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Buying time, Dominic took a drink, the cola doing nothing to relax his aching muscles. A beer would go down sweet right now. A half dozen of them would go a long way to ease the pain racking his body. But the doctor had warned that severe concussions and alcohol were a bad mix for the next few days.
“The team is on a mission, I’m not. That means I could snag an extra week’s leave and come home.”
Lotta started her countdown, tossing her spangled bra into the rowdy crowd, then taking a few swings around her pole. Dominic made a show of watching, hoping Lucas would let the conversation die if he seemed fascinated by silicone so tight it didn’t even sway as the stripper spun.
“Your team is on a mission and you’re not?” Lucas asked, an intense frown creasing his brows. “What happened? Turning yellow?”
“I can still kick your ass.” Dominic matched his brother’s glower. Then he shrugged. “They didn’t need me for this one. Plenty of them speak the language and I needed some downtime.”
And a little distance.
There was no way in hell he could sit around the barracks, resting, while the team kicked mission ass.
The SEAL team was like a brotherhood. Every man had the other’s back. Every man knew he was a part of the team, each one vital to the success of their missions. They lived together, they trained together, they fought together.
Sometimes it was the best deal in the world. Sometimes it sucked.
Dominic had grown up with five siblings. He knew that life wasn’t always smooth, that all relationships had plenty of ups and downs.
What he didn’t know was how to deal with a guy who wasn’t a part of the brotherhood. Who didn’t fit, didn’t even try to fit.
Especially when that guy was, thanks to his irritatingly stellar record, now the ranking officer on the team.
Who was so by-the-book uptight that he made Dominic sit out on a hot mission because the helicopter launched at 0700 and Dominic’s medical profile said he was grounded until 0830. Hell, they wouldn’t even have reached their destination by then. He could have gone if it wasn’t for Banks’s uptight ass.
Instead, the jerk had taken the team one man short and left Dominic feeling like a let down loser.
He freaking hated that guy.
“I’m thinking about transferring,” he muttered.
His eyes wide enough to pop out of his head, Lucas dropped his chair flat, the front legs hitting the floor with a bang.
“Out of the SEALs?”
Dominic had taken a bullet, broken multiple bones and was currently sporting bruises down to the bone over three-quarters of his body, not to mention a concussion hangover and a weak ankle.
But none of them hurt like the idea of leaving the SEALs.
“Hell, no. Just, you know, transfer. Virginia, Hawaii. SEALs are based other places besides Coronado. I might like to see a few, you know.”
“Because thirty states and eight countries aren’t enough?”
“I saw this act in Oahu once. Erotic fire dancer.” Dominic blew out a breath, then fanned his hand in the air as if cooling off the memory. “Let me tell ya, a woman who dances naked with a flaming baton knows her way around big, hot sticks.”
Lucas winced and shook his head.
“Sad, little brother. If that lame story is the best distraction you can offer up, you’ve obviously got something bugging you.” He waited a beat, as if giving Dominic an opening to confess. But Dom did the advising—he didn’t go looking for it. Finally, Lucas shrugged and lifted his beer again.
“You wanna talk, you know where I am,” he offered.
Dominic nodded, even though they both knew he wouldn’t take him up on it.
Not because he was such a snob that he couldn’t reach out from time to time for a little guidance. But there was a reason he was the advice guy. In the family, on the team, with his friends. He knew stuff. Military stuff, girl stuff, sex stuff. Thanks to his nana, he even knew cooking stuff.
He stared at his drink, muscles aching and head throbbing.
It was a damned shame he didn’t know what to do for his own stuff.
Two hours and three Motrin later he poured three cousins and one of his brothers into a limo. Patting the hood, he signaled the driver to hit the road.
Hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Dominic laughed as Marco popped his head out of the sunroof to serenade him with “Happy Birthday.”
“It your birthday, big boy?”
He turned, grin in place, to watch the woman saunter over. Even fully clothed, Lotta still exuded sex the way some women wore perfume. Strong, heady and inviting.
“Nope. He’s having a tequila-inspired calendar mix-up,” Dominic told her.
“Too bad. I was gonna offer you a little birthday goodie,” she said when she stopped in front of him. He wanted to tell her she’d be a lot prettier with about half as much makeup on, but didn’t figure it was his advice she was interested in.
