Page 41 of What I Should Have Done

Something more than a simple offer of comfort for a teammate passed between us yesterday. And I’d let him cross a boundary. Becoming caught up in a scandal with a teammate would be devastating for my career, and he probably hadn’t had a single thought about the ramifications. Not that I could blame him. For him, a slap on the wrist might happen, but a pat on the back would more likely be the outcome.

For me…

“How’s the cuts?” Mikey’s gravelly voice snapped through my mindless thoughts steering me down a trail I shouldn’t be going on. Sweat glistened on his forehead, replacing the sand and blood that had clung to his skin yesterday. Damn…

“Uh.” I shook my head, gently setting the scope down as he slid himself onto the bench across from me. “They’re healing.”

“Wanna talk about…it?” he cautiously asked, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“Where’s Bernie?” I ignored his question because I wasn’t sure what to make of what happened. And more so, I had no intention of crossing those boundaries again.

“Went to grab some water and see if there’s mail. His mom likes to send packages that tend to have snacks.”

“Does he ever share?” I asked lightheartedly, and he chuckled, leaning back on the bench.

“No, but that doesn’t mean shit doesn’t go missing sometimes.” He wiggled his brows, his eyes twinkling.

“Why’d you do it?” I blurted out.

“Why’d I do what?” He propped an elbow up against the table.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled sharply. “The fucking belt flick, wink shit.”

Nothing. Not a sound nor word escaped his lips. All I could hear was the background chatter from other soldiers, some grunting from those lifting, and that ever-present white noise of gunfire thundering in the distance.

I cracked one eyelid suspiciously and found Mikey’s dark gaze trained on me. “Oh, wipe that stupid, cocky ass grin from your damn face.” I frowned, narrowing my eyes.

He leaned back and bellowed loudly, the deep laugh drawing a few looks before I assumed they dismissed it as two teammates chilling. “Never had a man wink at you before?”

“Yes I have, and it’s always creepy,” I teased.

He raised a brow. “Then why did you cross your legs?” His voice deepened, a growl rumbling behind his words.

“Always creepy,” I emphasized, somehow keeping my wits about me. He saw that?

“Alright, no winks, then.” He casually picked up a brush and began mindlessly helping me clean the parts to my rifle.

“No, none of whatever’s going on,” I hissed through my teeth. “I already have to deal with enough misogynistic bullshit with Reyes, I don’t need it from you.”

His movements faltered. “Is that how all of this feels to you?”

“You’re flirting with me, are you not?” I questioned quietly.

Mikey stopped cleaning, the cocky grin I so enjoyed fell from his face. His jaw knotted, and regret swept through me immediately. His interactions with me were so genuine, and I hated to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed them. But the fear that someone might see was more consuming than my need to indulge in them. Besides, if it ever moved past this playful interaction stage, he’d see I wasn’t sexy in any way.

And any sort of relationship built with the team would dissolve in an instant.

His broad chest expanded. “Message received,” he muttered and set the gear back down on the table.

He swung one leg over the bench and braced a palm on the table to rise when Bernie came jogging toward us.

“Yo!” Bernie waved white envelopes in his hand. He plopped himself down directly next to Mikey, kicking Mikey’s leg back over the bench without a second thought. A sharp whistle shot from Bernie’s lips. “Ford, Duncan! Mail time!”

The two of them almost immediately rose from the bench at the sound of the whistle and jogged over to us.

Mikey’s blue eyes snapped to mine briefly, narrowing before quickly tearing them away to look at Bernie. “Let’s see,” Bernie began and shuffled through the letters, sliding two across the table to Ford and Duncan until he held three envelopes.

“Mikey, my man!” He slapped one of the letters, address side down, onto the table in front of Mikey. “Dom.” Bernie placed our lieutenant commander’s letter off to the side and sighed. “And myself—though no snacks. I’ll probably go mess with my button bombs since there are no treats.”

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