Page 17 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

Raine

Before Millie left to go back to San Diego, we went shopping for “island clothes.” We bought about ten things—each one showing more skin than the next. I’m comfortable wearing exactly zero of them. But I promised her I would try to tap into my carefree side, so this morning as I head to the airport, I’m wearing a canary yellow sundress with a plunging neckline. My carry-on is an enormous straw bag with a parrot sewn into the weaving. The parrot’s yellow bill matches my dress to a tee. My hair—that’s perpetually in a top knot or ponytail—is flowing over my shoulders pushed back by the extremely large sunglasses that Millie said were my ‘crowning glory.’

As I pull up to the airport, I immediately spot Butch. He’s leaning against a wall with a duffle bag at his feet. He’s wearing his favorite cap—a well-worn navy trucker hat with a large red and white rooster on the front. It’s paired with a gray Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt and army green cargo shorts. He’s scanning every cab that pulls up, tapping his fingers nervously on the wall. I’m sure he’s been here for at least an hour. Even retired, I know he’s still going by SEAL time. He lets out a long breath when he sees my head pop out of the car.

“Okay, damn,” Butch says, giving my body a slow scan as he walks over. “I see what you’re doing for me here—”

“I’m not doing anything foryou,” I say as I try to maneuver my severely overpacked suitcase onto the sidewalk. “This is the way I always dress when I’m off-duty.”

“Bullshit,” he says, coughing into his hand.

“You don’t know what I do when I’m not with you guys.”

“When are you ever not with us? You’ve spent the better part of five years attached to us—almost literally.”

“I have time off,” I say, tugging at the neckline of my dress as I try to keep the parrot bag on my shoulder. “I go out—with people—I mean, sometimes I do.”

“When’s the last time you’ve gone out with anyone except us?” He points at me as I start to open my mouth. “And Millie counts as one of us.”

I stick my tongue out at him as I start rolling my bag into the terminal. He grabs it from me and picks it up.

“Damn, girl. What do you have in here? Did Millie crawl in before you left this morning?” He leans down and whispers into the bag, “Millie? You in there? Knock twice if you can hear me.”

“Stop,” I say, trying to grab it back from him. “I packed a few books.”

He holds the bag further away from me. “What books? Like briefing books? You know you can’t take those out of secured areas.”

“Not briefing books,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Book books. Like for pleasure. I’m on vacation.”

He lifts the bag again. “Did you clear all the shelves at the library? We’re only there for a long weekend.”

“I read fast,” I say, grabbing for my bag again. “Give it to me! That’s agency rule number one for being embedded with SEALs—don’t expect them to carry anything for you.”

“That’s because when we’re on a mission, we kind of need our arms to be free. We’re not on a mission right now. I don’t have to get to my weapon.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper as I grab his arm. “Do you have a gun on you? You can’t carry on the plane anymore. You’re a civilian now.”

“Don’t remind me,” he growls. “I feel like a have a body part missing. And I’m carrying your bag because for the duration of this trip, you’re my girlfriend. I’m a gentleman.”

“Fine,” I say, taking my boarding pass out of the parrot bag. “But it has wheels. You don’t have to carry it.”

“I like carrying things for you,” he says, blowing me a kiss. “I’d carry you if you’d let me, baby.”

“Baby? No!” I turn around and point at him. “Absolutely no more of that.”

I hear him laughing as he follows behind me. “Ok, honey then or maybe sweet cheeks.”

“Oh my God,” I say, not looking back. “Asking you to be my plus-one was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

* * *

When we get to our row in the plane, our seatmate’s already sleeping, his head pressed against the window with his legs sprawled out into the middle seat’s leg space.

“I’m assuming you want the aisle,” I say, looking over my shoulder at Butch.

“You assume correctly, but let me take care of that for you first.”

He rams his duffle into the guy’s legs. The guy snaps awake and glares at us, but he pulls his legs back into his third of the space.

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