Fall for a SEAL (24 page)

He needed to find a better way to deal with insomnia than anonymously fucking his way through the female population of Coronado Beach. It was going to bite him in the ass one of these days.
 

The blonde with the
curvy hips and tiny red panties stirred next to him as her phone let out another quiet bleat.
Who has a fucking lamb alarm?
He squinted against the midmorning sun and peered around the room. Maybe the same person with white eyelet lace curtains and framed prints of ballerinas on the walls. Okay, so she was a good girl. That could go either way.

She sleepily patted her side table for her phone,
hit the snooze button, then rolled toward him, still holding her phone in her hand.

Trick scanned her pretty face as she snuggled deep into her pillow, eyes still shut. A trickle of guilt slid through his gut. He definitely didn’t know her name. And he was pretty sure that it had been her friend who had caught his eye the night before.

Damn
.
 

As a Navy SEAL still looking at more than a decade
of service—at a minimum—Trick loved one-night stands. A bit of physical release, a few laughs, a warm bedmate. Zero strings. And since he’d started struggling with sleep, that post-orgasm cuddle was better than Nyquil.
 

It wasn’t that he was allergic to commitment, but it would take a rare girl to put up with his work schedule. And to find that kind of understanding in a woman with whom he might
find the kind of sparks that lasted a lifetime?
 

He wasn’t holding his breath. If he stumbled across love, he’d take the leap. In the meantime, he was happy with temporary hook-ups.

But he didn’t like the idea that this woman hadn’t had his full attention the night before. And now that he was thinking too damn much, she wasn’t going to have the good kind of attention this morning, either. He
needed to make a quick exit and head home.

He snagged her phone out of her hand. No password.
Oh, the innocence.
He clicked on her Facebook app. He wouldn’t snoop, he just needed her name. Lila Jovan. And her friend’s name was…didn’t matter. Wrenching his thumb away from the screen, he clicked out of the app instead of scrolling down her list of contacts.

For whatever booze-and-fatigue-induced
reasons, he’d chosen this woman last night and until he said goodbye, she was the only woman who got his attention.
 

He slid the phone back into her hand. With a sigh, she rolled toward him, then squeaked as her palm slide across his bare abs.

“Hi there,” he said quietly.

She cleared her throat, angling her face away from his. “Hi.”

“I’ve gotta get going, but I didn’t want to sneak out.” Sneaking
out was never cool.

“Okay. Thanks for last night.”

“I’m sure the thanks should be all mine.”
No hesitation
. That was key. Set the tone as polite but finished, and she’d pick up on it. From the way she’d eased away from him, she already had.

Her alarm went off again before she could say anything else, and with a shriek, she leapt out of bed, then dropped out of sight, reappearing wearing a t-shirt
from the floor. “I totally slept through my alarm, I’m so sorry. I’ve gotta get to work, but there’s coffee in the kitchen if you want something, and the door automatically locks, so just let yourself out. My roommate is probably here, so make sure you’re wearing pants.”

Jesus, what kind of guys did she normally hook up with if they just wandered around her place with their junk hanging out?
At least he didn’t have to worry about her clinging to him like a wannabe girlfriend. He watched her gather some clothes and disappear into the bathroom, but from her frantic pace, he didn’t think he could get up and out before she reappeared.

He didn’t have to be anywhere until the evening, so he lay back and enjoyed the uncommon luxury of relaxing on a girlie bed covered in pillows.

Trick
loved pillows, and there were only so many a dude could have on his bed before his buddies started to make fun of him. And since his roommate, Miles, had zero boundaries, he couldn’t even keep a pillow collection private.

Maybe while Miles was overseas he could temporarily indulge…

He frowned.

No. While Miles and the rest of their team were overseas, he’d be concentrating on work. Doing his
fucking job, supporting them however he could, and filling in where the other teams needed help.

And just like that, the good post-sex relaxation was gone.

