance his way, and he nods, his piercing blue eyes assessing. He’ll think I mean packing my chute.

  He grunts again. “Leave your phone in the car. You’re a little bitch with it today. Checking it constantly. What’s the problem? Is the pussy well dry here?”

  I could lie. He wouldn’t have a clue if I was being truthful. I think back to the voicemail. “Nah. Family issues,” I reply, doing my best to avoid his acid gaze.

  “What’s wrong with Shirley and Robert?” he asks. “They doing okay?”

  I should have known better. I’m digging a deeper hole. SEALs pride themselves on honor, and I adhere to that ethos. I’m shit at deceit.

  I nod. “They’re fine. Ma wants me to go for a visit. I’m trying to hash out the details. We’ve got a lot going on the next few weeks.” All truths.

  He spits, a huge, brown hued pile behind him. “You’re a cagey motherfucker. It has to do with a chick. Check that shit, bro. Check it,” Tahoe says.

  I could argue, but I want his help this weekend. And his tools.

  I sigh. “Don’t spit that nasty shit near me,” I snap back. A lot of the guys dip or chew. I find it repulsive. I tried it a time or two when I had to. You’d be surprised at the things SEALs have to do to blend in. The long ass beards and mustaches while deployed are just the tip of the iceberg, what we want you to associate with us. I can be another person entirely. That’s true for me more than other guys. Because I do care about clothing and my hair and vain things most don’t think twice about. I can also go without showering for weeks while rotating two outfits that stay filled with sand, dirt, and sweat.

  Tahoe laughs, spits again, farther away this time, and shakes his head. He knows. I’m failing at keeping Teala and our arrangement hidden and it pisses me off. My skin prickles with heat as my hands work. I won’t look at my phone again today. Maybe not even tomorrow either. I decide I’m done for the day and check the fuck out. I head back to my hotel, a five star resort that carries Pappy at the penthouse bar. I dial my mom as I drive the shitty rental car down the long road. When she answers, I put her on Bluetooth. I tell her I’ll be home for a visit the following weekend. She’s so joyful and her voice is so soothing that I go a step further.

  “I’m going to bring someone home I want you to meet,” I say. I don’t think I’ve heard her that happy in a long time.

  She squeals, screams the news to my father, and then tells me she has to go so she can prepare. What she really means is she needs to go so she can call all her friends and spread the good news faster than burning Chlamydia. Teala will agree. She has to.

  What’s that
saying? It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask permission?

  I hang up the phone and concentrate on the road. It’s not until I get back to the hotel parking garage that I realize I haven’t stopped smiling.

  Chapter Eleven

  Teala

  I’m dripping sweat pacing the lobby of the studio, a watering can in the shape of a flamingo in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. I love my plants. I keep them alive. I’m not an animal person yet. Give me a complicated houseplant and I’ll crush that shit every single time. I spray one large flowering plant and water the soil of the one next to it.

  Charlotte rushes in and halts when she sees my appearance. “I knew where I was picking you up from, but I didn’t think you’d be fresh from a class, Teala,” she scolds.

  I look down and shrug. It’ll dry fast.

  I stow my watering items once I splash the orchid on a low shelf. “I’ll throw on my sweater and I’ll be good. It’s lunch. Not tea with the queen,” I reply.

  She blows me off and makes a beeline to my computer behind the counter. My friends have been my friends for so long a lot of the normal lines are blurred when it comes to boundaries. Most of the time I don’t care, but since my new relationship sham I’m finding that I notice things I never did before.

  “I have to see if the package is delivered yet. I’m trying to intercept before Tim comes over,” she explains. She knows the password to unlock the computer.

  “Your cell phone not working?”

  She doesn’t respond right away. “It’s in the car and I just thought about it. Why?” She leans to the left to peek at me from behind the large Mac screen. “You don’t want me on the computer?”

  I lick my lips. “I don’t care what you do. It was just a question.”

  My mom rounds the corner. She’s fresh from the shower and has on a cute maxi dress. She hands me my sweater with a megawatt smile. Charlotte beams at my mother and hops off the stool to give her a hug.

  “Oh, sweetie, you look amazing! Teala told me about your promotion. Congratulations!” My mother coos at my friend. “You couldn’t make the class? It was so good. Teala really did a fantastic job!”

  Ahhh, my mother. She compliments my friend, but then feels guilty so she works in a compliment for me, too. It stems from my self-conscious teenaged days. I like hearing nice things about myself too much to tell her she doesn’t have to do it anymore.

  Charlotte brushes down the sides of her sundress. “Thank you, Viola,” she says, looking down at the floor. My mother’s beauty makes most people uncomfortable. “You look just as beautiful as ever. Teala always runs great practices. I’m hoping to catch one next week.” My mother and Charlotte dive into a full-on conversation, so I disappear to straighten myself using the makeup bag I leave under the counter for times like these.

  A little powder, some mascara, a brush pulled through my hair a few times, and I’m ready. I wonder if people view me like they view my mother. I know I don’t affect people in the same manner she does. The truth of the matter is I would have attracted a different man, a good man by now, if I did. It reminds me how absurdly stupid my father is and a rush of rage enters my system. He’s a man who doesn’t place value on things that matter, one who doesn’t appreciate what he has until it’s gone.

  Macs hasn’t called or texted in a couple of days. Not since he’d sent the skydiving photo. It’s taken everything in me not to send him a random photo. My stomach turns when I think what he must be doing while on his work trip. I wonder how many women he’s been with, how many lips he’s kissed like he kissed mine. Not that a kiss can change anything. That type of fairy tales doesn’t exist in my world, but kissing Macs was a devastating blow to my ego. His lips on mine cause a palpable weakness. I would have bought anything he was selling. I get angry thinking about it.

