SEALionaire Book 2: A Navy SEAL Romance

by M. S. Parker

  I need a drink, I thought.

  The VIP Lounge bouncer still recognized me, so I slipped past his appreciative smile and headed for the bar. Ricky's tab was always open so I ordered myself a bottle of champagne. Ignoring the bartender's offer to join me, I took the bottle and leaned against a high top table overlooking the pulsing dance floor. I didn't want company just yet.

  “You gonna drink that all by yourself?” a young man in a loose suit asked.

  “You already have a drink or had, anyway.” I frowned down at my splashed shoes. “You're spilling most of it.”

  “I can't help it,” he said, trying to give me a charming grin. “You knocked me off balance.”

  I gave him a dismissive look. “Maybe it's a good thing the rest of your drink is gone.”

  It didn't even faze him. He pushed up his sleeves and settled against the table next to me. The bouncer took a step forward, but I shook my head. In the back of the room I saw Ricky appearing from a narrow door with the blonde in a green dress. Maybe company is what I needed.

  “All right,” I said suddenly as I turned toward the young man. “I'll forgive your sloppy introduction. Here, have a little champagne.”

  I leaned over and poured a bit into his almost empty glass. I knew he was drinking something stronger, but he didn't seem to care.

  “I like your hair.” He leaned closer so he didn't have to shout as loud over the music.

  I smiled but didn't say anything. I didn't need conversation.

  Ricky caught sight of me and his expression darkened.

  Perfect.

  He tore through the crowd. The blonde in the green dress called for him, but he gave her an over-the-shoulder wave. I could see her throwing her hands up in the air. Squawking like a bird, I thought. It might've been a nasty thought, but she'd known Ricky had a girlfriend, so I didn't exactly feel too bad.

  “Red lips too.” The young man next to me was still talking. “I gotta know though, does the carpet match...”

  He didn't get to finish the sentence because, suddenly, Ricky was there.

  “That's my girlfriend, asshole,” Ricky said, shoving the young man's chest.

  The reaction was almost immediate. The two started pushing each other, and I stepped back with a pleading look at the bouncer. He immediately towered over the high top table and clamped one giant hand on Ricky, and the other on my admirer.

  “Lay off, man,” Ricky shouted. “Leighton, tell him I'm with you! I'm with her! She's my girlfriend.”

  I sipped my champagne and let Ricky dangle by the collar in the bouncer's grip. The young man in the loose suit babbled a list of promises and the bouncer lowered him to the ground. I didn't even glance his way as he backed out of the VIP lounge.

  “Oh, I guess I'll have to claim that one,” Paris said, joining me at the high top table.

  The bouncer looked skeptical as he glanced toward me, but I shrugged and he released Ricky who immediately hurried to my side.

  “Your friend is hoping you'll rejoin her,” I said, waving a hand at the seething blonde in the green dress. He didn't say anything, but he did try to slide his arms around my waist.

  I gave a little side step and drained the rest of my glass. The champagne wasn't working fast enough, and I wished I'd ordered something stronger. I had a joint hidden in the lining of my purse, but I didn't really feel like that again. Sure, it made me all giggly, but I wanted to feel better than giggly.

  I turned to my best friend. “Please tell me your new front man lover has some sort of bad habit he's willing to share.”

  “You mean like these?” Paris reached into her purse and pulled out a bag with two tiny orange pills.

  “Up or down?” I asked.

  “All the way up,” Paris said.

  Perfect.

  “As long as I don't end up on the roof,” I said as I let her drop one into my palm.

  “Hey,” Ricky protested. “Don't I get one?”

  “No,” I said sharply, as I popped it with a chaser of champagne. “What you get to do is pick out my next dance partner and he better be handsome.”

  Ricky ran both hands through his hair. “Come on, babe, I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you.”

  No way. He wasn't going get away with it that easily. “And I want you to pick out some handsome man for me to dance with.”

