Page 64 of SEAL Team Ten


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“Isay we storm in there and kick some ass.” Scotty slammed a frying pan down on the burner and poured in some olive oil before lighting the flame. “I’m sick of sitting around and doing nothing.”

“We’re not doing nothing.” Kyle’s tone remained calm as he pulled a bottled water from the fridge. “We’re strategizing.”

“Yeah?” Scotty slapped some freshly washed zucchini onto a cutting board, then sliced it with way more force than was necessary. “Because it sure feels like a whole lot of nothing to me. I want to rip their heads off with my bare hands for touching Hayley.”

“Watch yourself,” Gage warned, his tone disgruntled as he leaned against the breakfast bar. “Show some respect for your team leader, dude. Kyle’s doing what he can.”

“You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like he’s doing shit.”

“Dial that back,” Gage growled. “He’s digging up intel, same as the rest of us. Except for you, princess. What all haveyougotten done today?”

Scotty tossed the zucchini into the sizzling pan, then added a can of diced tomatoes and some green pepper and onion before giving his teammate a look. He’d been giving Gage the benefit of the doubt, figuring he was cranky because of his girlfriend being busy with work and not giving him all her attention. Now, his patience had worn beyond thin. “Somebody has to feed you ungrateful jackasses.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” Spencer piped in from the living room. “Smells great, by the way.”

Gage shook his head and cursed under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t.” Scotty lowered the flame on the burner, then faced his fellow SEAL, arms crossed. “What exactly are you trying to say? You got a problem with me cooking?”

“When the rest of us are actually working? Yeah, maybe I do.”

“Fantastic.”

Fists clenched and jaw tight, Scotty stepped closer. He’d been strung tighter than razor wire ever since Hayley’s return. He needed to touch her, kiss her, make sure for himself she was okay. But so far, she’d stayed in her own corner of the living room with her nose glued to her laptop, ignoring him completely.

Fighting with his teammates wouldn’t resolve his frustrations, but at least it would allow him to blow off some steam. “You want to take this outside? Because the way I’m feeling right now, I will kick your ass so hard you won’t sit for the next century.”

Gage laughed. “I’d love to see you try. You combat specialists hit like girls.”

“Yeah? Speaking of girls, where is Anna? Tired of you already, is she?”

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend.”

“You gonna stop me?”

“Enough!” Kyle stalked back into the small kitchen and gave each of them a hard shove. “Both of you need to pull your heads out of your asses.” He stopped and glanced at the stove. “Dinner ready?”

“Yes.”

“Why does Scotty get to play house and bake cookies while the rest of us bust our humps on the internet?” Gage whined.

“Because he’s the only one of us who can cook more than toast.” Kyle flashed his icy glower, the one that had made many a recruit soil his skivvies during SEAL training. He got right up in Gage’s face and growled, “You got a problem with that?”

“No.” Gage stared straight ahead at the wall, spots of color dotting his high cheekbones. “No, sir.”

Scotty snorted, then immediately regretted it as Kyle swiveled to face him—same glower, same effect. He straightened and steeled his expression, staring over his team leader’s shoulder.

“You think that’s funny, smart-ass?”

“No, sir. Absolutely not, sir.” He did his best to ignore Gage, who stood behind Kyle, giving Scotty the finger. “Not funny at all, sir.”

“Damn right it’s not. I should beat you both for insubordination. Don’t think I can’t.” He turned and glanced sharply at Gage, who snapped to attention again. “Now get your lazy butts back to your assigned duties. Got it?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Scotty and Gage said in unison, both adding a salute just to be on the safe side.

Kyle stomped out of the kitchen, and Scotty gave Gage a nasty look before turning back to plate dinner for all of them. He’d spent his teenage years working in restaurants, first as a busboy, then as a line cook. Anything to earn his own money—saving every penny for the day he turned eighteen and could finally get the hell out of there.

As he dished out portions of veggies, then pulled the roast from the oven and carved it up, some of his tension dissolved. Cooking relaxed him, helped relieve his stress—those were the main reasons he did it. That and, you know, avoiding starvation. He transferred the full plates to the nearby galley-style bar. “Food’s ready.”

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