Page 11 of Keeping a Warrior

None of the guys jumped to their feet or saluted, just sort of waved their hands at him. “Hey, El-Tee.”

“Meet the newest members of our platoon.” The lieutenant stood back to beckon two people into the room. “AO2 Knytych, and Ms. Lowe.”

A pin dropping at that moment would’ve sounded like a mortar shell exploding. Rhys’s gaze zeroed in on the woman in tailored Army blues who stood inside the doorway at ramrod attention, her face blank. His mouth went slack with shock. It was her; the CST from Afghanistan who’d made such a big impression on him.

Problematic?

Rhys watched as she scanned the room. When her gaze reached him, he could almost hear her gasp.

Oh, yeah, she remembered him, too.

Chapter Two

Devon couldn’t breathe.

Memories assaulted her from all sides. The smell of shit and dust. A black-and-white shemagh. A redheaded man’s kind green eyes and boyish smile, the same man looking at her now. Rhys, the PJ.

He’d been in Afghanistan with her. What in the world was he doing here? Did he know...?

With monumental effort, Devon pulled herself together. She wouldn’t do this. Not now. Not with all these men staring at her with a mixture of wariness and hostility written all over them.

Clearing her throat, Devon forced herself to sound breezy and unconcerned. “Hey, everyone. Looking forward to working with you.”

Nobody answered her. Devon clenched her fists and fought the temptation to turn and run.

C’mon, girl. Army strong.

Finally a huge Black dude with a shaved head stood and approached, hand out. “Hey,” he rumbled as they shook. “They call me Smudge.”

“Smudge?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

A few hoots from around the room. “Tell her why, Smudgy!”

Devon gave him an encouraging look, even though she knew SEAL nicknames weren’t bestowed because of anything heroic or cool. It was usually something a guy wanted to forget, so of course that meant he was stuck with it forever.

“So get this.” A white guy wearing a Mötley Crüe T-shirt propped his elbow on her shoulder. Without missing a beat, Devon stepped back so it’d fall off. Why did some people think they had a right to touch others anytime they pleased? Oblivious, the guy moved closer again, right into her personal space. Devon froze, wondering if she should just let it go, not really wanting to make those sorts of waves in her first five minutes with the team.

As she agonized what to do, Rhys casually pushed in between them as if headed for a nearby couch. Heaving an inaudible sigh of relief, Devon was able to edge away from Mötley and get closer to the door.

By the time she’d tuned back into what he was saying, she’d missed most of the story but it had something to do with Smudge trying to imitate a SEAL movie by jumping out of a moving vehicle—while crossing a bridge.

“He hit the water with a splat,” Mötley enthused. “Total badass. When he finally made it to shore, though, the current had ripped his shorts off.”

Loud guffaws.

“His tighty-whities had a big old brown leaf on them, right over the butt. Looked like a skid mark.”

“You’re a skid mark.”

More laughter, along with some pushing and shoving.

Devon rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You wouldn’t let them call you Skid Mark, so you compromised on Smudge.”

“Anyone calls me Skid Mark is gonna straight-up eat their teeth,” Smudge growled. “That’s a promise.”

Guys backed away from him with their hands up in mock fear, and one of them cackled, “We really wanted Shit-Stain, but...”

“Okay, people.” Bradley cut into the merriment. “We’re driving to Arizona tonight. Bad news is, our trip has been extended several days.” Before the grumbling could get too loud, he went on, “Good news is, we’ve been tapped to play OPFOR during Robin Sage.”