Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2)

by Rachel Robinson

  My heart thunders out a staccato as I watch Teala stand from the swing and make her way to the house. “No, no. Not now anyways,” I admit. It’s a lie, but I don’t want that conversation anywhere near her ears yet.

  “Oh, no?” he asks, busying himself with the condiments and drinks. “What changed?”

  Teala and my mother walk into the kitchen. They walk so close their arms brush together and their smiles are effortless.

  “The house, you know? I want to give that some time. Get everything together and fixed. Get a couple more deployments under my belt.” Initially I set out for it to be a quick flip of a job. I’ve grown attached to it over the months. “Maybe down the road,” I tell him, honestly.

  Everyone is listening to our conversation at this point and all I can do is hope Teala doesn’t ask questions. I smile in her direction.

  “You two seemed to be having quite the conversation,” I tell her.

  The smile worked. Her attraction to it is unflinching. I almost feel guilty for using it against her, but I can’t. I’m not ready to have this conversation with her. She wouldn’t want to hear it anyways.

  “What were you talking about?” I edge.

  “You,” they both say at the same time.

  “I was afraid of that. Mom, I told you this was a new…arrangement. She doesn’t want to hear that kind of stuff.” I have no idea what they were talking about, but I can only imagine.

  My mom drawls out a warning for me the hush then says, “It’s only fair this beautiful woman knows what she’s getting herself into. Someone needs to warn her off.” My mother and father laugh, but Teala’s face drops and she looks like she’s going to be violently sick. My mom’s joke hit a little too close to home.

  Dating wasn’t something I was ever interested in when I lived in my parents’ house. Oh, I fucked all right. Under the bleachers, in the locker room at the high school, the playground equipment at the local park in the dark of night, but they never saw girls in my world. I went stag to all of the mandatory dances like prom and homecoming and took advantage of opportunities to get off in between. I was a dog. I am a dog. My parents don’t know that. What could my mother possibly caution her against? My schedule?

  I force a laugh. “Everyone can see the caution tape around my body, Mom. Teala doesn’t need any warnings.”

  Teala nods and stands next to me. I notice she doesn’t brush against me. She keeps her distance. We eat lunch and drink fruit punch and try not to gaze fuck each other. She excuses herself to use the restroom, and I tell her I’ll show her where it is even though she’s already been once right when we arrived. I follow her into the upstairs bathroom and close the door behind us.

  “Your parents know we’re in here together,” she says dryly.

  I waggle my brows. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in the bathroom where I was potty trained, I merely wanted to ask if anything was wrong? What did my mom tell you?” I feel a little panicked. I’m worried about something small and insignificant. That’s not my way. It’s never been my way. Give me a large problem and let me give you ten ways to solve it effectively.

  Teala smiles. “She was joking about warning me, Macs. She regaled me with funny tales from your childhood and asked a whole bunch of questions about my studio. I think she wants to take a class.” She looks down at her nails and starts smoothing her nail beds with her thumb. “What she said about the warning merely brought me back into reality.” She looks at the wall. A photo of a beach stares back at her.

  I sigh. I can deal with this. “The reality is I’m away much of the time. Even when I’m home, I’m not fully here and I’ve never had to worry what that means for someone else. She was joking, but it should be a warning,” I deadpan.

  Her eyes meet mine and for the first time I see a vulnerability there. Something that isn’t inherent to her, a guard down and an open heart begging for something I can’t give. “It’s worth trying?” she asks.

  I think about our chemistry and remember what it feels like to have her skin burning against mine. “Yes.” Closing the distance with one step, I take her in my arms. I don’t want to remember what she feels like. I want it right now. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “I don’t either,” she admits, pressing her face into my chest. “I should ask my friends.” Teala laughs, and her shaking body gives me a hard-on. She stiffens when she feels it.

  “If you ask them they’ll give you the dictionary version. We’re doing this our way. No rules. No preconceived notions about right or wrong.”

