Page 5 of Love Me Knot

“The bastard never even served,” Cassanova adds.

Jackson’s brow tightens. Instead of asking Bash, he turns to me. “What’s your theory?”

Beneath his piercing gaze, I’m stricken with a severe case of the stupids. “I…”

Birdie trots up to the table, drawing all eyes her way. Thank God. “What’d I miss?”

“Oh, nothing,” I answer. “We were just explaining to the lieutenant about Congressman Harding’s hard-on for PMCs.”

“Chelsea was just about to share her theory when you came back,” Jackson says, not letting me off the hook.

All eyes are on me again. If it were just Knot’s people, I wouldn’t care. I know who I am and how to act around them. Jackson’s throwing me off. I’m now second-guessing myself. “I don’t… have a theory.”

The men from my team stare at me as if I’ve forgotten my last name, and Jackson turns to Bash. “Didn’t you tell me she was a brilliant war strategist? Always knows what the enemy thinks before he does?”

Bash shrugs and tugs on a lock of Birdie’s hair. Jackson returns that laser focus to me, and the universe again shows me mercy. The waitress walks over with a beer for the SEAL and another round for everyone but me. When she walks away, Birdie asks Jackson about someone called Skin.

I listen to the report and ascertain that Jackson and his platoon are quite well known to some at Knot Corp. I’d heard about shared missions and even a rescue by a group of Navy SEALs, but I didn’t know Jackson was involved.

I must have said that part out loud because he answers. “I wasn’t. That was the other squad in my platoon.”

“Your platoon?” As soon as I asked, I regretted the question because now I’ve got his full attention again.

“I’m the leader of Third Platoon in SEAL Team Two.”

Platoon leader. That means he’s not a fuck up or a complete asshole. The answer is still no. No matter how charming his smile is or how much his voice makes your insides quiver. I turn away, hopefully before appearing impressed.

My team has moved on from the conversation. Birdie and Bash are in their own little world. Kai and Cassanova discuss a flagrant foul call from the basketball game between the Tide and the Cavs. Unfortunately for me, Jackson doesn’t suffer similar distractions. “Want another beer?” he asks.

When no one answers, I look up to see that he’s asking me. “No. Thanks.” I pick up my bottle and swing it back and forth. “Still full.”

Jackson’s voice drops low. “It’s got to be warm by now.”

I fight off a full-body shudder and imaginary tug to get closer. Fall back! Fall back! While facing off with Jackson is nothing like the life-or-death situations I’ve met in my career, being the sole receiver of his attention is unsettling. Not because he creeps me out but because he doesn’t.

I push out of my chair and toss two tens on the table, surprising the man. Thank God I had cash tonight. “I’m out, guys. I’ve got some shit to do before tomorrow.”

No one tries to stop me when I walk away from the table. Knowing they’re watching, I plead with my body to not trip. Though I make it to the exit without embarrassing myself, I don’t take a relaxed breath until I’m on the other side of the barroom door.

Smooth, Chelsea. Real smooth.

Jackson “Clothespin” Bennett

Chelsea walks away, stirring my inner caveman. I want to give chase, wrap my hands around those juicy hips, and see what the woman tastes like.

Thankfully, I’m not ruled by my baser instincts and remain seated. That doesn’t mean I’m not watching, though. Turning my face to the TV over the bar, I pretend to watch the basketball game but keep my eyes trained on the woman who couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

Too bad. Chelsea’s a stunner, something Bash failed to mention when he described his teammates.

The woman wasn’t afraid of me. Our mutual attraction was palpable, evidenced by her sharp gasp when our eyes met. Why she shut down, I don’t know.

Based on Bash’s evaluation, Chelsea is fierce and fearless with a top-notch military intellect. Her fast mind and sharp tongue constantly keep her team on their toes.

Basically, he tells me she’s a hell of a leader, even if she’s a bit of a smartass. That doesn’t jive with what I saw tonight. The woman I just met didn’t have a confident bone in her body. Out of respect for Chelsea, I don’t ask publicly. I decide to wait until the group breaks up.

Two beers later, the game ends, and the crowd begins to thin out. Kai and Cassanova pay their tabs and exit, leaving Birdie, Bash, and me at our table. My patience loses to my curiosity, and I let loose the question burrowing in my head. “Are you sure that was the Chelsea you told me about?”

Birdie rolls her eyes, and Bash lifts his ball cap to scrub his scalp. “I don’t get it. She’s always quiet at first when meeting new people like she’s taking time to figure them out. I’ve never seen her shut down completely. She must have hated you.”