  He’s a forbidden fruit. As soon as I have sex with him I’ll be able to leave him and never look back. That’s what I tell myself anyways. I know he’s getting back from his trip sometime today, but I didn’t tell my mom in case him showing up to meet her didn’t work out. I’m glad I didn’t count my damn chickens before they hatched. The blush and lip-gloss is applied and I look halfway decent. Prettier than most women, I’d fathom a guess. It’s not conceit if you know it as a truth.

  From the locker room in the back of the studio, I hear the rumble of a male voice in the lobby. My heart skips a beat and then another. Charlotte laughs. My mother isn’t as obvious as my friend, so I can’t hear her voice. She’s too ladylike. Laying a hand over my chest, I gather my wits. It has to be him. If it’s not, I will not be upset. I will not be upset. If it is him, why wouldn’t he text me? What type of man shows up at a woman’s work without a complimentary call or message? It’s plain rude.

  I grab my bag and swing the door open in an exaggerated huff. I play at nonchalance as I round the corner. It’s twenty degrees cooler up here where the heaters aren’t pumping. My skin prickles at the cool blast and I stop short when I see Macs Newstead.

  He’s talking animatedly to my mother while Charlotte stands off to the side biting her lip, ravaging his body with her gaze. I stay still, undetected for the moment. The man takes my breath away. In jeans and a T-shirt he does casual better than any man I’ve ever met. I smell his cologne—a mellow musk with a hint of sweetness…like brown sugar. His gaze finds mine over the top of my mother’s head. I swallow down the lump of hesitance and smile.

  “What are you doing here?” I try for annoyance, but it comes out more Elle Woods than anything else.

  Macs presses his lips into a firm line as he lets his gaze dip to my body. He doesn’t even hide it in front of my mother. She turns to look at me, but immediately looks back at Macs. She’s deciphering body language, my face. She’s picking apart this moment so fully I know I’ll hear an earful later. I can’t care, or take my eyes off him. He’s looking through the surface—it’s as if he’s seeing inside, my every thought entering his own.

  “I wanted to surprise you,” he says.

  My mother faces me again. That draws my focus. I clear my throat.

  Mom says, “I invited him to lunch with us. I hope you don’t mind, honey.” She already knows I don’t mind. Viola Sebrof just planned our wedding. She blinks, her smile widening. She just picked out my wedding dress. Another smile. She clamps her hand over her mouth, like that has the ability to hide her excitement. “Are you ready to go?” she asks, finally gaining the good sense to live in the now instead of her dream world.

  I nod at her and roll my eyes. She smiles again, the grin melting all annoyance.

  “Macs, I see you’ve met my mother.”

  “Did I ever,” he replies, waggling his eyebrows.

  She didn’t catch it, but Charlotte did, and my friend laughs.

  “What’s funny?” Mom asks. “Charlotte introduced me to your friend. Why didn’t you tell me he was so—” she stutters.

  This is going downhill fast. I have to nip it in the bud.

  “Out of contact?” I supply for her.

  Macs steps out of the circle they’ve made around him and approaches me. He’s doing it again. Moving like he owns the world. I close my eyes for a second or two.

  He lays a hand on my shoulder. The warmth sends shockwaves to every part of my body. The butterflies in my belly turn to vultures, with long wings and big, pecking beaks.

  “I’m sorry. I got busy at work,” Macs whispers.

  I know they heard.

  “Do you want me to come to lunch with you?” At the sincerity of his voice, I glance up at his face. Dimples greet me.

  “Don’t use those things to get what you want. Of course I don’t mind if you have lunch with us. I mean, you might regret it at the end, but this is what we’re doing, right?” I ask, speaking so he is the only one who hears. “I wasn’t sure what was going on. You kind of dropped off the map there.”

  The smile falls off his face. He has this stoic supermodel face. Blue Steel without trying a
nd no duck lips. I make a mental note to use this as teasing arsenal for later. He knows how good-looking he is, but I’m not sure he knows how everyone else sees his beauty.

  “I apologized already,” he says. It’s the only explanation I’ll receive.

  I nod. He doesn’t even owe me that. The lines with this thing are blurring too. The lines of my whole life are one big fuzzy mind-fuck. “I’m starving. Let’s go,” I remark, grasping for control.

  He takes my hand in his, and I don’t miss how tightly he’s holding on.

  Charlotte and my mom ask Macs a million questions. He answers some, is cheeky with others that he can’t answer, but he’s completely disarming. I find myself smiling at him while he talks. My mother notices. She is beaming like a lighthouse after lunch is finished. She tells Macs stories about me from when I was small. This is when I realize she’s planned more than my wedding today. She might have her grandkids named as well.

  It’s my fault for not giving her anything of substance all of these years. No boyfriends. No reason to believe I was ever ready to take the next step with a man. She sees a man like Macs and my interest in such a man and it’s all over. Maybe that’s my problem too. Even if it’s fake, for the first time I’m letting myself wonder what is normal in a relationship. What I realize is that it’s not that bad. Other than my heart being on the line and the severity of what that could lead to.

  Macs holds me against him as we walk out of the café. It’s now starting to get busy, and I’m glad we chose the time we did. “I’m going to take a walk around the Gaslamp, Tay,” my mother explains when we exit to the street. My apartment is only a few blocks over and she has a key.

  Charlotte says she has to go stalk the mailman, but not before waggling her brow, and Macs and I are left staring at each other on a sidewalk filled with people.

  “What now?” I ask. A car horn blares, startling me. Macs is unaffected. I wonder if his hearing is messed up from being around gunfire and explosions. I bet he has psychic powers and predicted the horn would go off. Oddly enough, that’s a more rational hypothesis.