  A little definition would be nice, but it’s too late for that. Clutching the sides of my T-shirt she looks up.

  “It’s wrong we’re hiding in a bathroom,” Teala whispers, her hand sliding down to cup my cock.

  “What’s wrong is that your hand isn’t inside my jeans,” I counter.

  “I have a valid question about something first,” she says, pulling her hand away.

  Sighing, I nod.

  “What happens after we have sex and you lose interest?”

  I shake my head. “What if you lose interest after I fuck your brains out?” Turn it around if you can’t answer honestly.

  “There are hundreds, maybe thousands of women lining up to take my place. It’s a lot of pressure. I don’t have that draw.”

  She always seems confident, so much so it never occurred to me to reassure her of anything. She’s beautiful. I’ve never wanted a relationship with anyone but her, or even that her business’ success is extremely impressive for someone her age. Surely she knows these things.

  I kiss her instead. Her arms twine around my neck the way they always do when I kiss her. She presses against my body so our every curve and muscle are pressed together. Her tongue slides inside my mouth as the kiss deepens into something a little more—something that shouldn’t be happening in this bathroom. I pick her up and set her on the edge of the counter and reach behind her to turn the water on.

  Hand washing seems a suitable activity in here if my mother has any questions. I realize how ludicrous it seems moments later when Teala lets out a moan against my lips. She pulls my lip with her teeth and lets it slap back into place.

  “We should go,” she whispers.

  “Conversations in bathrooms always mean more than any place else. No rules?” I remind her.

  Sliding her hands under my shirt, she lets her fingertips glaze over my abs, one by one. “Agreed.” A shiver runs up my spine from the coolness of her fingers. Slowly, she scoots off the counter and picks up her cell phone. She snaps a photo of the framed beach on the wall. “This is proof,” she explains.

  And I sort of get it. Why she thinks photos mean more than words can. She summed up our relationship discussion with one low quality image stored in her phone that will reside there for God knows how long. We enter the living room looking guilty, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of my parents even know we exist. They’re transfixed with the news and the horror scrolling across their screen’s quicker than the news anchor can speak. Another terror attack happened overseas.

  “It’s so awful. You won’t be dealing with those people on your next deployment, will you?” my mother asks, turning to face me with wide, terrified eyes. Is that a joke question?

  I speak so little of my actual job that I force her to hang on to every word I do give her. “Mom. You know I’m always safe. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Distractedly, I brush a piece of lint off my jeans. Teala watches me and not the television when my gaze finally wanders back to find hers. The questions in her eyes mirror my mother’s sentiment, but she’s not taking the Kool-Aid I’m offering.

  I shrug. My mother has already turned back to the TV, my statement all but forgotten, or written off as a harmless lie told to placate a scared parent.

  “I’m being terribly rude. I’m so sorry dear,” Mom says.

  Teala turns her focus away. “Don’t be silly. You’re not being rude at all.” The questions in her ey
es don’t go away. If anything, the can of worms is open and airing to ready for later. I swallow down the unease I feel with that realization. I don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t want to explain myself or have someone worry over me unnecessarily.

  My mother explains that my aunt called and that’s why she turned on the television. They aren’t usually in the habit of watching the dumb box. It’s truth. When I was growing up they didn’t let me watch anything fun. MTV was banned and anything not considered educational was blacklisted. When I got old enough, sports were allowed. Mostly because my dad watched them and she couldn’t say anything about that.

  “It’s so rare, or rather, never have we met any of Macallister’s friends. I’m sorry to be so caught up in this.” She motions to the TV, but turns around to face us, several throw pillows toppling onto the floor.

  “Macallister?” Teala says, voice loud and incredulous.

  I grin. “Guess you didn’t get all the details when you had a little chat outside?”

  She shakes her head. Mom tells her it’s a fine, Scottish name, and Teala agrees even though her face is still contorted in confusion. Taking my pointer finger, I tap the bottom of her chin.

