Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Give me five.” He was giving Curly a ride to the bar, then letting his fiancée bring him back later. He switched into jeans and a brown T-shirt advertising a campground he’d volunteered at, and grabbed his wallet and keys.
“Okay, okay, let’s go,” he hollered at Curly’s door. His friend hurried out in a cloud of cloying aftershave, practically racing Bacon to the truck.
“What a day, am I right?” Curly groaned as he hefted himself up into the cab of Bacon’s Silverado. “What the fuck is the LT thinking, giving you babysitting duty? Fuck that shit.”
“I know.” Bacon didn’t waste any time pulling out. “Last thing we need is a reporter.”
“Especially one who’s...” Curly made a vague gesture with his hand as Bacon slowed for the security checkpoint.
“Old?” Bacon suggested dryly. He knew exactly what Curly meant, but he wasn’t going to make it easy on him.
“Well, that too,” Curly allowed. “But I’m just saying it’s a damn good thing he’s not the type of anyone on the team. We don’t need another monkey wrench in the works.”
“Uh. Hello. Pan guy over here, remember?” Bacon swerved around a slow-moving truck. He had no patience for plodding drivers.
“You’re right.” Curly sighed as they pulled into the crowded parking lot of their favorite bar. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk. I’m just frustrated because I hate this situation—us with a damn investigator poking his nose into our business and you not out there next to me.”
“It’s okay. Let’s get our beers. It’s been a long week.” They made their way into the bar, which was packed. Rachel and her friends had nabbed several tables on the back wall. Rooster and Bullets were already there, beers in hand, flirting with the women.
Curly had a kiss for Rachel, then headed for the bar. “Your first drink is on me, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Bacon could take the peace offering for what it was. “Corona with lime.”
“I got you.” Curly clapped him on the shoulder. After Curly returned, Bacon sipped his beer and watched the action swirl around him. Curly and Rachel were talking wedding preparations. Bacon felt weirdly restless, and not in the about-to-be-called-out way either. Something soft inside him ached, a seldom-used muscle that was starting to wither from lack of use. What are you? A fucking poet now? Ditch the crowd and go get laid. You’re getting cranky, he lectured himself. He probably wouldn’t have to work too terribly hard to get somewhere with one of Rachel’s friends, but he’d leave those pickings to the other guys on his team. Rachel was something of a meddling matchmaker. He needed to kick his black mood, not make a lifetime commitment.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated. Please don’t be base. Not ready to deploy. He needed that night to get his head on straight before shipping out. But no one else was scrambling for their phones, so his tension released as he glanced at the call screen. Lowe. His old teammate and a fabulous excuse to ditch the table.
“Gotta take this,” he yelled at Curly and headed to the parking lot where he could be heard.
“Bacon. You asshole,” Lowe said when he picked up, but he sounded more amused than put out.
“What’d I do?” He played dumb even though he had a pretty good idea.
“The director of the heart disease charity you ran the triathlon for just called my parents. Personally. Dude. That’s a ton of zeroes on that check in my sister’s name.” Lowe’s sister had received a heart transplant last year.
“I know a lot of people. You know how it goes. Five dollars here, twenty there. It all adds up. And it was an awesome race. Just missed medaling. Missed your slow ass yelling at me, though.”
“I know.” Lowe’s tone sobered. “I miss you guys too.”
“How’s civilian life treating you?” Bacon leaned against the building.
“Good. Got to accompany an oil company exec to Bahrain with...” Lowe drifted off. Bacon knew what he he’d been about to say and didn’t press him, waiting for Lowe to continue. Lowe was both working and living with Strauss, their former XO, but that information was on the serious down low to their old teammates. Not that that had stopped the rumors from flying, but Bacon was happy to give the two their much-deserved privacy. “Anyway, private security work is interesting. Miss you guys, though. Less need for explosives in the private sector. I’m still debating looking into bomb squad work, but this is good for now.”
“I’m glad.” Bacon’s throat was thick. He really was happy for his friend. And he personally didn’t care about when Lowe’d fallen in love with Strauss—it had never affected either of the men’s work, and he wasn’t going to ask for a timeline. What mattered was that they were both happy together in civilian life. But the navy might not see it the same way, and the two had to be cautious even now. Which was exactly why Bacon had to be wary of the reporter. He couldn’t allow fraternization allegations to jeopardize Lowe and Strauss’s newfound happiness.