  “Ooo, let me, let me!” Paris begged.

  The blonde in the green dress was still trying to get his attention, and I knew the moment he saw her because his arm slipped around my shoulders. “Alright, beautiful, you're right. My penance will be to watch your gorgeous body up against...”

  I watched him scan the crowd.

  “Him.” Ricky pointed.

  The man's white tee shirt was so tight it was more like a layer of film than clothing. Wide shoulders flexed underneath the taut fabric, and when he saw us looking he flashed a bright white smile.

  “Underwear model, has to be, right?” Paris asked.

  “How about I find out,” I said.

  I filled my champagne glass and raised it to the hunk with a wink. He smiled again, and a dimple appeared above his chiseled jaw. I felt a fizz of excitement as the alcohol and orange pill took hold. I could feel the tension radiating off of my boyfriend as I slipped out from under Ricky's arm and sauntered across the lounge to meet the handsome man.

  “Please tell me you want to dance,” I said. “I'm tired of talking.”

  He smiled another bright flash and took my hand without a word. The muscular model pulled me down the stairs to the dance floor and then wrapped me close. I liked the way he leaned back and let me hang across his body, holding on as he set the rhythm. We danced in silence for a couple songs before I finally spoke.

  “Not bad dancing for an underwear model,” I said, purposefully leaning into him.

  “Who told you what I do?” he asked.

  I laughed. “Just a lucky guess from my friend over there.”

  Paris waved with one hand, her other arm clamped through Ricky's as she held him back. I supposed one dance had been enough and two was making him a bit crazy. Too bad. I wasn't done yet.

  “What's the deal with that guy over there looking all mad?” my model dance partner asked.

  “Oh, he doesn't think I can take care of myself.” I gave Ricky a dismissive look, and then muttered, “Kind of the theme of my night.”

  The colored lights and lasers over the dance floor shattered into feathers and floated around me as the orange pill worked on my senses. Ricky's shaggy hair extended over his face until I thought he looked more like a donkey than a man. What the hell had Paris given me?

  It was great.

  “You remind me of someone,” I told the underwear model.

  “The guy from that superhero movie?” he asked. “I get that a lot.”

  “No, that's not it,” I said, letting my fingers squeeze his wide shoulder muscles. I frowned. He was almost as big as my...whatever he'd been. “A real life hero. Did I tell you I almost drowned once?”

  He let his hands slip down my back to the curve of my ass. “You almost drowned? Maybe someone should be taking care of you.”

  “Maybe you?” I asked, the room whirling around us. I laughed. “You remind me of the guy who saved me from drowning. He pulled me from the pool and was there when I woke up. Kept me up all night too.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “Oh, yes,” I giggled, the noise turning into butterflies that danced around our heads. “He was supposed to make sure my concussion didn't get worse, but instead he made my night really, really good.”

  The underwear model slowed our dance steps and pulled back. His expression had changed. “You're gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but I'm not up for games.”

  He glanced back to where Ricky was dragging Paris down the stairs. I could hear him shouting about his girlfriend getting groped.

  Fuck. The shit was about to hit the fan.

  The bouncer signaled his man by the sta
ge to grab Ricky. The front man interrupted the song to ask Paris if she was alright. The drummer slammed his cymbals with a deafening crash.

  “What are you talking to her for?” the drummer yelled into his microphone.

  Laughing hysterically, Paris released Ricky and ran up to me. “Are you as messed up as me? Let's get out of here.”

  Ricky went straight to the towering underwear model who was too busy gawking at the complete breakdown of the band to pay much attention to Ricky yelling at him. The drummer was now wielding his stool like a club and chasing the front man back and forth across the stage.

  All of that, I assumed was real. I was pretty sure the koala bear riding on the drummer's back, however, was just the drugs.

  I protested as Paris grabbed my hand. “But the show's just getting good.”