  “Close your mouth. It’s not the time nor place for that.” Lies. There’s always a loophole for her blow jobs.

  Her expression morphs into mortification, but she ends with a chuckle. My sick humor is appreciated in this instance. I’ve also successfully turned her attention away from the television. Eventually they turn off the news, because even if it bothers them, no one wants to listen to it all day long. People want to mask atrocities, push them to the corner where they won’t ruin their lives. It’s a truth. Most people dislike change and will do everything in their power to avoid it. Move their sofa around the living room, sure. Think about a world changing by the hands of terror? Nope. Blinders in place. It’s just as well. The average human can do nothing to stop it.

  Teala sends glares my way in between banter and baked goods, and I have no fucking clue what they mean. She seems to be having an okay time with my parents, even if it’s making me fucking sweat. If I wasn’t confused about our situation, I am most certainly now. Our conversation in the bathroom did nothing to quell my own insecurities about letting another person into my life. A compassionate bone doesn’t reside in my body. Taking on another’s worries is tantamount in compassion.

  What do I know about her? Truly? That doesn’t have to do with her tight body or sex appeal? She loves her mother, and Viola is the most important person in her world. She scowled when her mother mentioned her father at lunch. She’s unlike her friends when it comes to most things, but that seems to work to her benefit. She likes vodka and laughing more than she likes dessert and serious conversations. A large bookshelf lined a wall of her apartment and contained various authors and genres, so she must enjoy reading. Sloths. That’s a given. She’s enamored by my looks, but not my career, which is always a plus. Men gravitate toward her like she’s the fucking sun and they’ve been trapped in a nuclear winter. Are those facts enough to establish any sense of a person? Who. The. Fuck. Knows.

  “She’s rickrolling me in sugar, Macallister. You have to get me out of here,” Teala says, breaking me from my trance.

  She has this tiny little beauty mark on her face. It rises when she smiles. I don’t object to my full name, but I can tell she says it with ill intent—meant as a jab.

  She licks her lips because she thinks that’s where I’m looking.

  “You can tell her no,” I reply.

  “I did. Several times. She doesn’t care if I’m full.” Her eyes widen, and she presses her palm against her tight stomach. “We should get going anyways.” Teala looks at her wrist and taps her watch a few times. “I have a million messages to reply to. My studio is hosting a yoga retreat. People are having problems signing up.” Her face contorts as she excuses herself to grab her cell phone to make a few calls.

  She told me about the retreat, but it was before I cared what she had planned in the future. Now, these are things I’ll be expected to remember. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s the Team’s group text. It usually isn’t active in the middle of the day. At night, in the middle of the night to be exact, is when the porn memes and inappropriate photos start flooding the feed. If the average human glimpsed our texts, we’d be judged harshly.

  I laugh at the image Tahoe texted and click off my messages lest anyone see the travesty of our collective, sadistic humor. Teala is pacing back and forth in the back room, her phone pressed to her ear and her free arm swinging wildly.

  My mother presses a glass of lemonade into my hand. “Thanks for letting us meet her. I do hope you’ll care for that one. She’s a keeper,” Mom says.

  “As opposed to what?” I ask, smirking. I find the word ‘tosser’ on the tip of my tongue, but chuckle instead.

  She clucks her tongue. “You know the type. The ones who roll around with any manly beast.”

  My chuckle turns into full-blown laughter that draws Teala’s gaze.

  My mother has no clue. Or Teala is that good at acting. She runs her fingers over her lips as she continues speaking into her phone. I can’t hear her words, but I can read her eyes. She likes my laugh as much as she likes my appearance and we’ll need to do something about that soon. Gently I place my hands on Mom’s shoulders.

  “As funny as that was I don’t think you should talk about manly beasts and rolling with them.” I glance at my dad.

  He smiles and shrugs. Must be genetics.