He should be overseas with them. It was his fucking turn in the sandbox. But he wouldn’t be there because he couldn’t fucking sleep and couldn’t keep his stupid blood pressure under control on a medical.

Panic attacks
.

The medical staff
had talked all the way around PTSD without actually naming it, because he’d made it clear there was no way he’d wear that label. He was
fine
. Just a bit stressed. And there were ways to deal with that and still function in the job.

So far, his commanding officer was being supportive. One tour staying behind. A training rotation, they were calling it.

Once. He’d get a free pass once. If he didn’t
get his head sorted out and his health under control, he knew his days as a Navy SEAL would be numbered.

That wasn’t an acceptable option.
 

Lila started when she came running out of the bathroom, hair damp, fully dressed in what looked like a waitress uniform. “Oh, you’re still here.”

“I’m going, no worries.”

“Uhm…” She made a face. “Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Fuck him. These random hook-ups had to
stop.

He gave her a three-minute head start, and when the apartment sounded safely quiet, he got up, used her private bathroom to freshen up, then finished dressing and went to find his boots, which he vaguely remembered kicking off in the living room.

They weren’t beside or in front of the couch. He leaned over the oversized armchair, wondering if they’d been tossed further than his vague recollection
indicated.

“Looking for your boots?”

— —
 

Gaby asked the question gently, but it still sounded abrupt in the quiet of the apartment. She actually hadn’t realized anyone was still here.
 

The oversized man Lila had brought home the night before—the one with the size thirteen boots she’d tripped over this morning, and the super-fine butt she was trying really hard not to ogle—stood up with
unexpected grace and turned around slowly.

“You must be the roommate,” he said as he twisted. His eyebrows pulled together when he got a good look at her. “Oh. Hi.”

“Uhm, hi.” She smiled politely. “And you must be Lila’s date from last night. I put your boots by the door earlier.”
Which you can use any time now, because I have marking to do in peace and quiet
.
 

“Thanks.” He glanced in that
direction, but he didn’t move. Instead, he looked at her again, frowning this time. “You were at the bar last night.”

She had been, for a while, but when her friends hit the dance floor, she’d come home and gone to bed. Early and alone, as usual. If this guy hadn’t slept with her roommate, she’d appreciate that he’d noticed her. But since he had… “What bar?”

“The Wave.” He frowned again. “I’m
sure you were there. Red t-shirt, hair in a ponytail with…” He pointed to the sides of his chiseled face. “Loose bits of hair around your face.”

She could feel her face turning red as she shook her head. “You must be mistaken.”

He stared at her for a second, then nodded. “Okay, my bad. Well, see you around.”

She watched him cover the short distance to the door in a couple of long strides, then
shove his boots on his extra-large feet, quickly check his pockets—left front, back right, back left. It looked like an unconscious routine, the way he patted himself for all his valuables. He’d probably left something behind after a one-night stand before and it had become super awkward.

Ugh. She hated the judgemental edge to that thought. And she shouldn’t think about him, or his routines,
or anything like that. Spinning on her heel, she practically ran to her room, trying like hell not to listen for the click of the door. Not to think about the strange man with the sharp brown eyes and extra-soft lips her roommate would probably never think about again.

Gaby didn’t begrudge Lila for having fun. If Gaby was smart, she’d stop thinking so damn hard and have more fun herself.

Getting
out of her head, though…easier said than done.
 

— TWO —

Gaby love-hated Thursdays. She’d agreed to teach a course at San Diego State because the extra money would help her finally pay off the last bit of her student loans, but the race from work to the college meant dinner was always on the run—or skipped entirely—and then she invariably found herself starving at quarter to ten at night.

On the other hand, she was using her master’s
degree in education for something other than wiping sticky fingers and mediating Lego fights. She wouldn’t trade her job teaching kindergarten for anything in the world, but five- and six-year-olds didn’t appreciate her in-depth grasp of primary education pedagogy.

Less than two months to go, she told herself as she parked in front of Sammy’s Shawarma. Six more weeks of late-night, junk-food
dinners on Thursday nights. And then she’d have the summer term off, and could re-evaluate whether or not being a part-time instructor was for her.