  She laughed and yanked me toward the side door. We burst into the alley and ran out onto the street. A passing cab honked and slammed on its brakes. Paris ran up and drummed across its trunk until the driver jumped out. He yelled as she spun on her high heels, and we ran across the four lanes of traffic to the Western-themed bar.

  “Howdy, boys,” I said as we ducked behind a group of cowboy wannabes.

  There were shouts from across the street, and it was impossible to tell if it was Ricky, the fighting band members, or the angry cab driver. Either way, it was fucking hilarious.

  “I'm not going home with Ricky tonight,” I told Paris suddenly. “And I'm not going back to my grandfather's house either.”

  “Who says we're going home?” Paris winked at me. “I think we might need to buy some cowboy boots and dance until dawn.”

  One of the men we were hiding behind tipped his hat and smiled as he looked down at us. “Sounds like a plan, ladies.”

  I blinked as his white hat became a puffy owl. Fuck. I was afraid its sharp beak was going to peck at me.

  “Why does everything have feathers?” I asked in a not-so-quiet whisper.

  Paris peered at his hat, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she shrieked. Flapping her arms she stumbled back and almost fell into traffic. The cowboys stared at her, but I wasn't sure which they were more concerned with, our sudden fear of hats or the fact that Paris was flashing all of them her very skimpy pink thong.

  Once the owl turned back into a hat, it struck us both as insanely funny and we took off down the street. Before we'd gotten too far, our high heels caught on the rough sidewalk, and we both stumbled. Somewhere in my brain, a warning voice told me we were garnering too much attention. Too much male attention, and not every set of eyes wanted to take care of us.

  Shit. We needed to get out of here.

  “Hang on, hang on,” I said, fumbling with my phone. “I can take care of us, I can call your driver.”

  Ten minutes later, her town car found us sitting on the curb transfixed by the 'Don't Walk' sign. The driver opened the car door and waited for us to drag ourselves inside. He wasn't as nice as my driver. He would've helped us in. My eyelids were so heavy, and I had to fight an epic battle to keep them open as I looked up. I held one eyelid back with one hand while I shook Paris with the other.

  “Is our food ready?” she asked.

  “We gotta get in the car,” I said.

  “You mean we're not in the drive-thru? Oops.” Paris giggled.

  We climbed in the car and rolled down the windows. Hot air poured into the air-conditioned car.

  “I'm glad you came back, my little Lee-town.” She giggled as she said the nickname she'd given me when we were five. “Nobody makes a wild night like you. What made you change your mind?”

  “My grandfather,” I said, feeling myself starting to lose my fun buzz. “He worries about me, thinks I can't take care of myself. So he hired a bodyguard to follow me around.” I folded my arms and stuck out my bottom lip, feeling more like a child than I had in years. “Can you believe that? Like I need a bodyguard.”

  “Yeah.” She gave a firm nod. “You showed him. I mean, we had a great time and we're getting home safe.”

  “And nothing bad happened,” I said.

  Paris laughed. “Yeah, it's not like we took drugs, almost caused a riot, and then got attacked by a cowboy's owl hat.”

  “Exactly.” Something caught my eye. I tapped on the divider for the driver to stop. “And we're still better off than him.”

  Ricky was wrapped around a stop sign, too drunk to stand without swaying. He was searching his pockets for his phone but apparently could only use one hand because he needed the other to hold himself steady. The town car slowed, and we watched his contortionist moves for a minute before lowering the window.

  “Hey, hun, need a ride?” I asked, unable to stop myself from laughing.

  “Hey, babe.” Ricky staggered toward the car, managing the last couple feet in a crawl. He climbed in beside me and curled up next to me. “You forgive me?”

  “Sure.” I sighed. “Why not.”

  10

  Haze

  Blake came by to congratulate me a few days after our night out at the Corner Tap, and my little encounter with Tara. He caught me working out with my free weights on the back patio of the renovated barn. At least I could still lift. No matter how depressed I was over the shit-hole my life had become, I at least could keep myself from getting out of shape.