  “Oh, stop it. I’m old. Not dead!” she fires back. The light is back in her eyes now that we’ve had the television off for a while. “Promise me you won’t mess it up. A woman is the only commodity you can’t work for.”

  Ah, she knows my personality well. My hands fall from her shoulders and I shove them in my pockets. I haven’t even slept with Teala yet. I’m working, all right. I’m working fucking hard.

  Mom hugs me. “Stop and smell the roses every once in a while. It won’t kill you.”

  It fucking just may. Teala appears behind me and changes the subject to yoga. Dad pretends to be interested, but I know he’s envisioning lewd poses. It’s a guy thing. My phone vibrates in my pocket again, but I don’t dare take it out with everyone around. Teala hears it and makes a show of staring at my pocket and then flicking her gaze back to my face. I pretend I have no clue what she’s insinuating.

  Teala has a Tupperware full of cakes, muffins, and brownies sitting on her lap on the drive back to her apartment. She stays pretty silent as I drive, texting every so often. She answers when I ask her if she had a good time and it’s not an open hostility, but I feel it simmering just below the surface.

  I park in the parking garage, in the same spot as before, and trail behind as she makes her way to the elevator. I’m basically staring a hole in the side of her head by the time we make it to her front door. Her effort at ignoring me completely is commendable. I tell her so.

  “I’m not ignoring you, Macs,” she says, unlocking her door and pushing it open.

  I walk in behind her and close it. I clear my throat. In favor of ignoring me some more, she takes the confections into her kitchen and starts piling them on a serving tray.

  “I was thinking about leaving these at the studio, but then again most of my clients don’t really frequent the sugar,” she explains to thin air.

  Making my way to the sofa, I rumple the throw blanket casually tossed across the arm. Her head turns quicker than the exorcist, her gaze like daggers, aimed at the blanket.

  Smirking, I say, “I leave tomorrow, Teala. Can we spend some time together? Alone?” Patting the seat next to me, I cock my head to the side in question.

  The plate lands on the counter with a loud clank as she puts it on the serving bar. I wince. Irritation unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with courses my veins.

  “If you’re mad about something, say it. Whatever this is,” I say, waving my hand in her direction, �
��isn’t getting your point across.”

  Her mouth puckers in a scowl. “I’m not in the habit of telling anyone anything,” she replies, folding her arms across her chest.

  I stand. “And I’m not in the habit of prodding, so I’ll go ahead and head out?” I point at the door with a dramatic flair.

  “You were on your phone all day, Macs,” she says. Breathlessly, she sighs and hangs her head, like I’ve punched her. That’s how much it takes for her to admit this to me. “We talked about trying to start something real and then I see you on your phone all day. It makes me think it’s all bullshit and you’re toying with me. I hate feeling self-conscious. I hate feeling like I have to ask you. I hate that you were on the phone and that I gave a shit. Do you see what’s happening already? This is awful. Who am I?” She pulls her hands through her hair and avoids looking anywhere near me.

  She picks up a brownie and walks to the window. I watch as she looks at the chocolate like it may bite her and then shoves a bite into her mouth.

  “A couple things. If this is jealousy, then this isn’t going to work. Jealousy breeds mistrust and if we don’t have trust between us, we have nothing. I’m gone constantly, Teala. You have to trust me. I was texting with my friends, or rather they were texting and I was watching the group message unravel into complete depravity. I’m not toying with you.” I stand next to her, nudging her shoulder with my side.

  She swallows her mouthful. “Exhibit A. This is madness and I’ve concocted it out of thin air. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m not a jealous person. I swear it,” she says, groaning.

  She’s not, but our chemistry is changing both of us. I pull her tightly to my chest and lean down to kiss her. She’s still cocoa sweet. I moan into her mouth when she runs her hands up my arms and clutches onto my biceps, her grip firm and cool. Her tongue lashes out to meet mine as her body goes limp in my arms. I pull away and can still taste her on my lips. I lick them. “I’d say I won’t be jealous, but what’s mine is mine,” I admit.