Wed to a SEAL (Hot SEALs) (Volume 8)
Read Wed to a SEAL (Hot SEALs) (Volume 8) Online
Authors: Cat Johnson
WED TO A SEAL
Hot SEALs
Cat Johnson
Marry her. It was a crazy idea . . . and the more he thought about it, the better he liked it.
In his career as a Navy SEAL, Rocky Mangiano has been called a Jersey boy, a Yankee, and a few other choice names he shouldn’t repeat in mixed company, but never in his life has anyone called him “Daddy”. If the wrapped bundle of joy he finds on the doorstep is any indication, things are about to change and he has no clue what to do about it.
When the baby’s momma enters the picture things get even crazier, but given the fringe benefits that come along with the complications, Rocky’s not complaining. Not one little bit.
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CHAPTER 1
Which one?
That was the only unknown weighing on Rocky Mangiano’s mind as he swallowed a gulp of beer and perused the choices before him.
After being home for something like a grand total of seven days over the past seven months, which girl to choose to spend a little time with tonight wasn’t a bad dilemma to have.
Rocky was there alone, but that didn’t mean he’d be lonely, thanks to the plethora of ladies employed by the strip club.
His teammates weren’t around, not even the few single ones who he might have persuaded to join him. Since they were finally home from back-to-back assignments—hopefully here to stay for at least a little while—the guys had scattered to see family.
Brody Cassidy was visiting his folks in Alabama, but there were hints that a girl there who was more of a draw than good old Mom and Dad.
James “Mack” MacIntyre had been summoned by his father to . . . somewhere. Rocky wasn’t sure where Mack’s dad lived, not that it mattered. His teammate was busy for the weekend.
His usual drinking buddies’ absence wouldn’t put a damper on Rocky’s evening. He hadn’t come to the club seeking male companionship.
No, sir, he certainly had not. He was here for company of the female variety.
He feasted on the colorful scene before him.
Red. Blue. Purple. Gold. The strippers’ sequined costumes, designed to catch the eyes of the male patrons, reflected the stage lights, sending thousands of shards of reflected light through the air to where they landed and danced on every surface.
Warring with the sequins for attention was the glitter. It coated every inch of the girls’ exposed skin, skin which came in every shade from ivory to bronze to deep cocoa brown.
Sure, it was frigging annoying to go home from the club covered in glitter and cheap perfume. Both seemed nearly impossible to get off his skin and his clothes. But it would be far more annoying to finally get home safely from a mission only to sit in his room all alone.
They’d been through some rough shit this last round. He needed to blow off a little steam. All he needed to figure out was who to do it with.
Focused on the creative gyrations of the girl currently on stage, he took another sip of the beer, happy and content to take his time in this decision.
Was enjoying drinking alone a sign that he had a problem? Nah. He didn’t think so in this instance.
Besides, he was far from alone. Hell, he was surrounded by people—both men and women—and for a change not even one of them was shooting at him.
That in itself was worthy of celebrating with a drink … or two.
Two.
That was an idea. Maybe he wouldn’t choose just one girl. He’d been overseas so much this year with no expenses except the small storage unit where his shit lived when he was away that he’d been stockpiling his pay.
He could more than afford a couple of visits to the back for private lap dances tonight.
“Hey there, big guy.” The sultry words, spoken low and close to his ear from behind him, cut through the music being pumped out of the sound system and directly to his gut.
Rocky turned in his seat to get a look at the familiar bleached blonde. He recognized her as one of Brody’s past favorites.
Of course, that was before Brody’s very recent aversion to the strip club, which Rocky suspected was due to the addition of that girl back home in Alabama. Not that his buddy had willingly come right out and admitted that. It was like pulling teeth getting anything personal out of Brody.
Some guys kept things close to the vest. Brody was one of them, but the signs were there. The man who never took leave had done so an awfully lot lately. That, to Rocky, had serious relationship written all over it.
Rocky, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered keeping secrets in his personal life. He had to keep too many secrets from family and friends for work already.
With women he liked to be open about things when he could be, such as feelings and plans for the future . . . or lack thereof.
That’s what he planned to do with this lovely young lady who’d come to seek out his company.
Smiling, he turned more fully to face her. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
“Alone tonight? Where are your usual buddies?” She ran one long, colorfully polished fingernail down his arm.
“Sadly, quite a few of them have fallen.” When her eyes widened in horror, Rocky knew he’d better clarify his statement. “To the love bug, I mean. They’re fine. Don’t worry. Just otherwise engaged.”
This place was located right outside one of the gates of the base. These girls were very much aware that sailors made up probably ninety percent of their clientele. He should have realized she’d jump to the wrong conclusion.
She pressed one hand to the glittery bare skin above her exposed cleavage and blew out a breath. “You scared me. I’m glad to hear they’re okay. And I’m very glad you’re here.”
Her smile looked almost genuine. Hell, maybe it was. After all, if she played her cards right she’d be walking away with a nice tip from him tonight.
That was something to smile about.
Her eyes dropped down his body, skimming over the muscles of his chest beneath the T-shirt he knew was a size too small. Not his fault. It was made of cheap cotton and shrank in the laundry.
Now he was happy it had, if the admiration in her eyes was any indication of how he looked while wearing it. All of those hours of PT were good for more than just chasing down bad guys.
She leaned lower, giving him a nice view as she draped her arms over each of his shoulders. A cloud of perfume engulfed him and he tried not to breathe too deeply for fear he’d choke.
“Wanna go in back?” she asked.
“Sure. Can I finish my beer first?” Rocky hated warm beer.
He’d drink it warm—he had many times abroad—but while home in the good old US of A he was going to enjoy the amenities to the fullest. Ice-cold beer was one of them.
Besides, he was in no rush to hurry the night along. What did he have to do?
Not much besides head back to his bare barracks room. Maybe watch a little television. Have another beer. Go to sleep all alone.
Not a hell of a lot of inspiration to get moving.
She lifted one thin brow as if surprised he hadn’t jumped up and followed her back immediately. “Oh, okay.”
The stripper glanced around, as if deciding if she should waste her time waiting for him, or move on to more promising hunting grounds.
Fine with him either way. There were plenty of girls to go around, just like there were plenty of patrons—the place was particularly packed tonight for some reason. If Rocky knew what the date was he could maybe figure out why.
It was probably some sort of a holiday weekend but he couldn’t be sure. The months had started to blur together. Over the past half a year he’d been on the terrorist tour of the world—Turkey, Nigeria, Iraq, Syria.
Uncle Sam called and Rocky went, wherever and whenever he was told.
Tonight, for once, no one was telling him what to do and he was going to take full advantage of the freedom. If wanting to finish his beer lost him Blondie’s attention, so be it. There were more fish in the sea. Colorful, glittery ones of all shapes and sizes.
Her eyes flicked to a man at a nearby table before she said to Rocky, “Flag me down when you’re ready.”
“Sure. No problem.” Rocky lifted his beer to her in a toast and watched her go, not all that heartbroken.
Again he glanced around him and took note of the sheer number of men filling the place.
For lack of anything else to be concerned about, curiosity got the best of him. There was one simple way to find out the date. He stood for long enough to get his cell out of the pocket of his jeans.
Sitting again, he hit the button that should have resulted in the phone lighting up and telling him both the date and the time. Nothing happened. It remained dark.
Frowning, he pushed the button again. The cell lit just long enough to show him the dead battery alert.
He sighed, wishing he could just leave the phone dead and enjoy the evening.