Page 68 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

The waiter sets our plates in front of us.

“Good timing,” I say, looking up at him. “She was getting combative again.”

She stuffs two pieces of bacon into her mouth before I can even look at my plate. “God, I love bacon so much.”

“Are you going to chew that?” I say, watching her face melt into satisfaction. “Or are you just swallowing the strips whole?”

“Don’t watch me eat.” She sticks the tip of her tongue out at me. “And thirty is still very young. You have plenty of time to do whatever you want.”

“So you think I should sign another contract—keep playing?”

She looks up from her omelet. “I have no idea. I barely know you.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly. We got to know each other pretty well last night.”

She rolls her eyes. “I mean I don’t know anything about your professional life. Do you still enjoy playing?”

“Uh,” I say, slapping her hand away as she grabs a piece of my bacon. “I don’t not enjoy it, but I feel like I’m ready for something else.”

“Then quit. Go to law school.”

“It’s not that easy. You don’t understand. I would disappoint a lot of people—including my dad.”

“Can you bring us another side of bacon?” She looks up at the waiter as he passes and then back at me. “I understand that. I’ve been disappointing my parents for a long time now.”

“I find that hard to believe. I can’t imagine any parent not thinking that you’re perfect.”

“You’ve obviously never met my parents,” she says as she starts in on her fruit cup.

“Can I ask you something?” I say as I drown my eggs in ketchup.

“No, it’s not okay to put ketchup on scrambled eggs, especially that much. There’s your answer.”

“Not quite what I wanted to ask.” She shudders as I drag some eggs through the ketchup. “You haven’t told me anything about what you do for a living. I’m interested.”

“Is that a question?” She looks out at the ocean as she puts a chunk of mango into her mouth.

“It’s just,” I say, watching her eyes. I’ve noticed that when she doesn’t want to talk about something, they stop blinking. “I’ve done a lot of reading about SEALs—fiction and non-fiction.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, turning back toward me. “If you have any insight into figuring out Butch let me know.”

“I don’t think there’s any book in the world that can explain Butch.”

She laughs as she takes another drink of coffee. “I think it would be a best seller if someone could just figure him out.”

“I’d much rather figure you out.” She looks up at me and then turns back toward the ocean. “In every book I’ve read, they’ve never mentioned the SEAL teams working with a State Department envoy. They mention CIA operatives, though. There’s always a few embedded with the teams.”

“Huh. Yeah, I’ve met a few agents on the job.”

“Is that right?” I polish off the rest of my eggs—my eyes still fixed firmly on the side of her head. “What are the agents like?”

She shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you. They kind of keep to themselves. They’re not very friendly.”

“That’s not the impression I get at all,” I say, reaching for her hand again as she puts her coffee cup down.

She looks at me and tilts her head. “Oh yeah, do you know a CIA agent?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding as I squeeze her hand. “I think I just met one.”

“Huh, well you should probably ask him these questions. He might know a little more than I do.” She looks back at the ocean. “It’s really pretty down here, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” I say, squeezing her hand once more before I let it go. “We can do small talk.”

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