Page 4 of Ground Zero

Mike said, "Dibs on the redhead."

Jocko said, "Dibs on the blond."

I laughed and said, "Good choices, brothers. If either of you had made the bad decision of choosing the raven-haired beauty, I would have been forced to beat your asses."

Jocko gave a' tssst' and then said, "Luce, go introduce yourself."

His black Belgian Malinois trotted over, and the women, of course, welcomed him with 'ooh's and ah's.'

We followed behind and pulled over two additional chairs to sit with them.

After about an hour of laughing our asses off at Mike's impromptu entertainment, Nina announced she had a big day tomorrow and needed to get home.

She stood, and I stood too, offering to walk her out, but she shot me down. "Sorry. SEALs are off limits."

"Who said I was a SEAL?" I teased her.

Her eyebrow cocked, and her ‘no bullshit allowed' sassy-ass face that I later learned to love and trust, barred any hope of lying my way through her filter.

"If your cocky posture wasn't proof enough, your g-shock watch is a dead giveaway."

She hugged her girlfriends and left. I hung out another fifteen minutes, then went home.

The next morning, I learned why SEALs were off-limits. She walked into the war room in fatigues and boots. She was our new targeting officer, and I was fucked.

Being romantically involved with a team member was strictly forbidden.

As a Tier One Operator, there are inherent professional hazards, and Nina Fox was one of mine. All the years she and I worked together; she never knew how I felt. Hiding my feelings for her tested my integrity and discipline to the max. It was hard as hell and never got any easier. The spark between us never went away.

When I left the military, I thought long and hard about hitting on her and hooking up, but she was still serving with Bravo, and I couldn't take the chance that she would be distracted from the mission.

But this is different. I smile. This time I will be the one who sets the code of conduct.

The first name I type is Nina Fox. Then, I list the operators and other support personnel I want to recruit.

I lift my glass to myself and decide. "I'm doing this." Then drain the glass and slam it on the table. "HOOYAH!"

Chapter 3

I wakebefore the sun rises like most mornings, piss, brush my teeth, hydrate, throw on my sweats, add my holster and weapon, and stretch in the elevator. When the doors slide open, I jog through the lobby.

Meghan Meadows is behind the counter and speaks, "Good morning, Rocket. Have a good run."

I throw my hand up, acknowledging her comment. "Morning, Ambassador." I jog in place at the entrance while the sliding doors open, then I hit the pavement as the first rays of the sun break the horizon.

Rather than returning to my regular early morning routine, I decided to run yesterday's route, wanting to revisit the street where all the shit went down. My breath syncs to the pounding of my feet on the pavement as my mind mulls the details of making Cock Blockers a reality.

By the time I turn onto the street, the sun is up, but the neighborhood is still asleep. When I am ten houses away from the home where the young girl lives, the front door opens, and a female steps outside dressed in a compression shirt that firmly hugs her nice size tits and tight running pants with reflective stripes down the sides that accentuates her nice ass.

My kind of woman! An early bird that is stacked and packed.

She takes a deep breath, lifts her hands over her head, clasps them together, and stretches. My feet stumble, and I come to a jarring stop.

It can't be! …Foxtrot?

She lowers her hands, sets them on her hips, and rotates her head on her shoulders like I've seen her do a thousand times to reduce the stress.

What are the fucking odds that the woman I love would come out of the house of the little girl I rescued?

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