Maybe she’d do something crazy in the summer, like actually date boys.

A group of guys was already in line, so she pulled out her phone and checked her email. She’d assigned a group project, and from the grumpy looks on her students’ faces when she
left, she expected to find a bunch of questions already.

She was right.
Sigh
.

“What do you mean you don’t like hot sauce on your shawarma, man?” The guy right in front of her pushed his friend, who pushed him back—right into Gaby.

“Hey,” she said quietly, putting her hand up to block the bump.

“Nothing says I
must
eat what you eat, Jase.”

Gaby froze. She knew that rough, warm voice.
You must
be the roommate
. Itchy, embarrassed heat flooded her torso and started to crawl up her neck. She ducked her head even further, curtaining her face with her hair. Maybe she should go.
No
, her stomach protested. Maybe they would order and she could keep her head down and—

“Ooof!” Gaby’s phone flew out of her hand as a big, heavy, male body thudded against her, and this time she didn’t see it coming.
No sooner had the stunned sound been ripped from her lungs than a different male body was at her side.

“Are you okay? Sorry, we were just goofing around.” The last word echoed something else he’d said, something she hadn’t been able to get out of her head this week.
Loose bits of hair around your face
.
 

Staring at the floor, her face now flaming, she nodded roughly. She was fine. Had she been
paying attention instead of hiding from the threat of this encounter, the collision wouldn’t have happened at all. It was totally her own fault—on more than one level, because she would be the only one who’d think this was awkward.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re sorry.”

That was nice—genuinely nice—but it rubbed her the wrong way. She was
embarrassed,
not wounded. He didn’t need to talk to her
like she was a frightened deer.

Well, that’s how you’re acting
.

She took a deep breath and looked up. “I’m fine.”

Recognition dawned immediately, his dark eyes lifting in understanding. “And so we meet again.”

“And so we do.”
 

Behind him, the guy at the counter indicated the mens’ sandwiches were ready. She cleared her throat and pointed. He glanced away, pulling out his wallet, but after
handing a twenty to his friend, he slid his gaze firmly back to her face. “I still don’t know your name.”

She hesitated. “Gaby.”

“Nice to see you again,
Gaby
.” He leaned in just a hair as he said her name, his voice dropping half a register into decidedly sexy territory.

So she did the only thing that made sense. She scowled at him. He was clearly a player, and she wasn’t…playing material.
But from the confused look on his face, maybe he wasn’t being gross. No. She re-wound his words. She was just being crazy. She offered him a weak smile that she couldn’t quite make reach her eyes. She was too tired.

He laughed. “Or not. Well, I’m Trick. Hopefully the next time we see each other I’ll have my boots on from the get-go, and you won’t get whacked in the head, and maybe we can get
past basic introductions.”

“Yeah.” She wiped the weird expression from her face and offered him a more reasonable, more realistic smile. “Hopefully.”

From the counter, someone called for next order, and she sidestepped him, concentrating on the menu hung from the ceiling.

She could feel him behind her, hesitating.
 

Yes, she felt it too, something strange and heavy in the air.

But before she
could absorb it, analyze the possibilities and act on the potential, it started to fade. And when she turned around, he was gone.

— —
 

The roommate had a name. A pretty one, to match a pretty face that fascinated him even when she scowled. For the third time in a week, he’d only had a brief glimpse of her, but this time he’d soaked up every detail: her flushed skin, her bright eyes, her
blunt bangs and heavy, dark brown, shoulder-length hair that framed her delicate, angular features perfectly.

The way she wanted nothing to do with him.

It was a problem that he’d slept with Lila. He could see it written on her face. But Trick was a US Navy SEAL. Figuring out impossible problems was kind of his thing. There was no mountain too high, no ocean too deep, no terrorist fortress too
heavily protected. No woman too frosty.

And Gaby wasn’t frosty toward him.

No.

She was wary, and nervous.