Page 43 of Rules of Engagement

“Jorja, I can wait if you aren’t ready.”

“I didn’t say that.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead, then pulls me into his arms and holds me.

At first, I’m tense, nervous, but he doesn’t do anything but hold me in his strong arms. Laying my cheek on his chest. Hearing his heart beating. Listening to his breath, moving in and out of his lungs. Feeling my face caress it as it does. The scent of his cologne teasing my nostrils. I feel safe, and slowly, I relax.

When I slide my hands around his waist and squeeze him, he kisses the top of my head. “Ham sandwich for lunch, or shall we order pizza?”

“Pizza,” I whisper.

He shifts his embrace to one arm as he pulls his phone from his pants pocket and dials. “I would like an extra-large pineapple, mushroom, with black olives and pepperoni on a hand-tossed crust, please.”

I lean back and look up at him. “You remember how I like my pizza?”

He winks. “Jocko Malone. The Cottages. Suite One.” Then he hangs up. “I remember everything about you.”

“I know nothing about you.”

“Shall we start the interview then?” Both arms hug me back against his body, and for the next fifteen minutes, he holds me while I ask him questions that any good interviewer would ask. Then I inquire why he joined the Navy instead of becoming a pro baseball player. His answer is short and to the point. “To make a difference in the world.”

“Tell me about being a SEAL. Start with the training.”

He begins with the 24 weeks of BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL, training. Then explains there are another 26 weeks of SEAL Qualification Training. He gives some details, so I genuinely understand what “Hell Week” was like. The physical demands make my head spin, and I admire his body. He's a perfect specimen of masculinity. I listen, enthralled by it all, seeing him as the warrior.

While he reminisces, I notice that his right eyebrow has an involuntary twitch that is sexy as hell!

Somewhere during the interview, the pizza arrives. He gets a six-pack of beer from the mini-fridge, and we move to the couch.

He tells me about becoming a K9 handler, how he met Lucifer, and the six months of extensive training they went through. He gives me a couple of examples, such as why barking isn’t allowed.

“So, how do you train the dogs to jump from airplanes?”

“First, they either have it, or they don’t.”

I grin, “Lucifer has ‘it’ in droves. Just like you.”

He grins, “We do love it.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

He winks, “I know what you meant.”

Jocko brags how Lucifer was such a badass that other ‘operators’ requested him for missions. He tells me a couple of funny stories, then describes how proud he felt when Lucifer was awarded the Military Working Dog Service Award for combat.

“And now I’m my maligator’s civilian dad.” He finishes off his beer.

I stare at him in total amazement. “Wow, I had no idea!”

He laughs as he reaches for the empty pizza box and closes the lid. “Most people don’t.”

---