Hollywood: SEAL Team Alpha

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Hollywood: SEAL Team Alpha Page 4

by Dawson, Zoe


  “Do you know that guy over there…don’t look,” he said when she went to turn her head. “…is sweet on you?”

  “He is?” she asked with such a genuine smile he felt the tug down to his bones. But he’d fallen for a woman who had this kind of innocence shining in those same kind of eyes. He’d thought he’d found the right woman for him, but Ashley hadn’t been as innocent or as faithful as he’d needed her to be. Innocence was a trap. Now, he was a moving target, harder to get hit or snagged into a relationship that would only turn out the same. Women like Grace were nothing but a fantasy for him. He was convinced it was too difficult for him to find the kind of woman a SEAL needed. That blend of tough cookie and steadfast soulmate he demanded so he could be an effective warrior, husband and father.

  “Don’t waste your time on guys like me. We’re a dime a dozen.”

  “I like wasting my time,” the dark-haired corpsman said softly.

  His eyes never left the cute Grace dumpling. She even had the cutest damn dimples. “I don’t blame him. I like my women with curves.”

  He switched his attention to the dark-haired woman.

  She definitely knew the score. She reached out her hand, and he took it. “Maria but my friends call me Mimi.”

  “You free tonight?”

  “Yes. I get off at six.”

  Hopefully, an hour later, he’d be getting them both off.

  “Hollywood!” Ruckus growled, and he backed away.

  “You too busy with your harem to see a brother?” Wicked asked.

  “No, Buzz Kill, but there’s always time to flirt. You wouldn’t know about that, Wicked. You’re a fucking brick.”

  “Yeah, that may be but I’m the one engaged, you shameless whorehound.”

  “Whorehound? I like that.” He slung his arm around Wicked’s neck, and Wicked shoved Hollywood off him.

  “You would.”

  “Hollywood is not only a spec ops warrior, he’s a smooth operator,” Blue said.

  Kid started singing the song, and Hollywood laughed.

  “Yeah,” Tank snickered. “He knows how to use his weapon.”

  “Hair trigger is the scuttlebutt,” Kid said with a smirk. “He delivers his load up close and personal.”

  Everyone broke into laughter.

  “All you fuckers are either married or engaged. Just a roomful of killjoys.”

  “Come over to the dark side, we have happily ever after cookies,” Cowboy drawled.

  They swung into Dragon’s room, where there were three corpsmen, one taking his temperature, one fluffing his pillows and the third…just standing there. Maybe she was supervising.

  “You don’t look like you’re in any pain,” Hollywood said.

  “Got my clock cleaned but good. Some ringing in the ears, a dull headache and superficial cuts. A lot of blood, but nothing a little plasma couldn’t handle.”

  “Just a little ol’ concussion. I’ve been there, done that,” Cowboy said.

  “Right, little ol’ concussion…I had to drag your ass out of the Darien. You were reeling and dealing, brother,” Kid said, rolling his eyes. He jerked his thumb at Cowboy. “Did I ever tell you how this guy gave me cover fire while his vision was blurry?”

  Dragon lifted his arm and fist bumped Cowboy as the corpsmen reluctantly scattered. “I hear you. My vision wasn’t exactly perfect, but it’s mind over body.”

  “Hoo-yah.”

  All those feminine eyes were trained on the dark-haired SEAL. When Ruckus cleared his throat, they blinked and looked at the rest of them. The three women exchanged glances then shook their heads with heavy sighs and left the room.

  “Luckily none of the shrapnel hit any of my tats. Jo would have killed me.”

  “Joe or Joann?” Hollywood asked, his interest piqued. Dragon wasn’t one to talk about his personal life very much, but to be honest, he wasn’t really a permanent member of their squad. All Hollywood really knew was that he was from New York City, one of the mean parts. He had a few tattoos, one on his back with decorative flourishes above and below the angel wings across his shoulders, Japanese calligraphy across the back of his right wrist, and one on his chest of a Japanese dragon in shades of black and red, spiraling down his torso, disappearing beneath the white sheet. Hollywood had seen him in the gym locker room and knew the ink went across his groin and hip, twisting down his leg, the tail wrapping around his ankle.

