Page 2 of Joel
Funny how that thought is worse than the possibility of going to jail.
I expect an announcement over some loudspeaker when the helicopter hovers nearby, but I suppose I wouldn’t be able to hear it over the noise of the rotor blades anyway. So I kick backin my raft, crossing my feet at my ankles, and watch as one of the men in a bright orange jump suit is attached to a cable and lowered into the water.
After a splash, I hear, “Rescue swimmer in the water!”
Is that supposed to be comforting?
I suppose in any other set of circumstances—where I was abiding by the law, for instance—I would feel reassured by that announcement. I would feel saved from a desperate situation. But I am anything but a goddamn damsel in distress. True as that may be, I’m also not above accepting a lift back to shore.
I glance at the waterproof bag filled with my most valuable possessions and a hefty amount of damning evidence, and yank it into my lap. I hug it to my chest, hoping like hell the coastguardsman won’t try to make me leave it behind.
“Ma’am, are you injured?” I hear as he swims closer.
There’s a twinge of guilt that someone else has to get into the cold water to save me, but it’s short lived when two arms prop themselves on the side of my raft. Eyes bluer than the sea on this crystal clear day stare up at me. Fuck me, those eyes are dangerous.
“Ma’am?”
“The only thing injured is my pride,” I admit, my throat suddenly dry.
The military man lifts one corner of his mouth in a smile, and dammit if butterflies don’t instantly erupt in my belly.Not the fucking time. The only thing stupider than putting myself in a position to be rescued by the Coast Guard would be sleeping with one of them.
“Good.” His smile grows, showcasing its potency.
Fuck me, I really want tofuckhim. A man I just met ten seconds ago.Good God,down girl!
“Good?” I repeat, trying like hell not to stare into those eyes. It’s probably just exhaustion clouding my judgment, but I’m notin a position to take that risk. Not if I want to keep Todd off my case and my ass out of jail. Or would they put me in a military prison? “I hardly see why this is good.”
“You’d rather have a broken leg or punctured lung?”
His tone makes me smile, despite my best efforts to fight the impulse. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“Ma’am, I have a perfectly good helicopter waiting.” He points up. “Can I offer you a lift?”
2
JOEL
“Do you want a granola bar?”I ask the woman in a form-fitted dry suit strapped into a seat along the back of the Jayhawk as we head back to base. Long, wavy blonde hair drapes over both shoulders—hair she let loose once she was helped out of the rescue basket and into the helicopter.
An image flashes in my mind of that same hair covering my thighs as she sucks on my cock.
Whoa! Not the fucking time, Joel.
Where thefuckdid that come from?
“It’s apple cinnamon,” I add about the granola bar. “Made locally. It’s good stuff.”
I pretend not to notice the several sets of eyes that turn in my direction. Fucking headsets. If I want a private conversation with the woman who’s name I still don’t know, I’ll have to wait until the crew can’t eavesdrop. No way in hell they’ll let me live it down if I ask her now. They’ll make something of it for sure.
I’m the last of the six J-Squad members who’s single. It’s not even the guys I’m worried about taking shit from—it’s their wives who’ve been obsessed with helping me find my soulmate for the past year.
I know they mean well, but it’s over the top.
A year ago, I felt ready to settle down. That was before The Wives appointed themselves my personal matchmaker. If I have to go on one more blind date with some nice tourist woman they met atThe Icebergor while standing in line atRocco’s Tacos—I don’t care how reformed that food truck is. I refuse to get within a hundred yards of wherever it’s parked—I’m going to fucking lose it.
They think I want anice girl.
“Oh, yes! I’m starving,” the blonde says.
