Read Online Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) by Anne Marsh - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Marsh
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no small part to my crazy pants family. And if their myriad issues hadn’t been enough to encourage sobriety, my tours of duty with Uncle Sam had underscored what happened when SEALs drink too much.
Alcohol’s pretty much everywhere you turn in the military. Guys party hard in the barracks. They drink to have a good time, because their buddies are doing it, because we’re fighting a war and anyone could die tomorrow. So why not live it up? I tried it a few times, but I figured out pretty quick that pounding Jack Daniels straight from the bottle held zero appeal. I like to remember my nights-before, and I prefer to stay in control. So I quit. Ordered a Coke. Touched the glass to my lips when we were toasting promotions, mess nights, and remembering our fallen.
Marlee tugs again. She has to know there’s no way in the world I get up there.
“It’s a great way to meet girls,” she promises me.
Not sure why she’s so eager to hook me up with someone—I feel like the white elephant gift that gets passed around at Christmas. “I’m fine.”
“Sing with me,” she insists. “Or come up there and grind that mighty fine ass of yours. You can be my local color.”
She likes my ass? Awesome.
Still not getting me up on stage, though.
“Baby girl, there’s not enough alcohol in the bar to convince me to get up there and sing.”
My mouth brushes her hair, and when I inhale, I smell strawberries. Might be the margarita in her right hand, or it might be her shampoo, but it smells good.
“Spoil sport.” She smiles back at me with good-natured humor, though. Then she snags her drink, bangs back the rest of it, and hands me back the empty glass. Her cheeks are pink and she weaves a little as she stands. “You want to bet on it?”
“Be specific.”
“I bet I can get you up on that stage,” she says.
“You’ll lose.”
Her grin lights up her face. “And when you lose , you sing me a song. I’ll accept a private performance.”
“You’re on.”
She bounces up to the karaoke machine with a wave of her fingers, and five minutes later she’s belting out some country song about a woman, a man, and a baby. I love my country music, but I have no idea why this song is supposed to get me out of my seat. She doesn’t stand a chance. So while she sings to me, I slouch back in my chair, arms draped along the back of the seat, and listen. She’s actually not bad.
The song kind of reminds me of home. My sisters would sing along to the radio as the DJ counted down the top hundred songs of the week. Their vocal talents varied considerably, but it wasn’t the quality of the performance that mattered. They scored points for enthusiasm and boundless optimism. They’d like Marlee, who bounces, claps, hops, and does some kind of weird can-can kick that sends her dress puffing up and out.
“She’s got skills,” Ro mutters, but he’s grinning and that’s the thing about Marlee. She’s crazy and crazy things happen around her, but she also makes people smile.
And then she twirls—and trips. She flies toward the edge of the stage, her hands pinwheeling madly. I’m out of my chair in a heartbeat. I vault onto the stage as she teeters over the edge of it and scoop her into my arms to raucous applause from the audience.
She looks up at me and winks. “Gotcha.”
God. She’s amazing.
And I’m a sucker.
I toss her over my shoulder and smack her ass. “You cheat. We’re done here.”
She pats me—on the butt. Didn’t see that coming. “But you still lose.”
Not a fucking chance. She just groped my ass, which goes squarely in my win column. And since I’m tonight’s designated driver, she’s not rid of me yet. Finn bummed a ride from someone and took off an hour earlier to check on the dogs, but not before extorting a promise from me that I’d see everyone home safely. I still think I got the better end of that deal.
The girls squeeze into the cab of my truck, giggling loud enough to be heard in
Alcohol’s pretty much everywhere you turn in the military. Guys party hard in the barracks. They drink to have a good time, because their buddies are doing it, because we’re fighting a war and anyone could die tomorrow. So why not live it up? I tried it a few times, but I figured out pretty quick that pounding Jack Daniels straight from the bottle held zero appeal. I like to remember my nights-before, and I prefer to stay in control. So I quit. Ordered a Coke. Touched the glass to my lips when we were toasting promotions, mess nights, and remembering our fallen.
Marlee tugs again. She has to know there’s no way in the world I get up there.
“It’s a great way to meet girls,” she promises me.
Not sure why she’s so eager to hook me up with someone—I feel like the white elephant gift that gets passed around at Christmas. “I’m fine.”
“Sing with me,” she insists. “Or come up there and grind that mighty fine ass of yours. You can be my local color.”
She likes my ass? Awesome.
Still not getting me up on stage, though.
“Baby girl, there’s not enough alcohol in the bar to convince me to get up there and sing.”
My mouth brushes her hair, and when I inhale, I smell strawberries. Might be the margarita in her right hand, or it might be her shampoo, but it smells good.
“Spoil sport.” She smiles back at me with good-natured humor, though. Then she snags her drink, bangs back the rest of it, and hands me back the empty glass. Her cheeks are pink and she weaves a little as she stands. “You want to bet on it?”
“Be specific.”
“I bet I can get you up on that stage,” she says.
“You’ll lose.”
Her grin lights up her face. “And when you lose , you sing me a song. I’ll accept a private performance.”
“You’re on.”
She bounces up to the karaoke machine with a wave of her fingers, and five minutes later she’s belting out some country song about a woman, a man, and a baby. I love my country music, but I have no idea why this song is supposed to get me out of my seat. She doesn’t stand a chance. So while she sings to me, I slouch back in my chair, arms draped along the back of the seat, and listen. She’s actually not bad.
The song kind of reminds me of home. My sisters would sing along to the radio as the DJ counted down the top hundred songs of the week. Their vocal talents varied considerably, but it wasn’t the quality of the performance that mattered. They scored points for enthusiasm and boundless optimism. They’d like Marlee, who bounces, claps, hops, and does some kind of weird can-can kick that sends her dress puffing up and out.
“She’s got skills,” Ro mutters, but he’s grinning and that’s the thing about Marlee. She’s crazy and crazy things happen around her, but she also makes people smile.
And then she twirls—and trips. She flies toward the edge of the stage, her hands pinwheeling madly. I’m out of my chair in a heartbeat. I vault onto the stage as she teeters over the edge of it and scoop her into my arms to raucous applause from the audience.
She looks up at me and winks. “Gotcha.”
God. She’s amazing.
And I’m a sucker.
I toss her over my shoulder and smack her ass. “You cheat. We’re done here.”
She pats me—on the butt. Didn’t see that coming. “But you still lose.”
Not a fucking chance. She just groped my ass, which goes squarely in my win column. And since I’m tonight’s designated driver, she’s not rid of me yet. Finn bummed a ride from someone and took off an hour earlier to check on the dogs, but not before extorting a promise from me that I’d see everyone home safely. I still think I got the better end of that deal.
The girls squeeze into the cab of my truck, giggling loud enough to be heard in
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