  “Josephine,” he said, his voice lowering a bit and a soft smile uplifting the corner of his mouth.

  “That’s some personal ink,” Hollywood said.

  Dragon’s smile widened. “Took several sessions to finish.”

  “I bet,” Hollywood said.

  They visited for over an hour, and his teammates started to filter out until only Hollywood was left.

  “When are they going to let you get out of here?” Hollywood asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Sweet. You need a ride?”

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  “Just text me when you’re ready, and I’ll get you home.”

  Dragon’s expression turned serious. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have come home in a body bag.”

  “Do you know how many times you’ve saved my ass during overwatch?”

  “No.”

  “Too many times to count, Ry. I owe you a few more saves before we’d ever be even.” Hollywood turned to go.

  “I’d buy that bullshit if I’d been exposed to multiple shooters and only had my sidearm for defense. You might be an asshole, but you’re a modest one, Hollywood. I won’t forget this, and if you ever need a favor from me, personal or professional, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Hoo-yah.” They fist-bumped, and Hollywood said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, brother. Get some rest.” He saw a couple corpsmen hovering in the doorway. “Or just enjoy the view.”

  Dragon smiled as Hollywood left the room. Rolling his shoulders, he approached the floor’s station and caught Mimi’s eye. Getting laid always made things so much better.

  She smiled at him, and he walked out of the hospital with a light step. Chores, errands, then the willing Mimi at the end of the day. Sounded about perfect to him.

  When he hit the outside doors, he stopped. Ruckus was standing just in the shadows of the entrance. He was talking to Cowboy. They both turned when Cowboy indicated with his chin that Hollywood was walking toward them.

  Hollywood frowned. His first- and second-in-command waiting for him. That couldn’t bode well.

  “Hollywood,” Cowboy said in greeting.

  “Hey, what’s up? Am I in trouble?”

  Cowboy leaned against the stucco of the building’s wall, crossing his ankle over the other. “Shoot, boy. When ain’t you in trouble?”

  “Too true. What did I do now? If it’s about that sweet confection upstairs, she’s enlisted…a corpsman.”

  “Other than warning her about your proclivities as a playboy and what was it Wicked called you?”

  “A whorehound,” Hollywood said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, a whorehound,” Ruckus said, “no objections there. What you do with your personal time is none of our business.”

  “Okay, so what gives then?”

  “A couple of things. First off, you’ve been recommended for another medal.”

  “Aw, LT, really. I’m honored. Which one this time?”

  “The Silver Star. Dragon has also been recommended for the award.”

  Hollywood nodded. It would be his second Silver Star along with the Navy Cross and the Medal of Honor. “It’s well-deserved. He took out that RPG bastard with blurred vision and didn’t miss a beat. Cold zero.”

  “That will make you the most decorated of us on the team,” Cowboy said. “All the bullshit aside, Jude. We’re honored to serve with you. What you did for Dragon…brother, it was solid.”

  Hollywood hadn’t thought about it twice. Dragon was down, and he was compromised. He would have been torn to pieces if tho
se tangos had open fired on him. “I’m the one who’s honored to have such amazing teammates.”

  Ruckus smiled and clasped him around the back of the neck. “I only heard about it from Wicked, Scarecrow, Tank and Dragon. Thank you for your excellent service to the United States, to the Navy and specifically to this team.”

  “You’re making me blush, LT. Can we just hug this out and get it over with?”

  Ruckus let him go and grinned. “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah, and you love it.” He took a step back and started for the parking lot. “Got some errands to do, I’ll see you both later.”

  “Wait,” Ruckus exchanged a look with Cowboy, who shook his head and held up his hands.

  Hollywood, his curiosity piqued, walked back. “What?”

  “I have a new mission for you. One that’s…uh…solo.”

  Hollywood set his hands on his hips. “Doesn’t sound like I’m going to like it.”

