give ’em fifty. But that probably wasn’t what Charity had in mind.
“I think a solid fitness regime is important, and the military gets effective results with its programs,” he told her. “But I think you’d need to retool most of their methods if you wanted them to work for the average person. And even more so if you were trying to inspire children.”
“I’m a machine when it comes to PT,” Romeo agreed. “But it’s like Irish said, I don’t work as hard as I do because it’s a part of my job description. I do it because I depend on my body. Because my team depends on my being in top shape. That gives me a lot more incentive than a hatchet-faced drill sergeant barking orders would.”
“I don’t think we’d train instructors in the art of intimidation,” Charity said with a laugh. “Wouldn’t good grades be enough incentive, though?”
“To do the minimum, sure,” Mitch agreed. “But isn’t it more important to build a love of fitness and a respect for what a healthy body can do?”
“How would you suggest doing that?”
“Games,” Romeo said. “It’s a tried-and-true training method in fitness and in the military.”
As Romeo led everyone into an animated discussion on the various games they’d all played growing up, Mitch thought about the games he’d like to play now. His current favorite involved a telephone, a stopwatch and a challenge to see how fast he could talk Livi over the edge before he had to hang up.
His record had been set two nights ago with three minutes, twelve seconds. He was hoping to upgrade the games soon to include bare skin, body-to-body contact and a lot of sweating and moaning. He doubted the games would lead to much in the way of fitness, but Livi’s body was already rock-hard. So deliciously formed. So sweet.
“Mitchell!”
Dammit. Mitch grimaced. Not again.
“Let the boy think, Denise,” the Admiral ordered from the head of the table. The entire room came to subtle attention at the tone of his command. Mitch was pretty sure if the turkey could have stood and saluted a wing, it would have. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”
Her lips tightened in frustration before Denise pressed them into a smile for her father-in-law. After all, nobody disagreed with the Admiral.
Romeo, damn him, looked as if he could barely hold back his laughter.
“What did you think of DEVGRU?” the Admiral asked, pointing at Mitch with his forkful of turkey. “You interested?”
As he considered the question, Mitch accepted the turkey platter from his father. The platter, like many of the serving pieces, had been in his mother’s family for generations. A reminder, she liked to say, of the endurance of traditions.
Mitch had always figured it had more to do with the fact that she triple wrapped each piece in Bubble Wrap and stored them in a padded case between uses. Which, he supposed, probably proved her point, too.
Traditions were as important to his grandfather, Mitch knew. Generations of Donovan men had served their country with honor. That his grandson was taking that service further than anyone else had given the Admiral plenty of bragging rights.
And he was looking for more.
“I’m not sure it’s the direction I want to take,” Mitch finally told the Admiral, passing the plate to Gabriel without taking any turkey. “It’s an honor, of course. But I’m just as interested in the program in Coronado.”
Maybe even more, considering the sweet delicacies to be found on that side of the country. But Mitch figured he’d keep that little fact to himself.
“Nonsense,” the Admiral barked. “DEVGRU is the only option that makes sense.”
“An option you have plenty of time to think through,” his dad said from his position at what Denise liked to call the other head of the table. “A month, at least.”
Thomas didn’t say any more than that. He didn’t need to. Four of them at the table knew he was referring to a highly classified mission Mitch was
“I think a solid fitness regime is important, and the military gets effective results with its programs,” he told her. “But I think you’d need to retool most of their methods if you wanted them to work for the average person. And even more so if you were trying to inspire children.”
“I’m a machine when it comes to PT,” Romeo agreed. “But it’s like Irish said, I don’t work as hard as I do because it’s a part of my job description. I do it because I depend on my body. Because my team depends on my being in top shape. That gives me a lot more incentive than a hatchet-faced drill sergeant barking orders would.”
“I don’t think we’d train instructors in the art of intimidation,” Charity said with a laugh. “Wouldn’t good grades be enough incentive, though?”
“To do the minimum, sure,” Mitch agreed. “But isn’t it more important to build a love of fitness and a respect for what a healthy body can do?”
“How would you suggest doing that?”
“Games,” Romeo said. “It’s a tried-and-true training method in fitness and in the military.”
As Romeo led everyone into an animated discussion on the various games they’d all played growing up, Mitch thought about the games he’d like to play now. His current favorite involved a telephone, a stopwatch and a challenge to see how fast he could talk Livi over the edge before he had to hang up.
His record had been set two nights ago with three minutes, twelve seconds. He was hoping to upgrade the games soon to include bare skin, body-to-body contact and a lot of sweating and moaning. He doubted the games would lead to much in the way of fitness, but Livi’s body was already rock-hard. So deliciously formed. So sweet.
“Mitchell!”
Dammit. Mitch grimaced. Not again.
“Let the boy think, Denise,” the Admiral ordered from the head of the table. The entire room came to subtle attention at the tone of his command. Mitch was pretty sure if the turkey could have stood and saluted a wing, it would have. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”
Her lips tightened in frustration before Denise pressed them into a smile for her father-in-law. After all, nobody disagreed with the Admiral.
Romeo, damn him, looked as if he could barely hold back his laughter.
“What did you think of DEVGRU?” the Admiral asked, pointing at Mitch with his forkful of turkey. “You interested?”
As he considered the question, Mitch accepted the turkey platter from his father. The platter, like many of the serving pieces, had been in his mother’s family for generations. A reminder, she liked to say, of the endurance of traditions.
Mitch had always figured it had more to do with the fact that she triple wrapped each piece in Bubble Wrap and stored them in a padded case between uses. Which, he supposed, probably proved her point, too.
Traditions were as important to his grandfather, Mitch knew. Generations of Donovan men had served their country with honor. That his grandson was taking that service further than anyone else had given the Admiral plenty of bragging rights.
And he was looking for more.
“I’m not sure it’s the direction I want to take,” Mitch finally told the Admiral, passing the plate to Gabriel without taking any turkey. “It’s an honor, of course. But I’m just as interested in the program in Coronado.”
Maybe even more, considering the sweet delicacies to be found on that side of the country. But Mitch figured he’d keep that little fact to himself.
“Nonsense,” the Admiral barked. “DEVGRU is the only option that makes sense.”
“An option you have plenty of time to think through,” his dad said from his position at what Denise liked to call the other head of the table. “A month, at least.”
Thomas didn’t say any more than that. He didn’t need to. Four of them at the table knew he was referring to a highly classified mission Mitch was
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