Page 25 of Scarlett and the Big Bad Billionaire
“Speaking of untalented hacks…” Pres said.
Laughing, Dylan Lowe stopped running and swaggered up to the fence. “You guys here looking for autographs? You’ll have to wait till after the practice—and get in line behindthem.”
He tossed his head toward the flocks of women in the stands.
“No thanks—I’ve seen your handwriting,” Wilder said. “How you feeling? Adjusted to the new system yet?”
“Not gonna lie—it’s a lot. The Nauticals’ play book’s as thick as a dictionary. I’ll get it though. I’m just so fucking happy to be here, you know?”
Turning his attention to me, he said, “Gray, it’s good to see you man. How’s the security business treating you?”
“I can’t complain,” I said.
It was true. I was lucky to have a job where I could actually use some of the skills I’d acquired as a SEAL. I’d been the one in my platoon who went in first to disable a security system or conquer a particularly challenging lock.
When I left the military, I wasn’t qualified to do much in the civilian world—unless I wanted to embark on a life of crime as a cat burglar. But then Wilder had started Viridian and hired me and the rest of our platoon to work for him in security.
Some of the guys worked as bodyguards for celebrities and other high-risk targets, while I used my considerable knowledge of home and commercial security equipment—and the tricks burglars and other home invaders used to defeat it—to help our clients protecttheir homes and businesses.
It wasn’t glamorous like a career in pro football, and it wasn’t exactly my passion, but it was good, honest work, and I liked the feeling of helping people.
“You guys gonna stick around till the end of practice?” Dylan asked.
“Sure,” Wilder said. “Wanna go grab a bite afterward?”
“Definitely.”
“That’d be great. We’ll have a couple hours before evening meetings,” Presley said. “Meet you back here in about an hour.”
Wilder and I walked back up the hill to the general area where we’d been sitting. As we did, I noticed several sets of female eyes following us. They were probably wondering how we knew Pres and Dylan and trying to figure out how to get invited along on our dinner plans.
Wilder must have noticed them, too. He smirked. “Lots of veryenthusiasticfans here today.”
“Oh yeah. Plenty of number eight-seven jerseys. And I’m sure it won’t take long until Dylan has his share of ‘Nautie girlfriends’ as well.”
“No doubt.” After a pause Wilder asked, “So, how’syourgirlfriend doing?”
I looked over at his expectant expression, confused. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
He laughed. “I’m talking about Victoria Hood. You spend so much time with her, I thought maybe you two had made it official.”
Now I laughed. “Well, she’s a hottie alright, but I’m keeping my options open. I’m not quite ready to settle down and have babies with her.”
“You should, you know,” Wilder said in all seriousness. “I mean about the settling down part—Jess and I are still working on the baby thing. Marriage is the best.”
“That’s because you finally get to have sex with the girl you’ve been lusting over for half your life. Oh, and she happens to be a super-hot popstar.”
“I can’t argue there, but it’s more than that,” Wilder said. “I mean, not to get all deep and everything, but it’s pretty unbelievable to wake up next to your best friend every morning, to have a house that actually feels like a home, and to know that someone has your back not just now but for the rest of your life.”
I looked out over the field, only marginally paying attention to the action. “Yeah, well, I’m happy for you man—truly—but I never had anyone like that. I’m starting to doubt I’lleverfeel that way about anyone. I’m not even sure I’m capable of it. I think something’s wrong with me.”
Wilder sounded concerned. “A lot of vets get that, you know. Emotional detachment can be a sign of PTSD. Have you thought of seeing a therapist? Mine helped me a lot.”
Looking down at the grass beside me, I plucked a strand. “It’s not that. I mean, yeah, after what happened in Iraq and then the trial, I was pretty fucked up right at first. But I saw someone and learned some coping mechanisms. I’m doing great with that actually.”
At the suggestion of my therapist, I’d taken up an old hobby when my career as a SEAL ended. Well, it had beenmorethan a hobby when I was young. I’d dreamed of becoming a great artist, of making an impact on the world with my painting.
For various reasons—including lack of tuition money—I’d shifted gears, left art school, and gone into the military, leaving those old dreams behind.