  Cowboy chuckled and tipped back the Stetson on his head, giving LT a wry look. “We’re not quite sure on that. It’s not exactly a traditional assignment.” Cowboy chuckled again. “Shoot, how much ego is going to be boosted here, LT?”

  “I think his head might explode,” Ruckus said.

  “What? You guys are killing me,” Hollywood said.

  “The brass tagged you for a special charity project that the Navy is backing,” Ruckus said.

  “I’m all for charity and can lend a hand. What’s the project?” Hollywood said.

  “It’s going to involve more than your hand,” Cowboy said, his eyes glinting.

  “What the fuck?” Hollywood set his hands on his hips, intrigued.

  “It’s a calendar of Navy members—”

  Cowboy broke out into choking, suppressed laughter. “Nice choice of words, LT.”

  “Zip it, Cowboy,” Ruckus said with a huff of laughter.

  “A calendar?” Hollywood was definitely intrigued.

  “A beefcake one that’s going to depict you as angel warriors,” Ruckus said.

  “Beefcake? As in my clothes off?” Hollywood grinned.

  “The photographer has retained artistic license and has assured the brass it will be tasteful,” Ruckus said.

  “This is for charity? What kind of charity?” Hollywood asked.

  “Homeless vets,” Ruckus said, all humor gone.

  “Damn,” Hollywood said, his voice subdued. Then he realized why he would have been included in the calendar. “The brass thinks I’m handsome? Built? An all-around gorgeous sailor?”

  “Yes,” Ruckus said as Cowboy rolled his eyes. “They chose you as a candidate for the photo shoot.” Ruckus reached out with a sheet of paper. “I don’t have to warn you that this is a professional situation, and I expect you to comport yourself as a service member with all due respect. It’s a hard situation for a lot of veterans and their families, and the money it’ll raise from the military-crazy population will be substantial. Part of the funds will go to the Veteran’s Administration, and the other part will go to Heart and Hand, a charity out of downtown San Diego. Can the brass count on you?”

  “Hell, yeah. Hoo-yah. Anything for the Navy.”

  “Don’t let this go to your head,” Ruckus said.

  “Either one,” Cowboy drawled.

  Ruckus chuckled. “Get out of here before this disintegrates any further.”

  “Aye, sir,” Hollywood said with a salute, not even trying to hold back his grin.

  * * *

  Four weeks later

  All In Bar and Grille

  Willow walked into her dad’s favorite hangout close to seven in the evening. She’d been everywhere she could think of, more than once, and hadn’t found him. Damn him.

  She was close to tears now that another whole week had passed without word. Sick with worry, she scanned the bar, but no luck. She leaned back against the wall, almost losing it. The place was packed on a busy Friday night.

  She’d been waiting around for her last two calendar models to show up. A Navy SEAL and a Force Recon Marine. Both had gone on missions that had kept them away for almost a month.

  Unable to hold up her own weight, she sat down on one of the chairs, out of options for her dad. She’d wait for a bit to see if he showed up.

  A server stopped by her table and asked, “Can I get you something, sweetie?”

  “Club soda,” Willow said, as she took off her Panama hat and set it down on the table, running her hands through her long blond hair. The server moved on to another table where a man sat alone, and he was…wow. He had the kind of looks that belonged on the silver screen.

  From where she sat, she felt the pull of the man’s aura. God, he was gorgeous. Short dark hair, a little spiked, with deep-set, cobalt blue eyes, his features finely chiseled, high cheekbones, disarming mouth, elegant nose, a faint shadow of beard stubble along his powerful jaw and a look of fatigue about his striking eyes and face.

  He had a massive upper body, a wide chest that molded his black T-shirt to the curve of his muscles, broad shoulders, his torso tightening into a lean waist.

  The kind of man who would probably not look at Willow twice. She had a generous waist, not as heavy as some women, but with enough curves to matter when she was shopping for jeans. She was also on the short side, only five feet, five inches. He looked like he’d date women name Bambi or Candi. Women who were too made up, looked like they walked off some runway and hadn’t eaten a decent meal…ever, ones that always seemed to wear tops that were coming off their shoulders and had the kind of laughter that made you want to slap them. The man was sitting down, but it was evident that, standing, he would reach at least six feet tall.