  “Impressive,” he said, leaning against the screen door.

  “Just getting back to it,” I said.

  “You're really nailing down the 'positional' part, huh?”

  I knew my mother and sister had forwarded him all the notes from Dr. Bouton and my brother-in-law was well-versed in the inner ear damage explosives could cause. Though he'd never pushed it, Blake had treated a few patients with the same type of vertigo. I was grateful he only brought it up casually with no lingering note of advice to follow. But I knew if I needed him, he was there.

  “Yeah, getting easier,” I said.

  I tested myself every evening. Certain head positions triggered the overwhelming vertigo, so I'd taken to recording videos of myself flexing and turning my neck to see exactly what angles troubled me. Not only did it help me avoid the dizzy spells, but it also stretched out my stiff neck. I'd refused to move it normally since I'd woken up, not wanting to risk a dizzy spell.

  “Just don't take up yoga,” Blake said, a frown settling on his face.

  “Why? You thinking of trying yoga?” I asked. I grinned at the thought of my tough buddy taking yoga.

  He came inside and took a seat in one of the wide Adirondack chairs on the patio.

  “Your sister's taking pre-natal yoga, supposed to help with back pain and labor. Whatever she wants,” he said. He gave me a serious look. “You don't argue with a pregnant woman. Especially if she's a Welch.”

  “Not joining in?” I asked, putting down the weights and sliding into the chair next to him.

  “Nah, but it's all the craze in California,” Blake said.

  The mention spun my mind back to that short leave I took. I could still see the sun glinting off the open ocean, the surfers in the water through the dusk, and the long crowded stretches of the Pacific Coast Highway.

  And those bright blue eyes.

  “You miss it, don't you?”

  “I was only there a few days,” I said, intentionally keeping my eyes on my hands. “Why do you ask?”

  “Thought it was worth asking, you know, before your family plans the rest of your life out for you here.”

  I could tell there was something else he wasn't saying, but I didn't push him. I was curious, but I knew he'd let me know when he was ready.

  I sighed. “You just keep trying to get rid of me, huh, brother? First you ditch me at the bar...”

  He laughed. “Me? More like you got out of there as fast as you could. What was her name again?”

  I remembered but didn't want to say. Tara had called me, but I hadn't returned her calls. I knew it was sort of a dick move, but I hadn't wanted to string her along. A clean break was better, especially now t
hat I knew I couldn't be with someone without thinking of...her.

  Despite my father's efforts, I was staying off Fort Riley's radar as well. I wasn't looking for a desk job or a pension. I wanted to be left alone, and the renovated barn's obscure location was becoming less of an inconvenience and more of a positive.

  “I'll take your silence to mean you won't be joining me in town for another drink tonight.” He stood up.

  “Sorry.” I shrugged. “It's just not my scene.”

  He gave me a knowing smile. “Maybe if there was an ocean view and a sea of Hollywood hopefuls?”

  “Why do you keep bringing up California?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

  “A man with a California ID was asking about you around town,” Blake said. He shrugged. “Maybe nothing.”

  “Asking about me?” I looked up at him. “How do you know he had a California ID?”

  “The sheriff's a friend. No one in town was inclined to tell the stranger much. Especially about a local hero.”

  “Military?” I asked.

  “No, civilian, maybe a lawyer or something. Nice suit, nice car, you know the type. And I'll take a rain check on that drink.”

  After Blake left, I went back to my workout. Except I was so distracted by the thought of someone looking for me that I tipped my head too far to the right. The vertigo hit and I let the heavy weight crash to the patio.

  I felt as if a tornado had inhaled me and any moment I would crash to the ground. I reminded myself that what had occurred to me lately, as I watched the video recordings of my positional tests, was that the feeling was literally in my head. My body didn't react, didn't become unbalanced, unless I let the sensation convince me I was moving.

  “You're not falling,” I muttered. I closed my eyes, my hands squeezing into fists.