Page 11 of Under His Command

His smile returned as he downshifted to make another turn. “Basic Underwater Demolition.”

“What’s the ‘s’ stand for?”

“SEAL,” he said with a grin.

She kept from rolling her eyes, but sarcasm leached into her tone when she replied, “How silly of me not to know that.”

“This is the SEAL training center, Cassie. Ninety percent of the time that’s what S stands for here.”

“Got it. Wait, you said prep. It takes two months to prepare before coming here? Aren’t these guys in the Navy already?”

“Most are, yes. But it takes two months of readiness training and PST to earn a ticket to Coronado.”

“Another acronym. I think I need a SEAL dictionary.”

His low, sexy laughter caused her heart to flutter. “You’ll get used to it, babe.”

She sucked in a breath at the way “babe” sounded in his husky baritone. It stirred long-dormant tingles when it shouldn’t, not while at work. Trying to cover for her inappropriate response, she asked another question, fast. “What are PSTs?”

“Physical screening tests. Each candidate must be able to swim one thousand meters with fins in under twenty minutes, do seventy push-ups in two minutes, ten pull-ups, sixty sit-ups, and complete a four-mile run in thirty minutes. Basic stuff.”

Cassie laughed, although Flynn seemed serious. “Basic for Superman, maybe.”

“No, that’s basic for a tadpole. If you think that’s tough, you should hear what they have to endure to make it as a frogman.” Coming up to another stop sign, he waited until she looked his way. He’d slid his shades down his nose, his eyes twinkling as he quipped. “A capeand tights, babe? Not happening. Real men wear camo.”

Smiling broadly, he winked before he returned his cool AF shades to the bridge of his nose and shifted his attention back to the road.

Forget about a flutter. Her heart skipped a beat, and it was all she could do to keep from drooling.

“So.” When the word came out breathy, she swallowed and tried again. “With prep before arrival, the candidates must be in top condition when they get to you.”

“Hardly. That’s plebe status. They spend the first three weeks here running, swimming, and tackling the obstacle course, all to prepare for day one of First Phase when the actual work begins.”

“Which is...”

“Hell. Or the precursor to it at least. We add more laps, more miles, day by day, pushing them to their physical limits until it peaks at week four, which we refer to as hell week.”

“Why?”

His wicked grin said it all; still, he replied, “You don’t want to know.”

Dear heaven, the man was sexy and so panty-melting gorgeous if she didn’t get a grip on her aching girl parts when she got up, she’d leave a wet spot on the seat. She swallowed hard, shifted onto a hip to make sure that didn’t happen then managed a shaky reply. “You’re right. I don’t.”

As he took a sharp curve, her strategic positioning went out the nonexistent window. She had to brace with both feet and grab hold of the bar in front of her—seat belts not standard issue on a military Jeepevidently—to keep from flying out the open side.

“The building to your right is the BUD/s grinder, where you’ll find me most days when we’re not in the water.”

“Grinder?”

“It’s what we call the training facility.”

She looked at the ordinary-looking building and the parking lot full of big manly trucks and SUVs. Nothing about it clued her in on the nickname. Again, she had to ask. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why do you call it the grinder?”

His lips flattened into a line before he answered. “In the center is an open asphalt area where the men do their calisthenics. It’s hot, unforgiving, and exhausting. Most liken it to being run through a meat grinder.”

With the Jeep on another straightaway, she relaxed her grip but didn’t let go. “Why push them to their limits? Don’t they break by that point?”

“Being a SEAL isn’t for lightweights, or for those who do things halfway. We have a saying here in training; the only easy day was yesterday. We make it hard because missions are hard. One day their lives and their teammates’ lives as well as the outcome of the mission will depend on being prepared and at peak performance.Training weeds out those who can’t cut it. It separates the wannabes from the real men. Two-thirds will end up ringing the bell.”

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