Getting Hotter
Page 26
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He wasn’t ready to give anyone that more. The only commitment he wanted in his life was the one he’d made to the United States Navy SEALs. He was a soldier first and foremost, and he had plenty of solid ass-kicking, world-saving years left in him.
Truth was, no matter how many successful ops his squad had carried out, he still didn’t feel he’d scraped even the tip of the iceberg in terms of making a difference in this sorry world. Not that he was some tree-hugging do-gooder, but he did feel the need to be doing something worthwhile. Something that had value. Something that gave him value.
“Ugh,” Miranda’s voice came from the doorway. “I calmed them down, but they still won’t tell me what’s freaking them out so bad.” She headed for the kitchen table and began clearing the remaining items.
“You don’t have to do that,” Dylan called from the sink.
“Yes, I do.” She handed him the empty water glasses, then grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser on the counter. As she wiped the table, she let out a sigh and said, “Hopefully Soph and Jase don’t cause too much trouble when I’m at work tonight. They’re acting so damn weird.”
Both men froze, exchanging panicked looks.
Seth attempted to sound casual. “You’re bartending tonight?”
As in, leaving the rugrats here with him and Dylan? The mere thought of it sent a jolt of terror through him.
“It’s Monday. I told you I’m working at the club tonight.” Her hazel eyes narrowed in understanding. “Oh, for the love of God, you two. I’m not forcing you to babysit my kids. I have a regular babysitter who watches them on club nights. Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday—though I doubt I have to tell you that, do I? You have my schedule memorized.”
Seth ignored the sarcastic jab she lobbed his way and dried his hands with a dish towel. 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, and 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 finished cleaning the table and walked over to throw out the paper towels. Seth was standing two feet from the sink, and when she got near, her feminine 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 damn ballet in progress.
“I’ll be at the club tonight too, so you may 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 delectable 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 f**king idea.”
Chapter Seven
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 Breslin 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.
Truth was, no matter how many successful ops his squad had carried out, he still didn’t feel he’d scraped even the tip of the iceberg in terms of making a difference in this sorry world. Not that he was some tree-hugging do-gooder, but he did feel the need to be doing something worthwhile. Something that had value. Something that gave him value.
“Ugh,” Miranda’s voice came from the doorway. “I calmed them down, but they still won’t tell me what’s freaking them out so bad.” She headed for the kitchen table and began clearing the remaining items.
“You don’t have to do that,” Dylan called from the sink.
“Yes, I do.” She handed him the empty water glasses, then grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser on the counter. As she wiped the table, she let out a sigh and said, “Hopefully Soph and Jase don’t cause too much trouble when I’m at work tonight. They’re acting so damn weird.”
Both men froze, exchanging panicked looks.
Seth attempted to sound casual. “You’re bartending tonight?”
As in, leaving the rugrats here with him and Dylan? The mere thought of it sent a jolt of terror through him.
“It’s Monday. I told you I’m working at the club tonight.” Her hazel eyes narrowed in understanding. “Oh, for the love of God, you two. I’m not forcing you to babysit my kids. I have a regular babysitter who watches them on club nights. Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday—though I doubt I have to tell you that, do I? You have my schedule memorized.”
Seth ignored the sarcastic jab she lobbed his way and dried his hands with a dish towel. 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, and 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 finished cleaning the table and walked over to throw out the paper towels. Seth was standing two feet from the sink, and when she got near, her feminine 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 damn ballet in progress.
“I’ll be at the club tonight too, so you may 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 delectable 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 f**king idea.”
Chapter Seven
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 Breslin 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.