  He was military. It was in his bearing, in the dangerous angles of his face. She’d guess Special Forces, probably a SEAL. It was that kind of bar. It was why her dad came back here. Looking for something. Redemption?

  There was some commotion at the bar. Three men were obviously drunk and arguing. The bartender came over and spoke to them in low tones. They stopped and got all chummy again.

  When her gaze returned to the man’s table, he was looking directly at her. She met his gaze, expecting it to slide right past her, but when it didn’t, her heart gave a little bump. She never frequented bars where there were military guys. She was done with that lifestyle and had no interest in being jerked around the country at the U.S. government’s whim. Being a military brat had taught her the value of staying in one place and building roots.

  Willow was a freaking tree, her feet deep into the soil of San Diego.

  She looked away before he could make any kind of overture. When he rose, she jumped up. Grabbing her hat and jamming it on her head, she pulled down the brim and bumped into the three men who had been arguing at the bar and were in no condition to be drinking anymore. They were heading out of the bar and, from the look on the bartender’s face, had been thrown out. She threw down some money with a quick apology to them before darting out the door. Just as she made it to her vehicle, someone grabbed her arm.

  She turned around to find all three drunks hovering around her in a semi-circle, boxing her in. All her senses went on alert.

  “You left in too much of a hurry, babe,” one wearing a checked shirt said. “Me and my friends are still looking to party. What do you say?”

  Willow jerked her arm out of his grasp and shook her head, her chin up. “No thank you.”

  Another one, this one in a white shirt grabbed her from behind, and her hat came off and hit her shoulder as it fell to the ground. He had both his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides.

  “Let me go!” she demanded, and the three of them laughed. “I’m warning you. I’d rather not hurt you.”

  They laughed again. Willow could understand their skepticism. She looked like a pushover little blond princess, but what they didn’t know was she had grown up with a Navy SEAL for a dad. He’d made sure she could take care of herself.

  Checked Shirt moved in on
her, and she used White Shirt as a brace as she lifted her legs and kicked him square in the chest. The last one—Blue Shirt—lunged at her but went spinning away when someone tackled him to the ground.

  Without hesitation, she stomped on White Shirt’s instep as hard as she could. He howled and took a step back. Someone slammed into her car behind her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off White Shirt. His face went red with anger, and he swung at her unsteadily. She ducked and came up under his arm where he was wide open then swung just like her dad had taught her and hit White Shirt hard in the nose.

  He went down to the pavement, and she turned to find the gorgeous guy from the bar holding the other two men in headlocks.

  This close he was devastating.

  With a gasp as if all the air on the planet had just been sucked out of her, she met his sexy, cobalt blue gaze. Damn, he looked so solid and intimidating. Easing in a deep breath, she braced her trembling body against her car.

  “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” he said, those narrowed eyes glinting steel and menace. He threw the two guys away from him in powerful strokes of his arms, his biceps bulging then jerked the guy Willow had hit to his feet, blood from his nose sliding down his face as he clutched it. “Get out of here before I tell everyone that you were beat up by a tough blonde with a mean right hook.”

  The two buddies and their friend ran off.

  He approached her and pressed a hand next to her. “Are you all right?”

  Willow gave him a that-was-a-dumb-question look.

  “Yeah, didn’t you see the other guy?” she said before she thought better of it. All she had was bravado because she was so shaken. She stood there, not moving a muscle, afraid if she did her knees might buckle, and she wasn’t going to give up any hard-won ground to any one, especially this hunk.

  His gaze was level and reassuring. A twinkle appeared in his eyes, and the lines around them creased as a smile worked one corner of his mouth and did crazy flip-flopping things to her stomach.

  “Thanks for your help.” Without giving him a moment to respond, she pulled her door open and settled in the seat. Putting the SUV in drive, she pulled out of the parking lot like wolves were snapping at her ankles.

 

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