Page 3 of Wrong Number Right Grumpy Navy SEAL

I don’t do either, because I am still not the kind of man, and I never will be. So I keep my mouth shut and my hands on the wheel, and I drive.

At Marisa’s, Dahlia turns to me. Her eyes are dry, but the pain in them makes me reconsider my choice not to go after her ex.

“Thank you,” she says. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did. I would never leave someone stranded after getting a message like that. It’s not who I am.”

“But you didn’t,” she says, though her protest is weaker now.

“You deserve better than a man who’d do this to you. No one deserves this, especially you.” I look her in the eye, hoping she’ll believe me. “You need anything else, call. Day or night, I don’t care. There’s nothing you can’t ask.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, nods, then walks to the door where her friend is already waiting.

What she doesn’t know—what she can’t know, not tonight, not while she’s still shaking from what that piece of shit did to her—is that I’d do it again. Every time. Any hour, any distance, any goddamn thing she needed.

I watch until the door closes behind her, and my hands squeeze the steering wheel so tightly that if I don’t let up, I’m going to crack it.

And the thought that’s burning through my mind and my veins, it’s this: I would burn the world down for Dahlia.

CHAPTER 2

DAHLIA

She lives.”

Marisa’s voice pulls me out of a dead sleep, and for a blissful second I don’t remember why I’m on her couch with mascara cemented to my lashes, my sinuses stuffed like I have a head cold, and a crick in my neck that I already know is going to take days to get rid of.

Then it hits. The bathroom. Two girls at the sinks, reapplying lip gloss, voices bouncing off the tile like they were alone.

Can you believe how Jason treats his girlfriend? I swear she must be the only person who doesn’t know he’s been fucking Jackie.

And the other one, casual as commenting on the weather. Yeah, I heard he’s about to dump her. To be with Jackie.

I was in the stall. Hands frozen on the lock. My whole life collapsing in the time it took two strangers to wash their hands and walk out. I thought Jason and I were good. I even thought he was going to propose to me.

That just makes me feel like the biggest idiot in the history of clueless idiots.

Then I remember texting my brother, only to find out it was his best friend. I typed his name into my contacts and clicked the one that said “Cole—Jared’s friend” instead of just “Jared.” But Cole Barrett showed up and walked me out of that restaurant and brought me to Marisa’s like it was no big deal.

I press my face into the throw pillow and groan, especially because I was not prepared for how he looks now. It doesn’t make sense that when he was dropping me off, I wanted to kiss him. He’s so tall and muscular, but he was also so kind and gentle and didn’t try anything with me. My brother would probably kill him if he tried, but still. A giant, sexy Navy SEAL whisks you to safety, you’d have to be dead not to notice.

Marisa rounds the corner from the kitchen with two mugs. She’s already dressed and ready for the day like a normal person. I look like something the cat dragged in. Speaking of which—Whiskers is watching me from the armchair with the specific contempt only a Persian can deliver. I sneeze and reach for a tissue.

“I’m alive,” I say, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee she offers. “Though it’s debatable if I want to be.”

“Drink.” She takes a seat on the other end of the couch and Whiskers curls up on her lap. “Now. Tell me everything. And I mean everything, because I still can’t believe it.”

So I tell her. Jason. The cheating—not a one-time slip, not a drunken mistake, but months of it. How I stood in that bathroom stall with my heart breaking while two girls I’d never met gossiped about what everyone but me has apparently known for months. Then I tell her how I tried texting my brother, and Cole showed up instead.

Marisa leans forward. “Cole. As in the SEAL. As in the guy in the photo on Jared’s fridge. That’s who dropped you off last night?”

“You remember that?”

“Dahlia. That photo is a man holding an assault rifle in front of a helicopter and somehow looking like he belongs on the cover of a romance novel. Yes, I remember the photo.” She sips her coffee. “How did you even end up texting him?”

“Jared gave me his number a while back. For emergencies. I had it saved as ‘Cole—Jared’s friend.’ When I searched for Jared, I wasn’t seeing clearly and I got Cole instead.” I stare into my mug. “He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t know who I was, just that I needed help. I sent him my location and he showed up.”

“That’s impressive. Most people would have ignored it.”