“Dempsey. Are you under there?” Sanders says, smarmy smile flashing.
I roll my eyes. “What are you guys drinking? Next round’s on me.”
They are all drinking the same gross beer so it’s easy to remember. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend? Unexpected teammate bene,” Hoffer teases.
My best friend steps up to the plate, extending her hand. “It’s Marissa and I’m not a benefit. I’m a hindrance. Her best friend.” She nods her head to the side and continues on. “A leech who hangs around to make sure she stays in good company.”
“We are fantastic company. Trust us. We won’t let anything happen to her,” Sanders says, putting his arm around my shoulder, an awkward move, that he releases quickly. He clears his throat, then apologizes. “Didn’t mean to touch you. It was completely platonic and I meant no disrespect.”
Hoffer laughs. “Dempsey is like Midas. No one touch her or your life will explode!”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Listen, guys. Treat me like you’d treat…your sister, if she was a teammate.” This conversation needs to happen because the rules are so stringent that they’ll prohibit bonding of any kind if we don’t find a middle ground. The bonding is crucial for a SEAL Team. “I mean, maybe not a sister. A best friend?”
“I fucked my only friend that was a girl,” Hoffer says.
Looking to the side, I try to think. “Okay, maybe not a friend then.” Marissa groans, and asks what I want to drink. I give her my card, and the large order of beers and she disappears into the crowd gathering in the outside area. “What about if you treat me like a girly…man?”
Everyone laughs, loudly and it makes me smile. Progress. “If you say so. Is your dad stopping in tonight?” Sanders asks, gaze landing on the entrance that’s visible from outside.
I shake my head. “I thought it best if there was only one Dempsey in the room. I wanted to hang out with you guys without worrying he was threatening your life.” I regret the joke as soon as I say it. “I’m teasing,” I add.
The demeanor of the group changes and the nervous energy is palpable. I don’t have time to worry because a waitress brings a tray of beer mugs with Marissa tagging behind a drink in both hands. She forces a beer mug to me, knowing to order me what the guys were drinking. I thank her with my eyes as Sanders proposes a toast. I raise my mug, going on my tiptoes.
“To leaning into the impossible,” I say, clinking and spilling some foam.
“To achieving the impossible,” someone else growls.
“To being professional badasses,” Hoffer adds.
“To America,” Sanders says.
I drink a few swallows and try not to let the foul-tasting liquid touch my tongue. Straight to my throat. Down the hatch. I turn to Marissa with a horrible face and watch as she sips daintily on a dirty martini. Bitch.
She smirks, knowing my pain. “Taste good?”
I make a noise with my lips. “Tastes like success,” I hiss back, grimacing.
“Man, I’m glad I’m not successful like you.” She laughs, and I laugh with her.
The booming voices behind me bring me a sense of comfort. It’s going far better than I thought it would. Marissa offers me her glass and I take a sip and close my eyes. She snatches it back and nods at my beer. “Down it, badass.”
I force another sip and groan. That’s when Luke Hart walks through the open door into the patio area. The wind lifts his hair, and the strings of lights zig zagged over our heads illuminate his face. I wipe my top lip when his eyes catch on me.
“Who is that,” Marissa hisses, lips at my ear.
“No one,” I reply, swallowing another bitter sip. “A SEAL.” A legend. He smirks at me. Dimples. I cough and break my gaze. The guys behind me silenced when he walked in. The man trailing behind him with two beers, not the shit kind, is just as impressive. I think his name is Dagger. He has black hair that looks inhumanly perfect and a smile that peels off skin. Scary.
“Little Dempsey,” Luke says, eyes never turning in my direction. He’s grabbing a beer from his friend behind him. “Congrats, guys,” he says, raising his mug to the group behind me. Dagger doesn’t join, Luke chugs his beer at record speed as I watch, nose wrinkled. “And girl,” he says, quieter to me. “Are you guys eating?”
Sanders answers for our group. “Thanks man. No, we’re just drinking.”
“Should get some food in your stomach before you make bad decisions,” Dagger says, eyes narrowed. His face is so stoic, it feels like an order. Maybe it is.
Luke looks at the beer in my fist, then meets my eyes. “What about you? Down to eat the best cheeseburger in Coronado?”
I’m about to turn him down because he intimidates me and also because I don’t eat garbage, but Marissa answers for me. “Yes. We’re starving. Let’s eat. You can get some form of lettuce or bun-free protein here I bet.”
Protesting is futile when I’m outnumbered. Luke already has his hand in the air signaling for a waitress. He walks to an open table across the patio and looks over his shoulder to make sure we’re following. Dagger comes along as well and I honestly wish one of the guys from my BUD/S class would join. It would be a great opportunity to mix company and gain allies—make friends. I slink into a chair and put the half full mug on the table in front of me. Luke eyes it.
“What do you really want to drink? I know you don’t want that.”
“How do you know what I want?” I ask.
My friend laughs as she seats herself next to Dagger. “She likes dirty martinis. How does he know, Aara, really? Because no one in their right mind likes to drink lukewarm piss water beer. Don’t be obtuse.”
Luke’s brows shoot up. “Aara. Aara. Is that what you go by?” He tastes my name, rolling it around on his tongue. I focus my attention on the dingy laminated menu in front of me instead of Luke’s light blue, laser gaze that pairs so well with his permanent smirk.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. I’m Aara to my friends. Family too,” I say, dragging my finger down the menu options, trying to focus. The waitress arrives and Luke orders drinks for the table. Proving my friend right, I order a burger without a bun. My phone chimes from my purse. It’s my mom asking how tonight is going. She’s always been supportive, albeit scared about me entering this world. I think she’d be afraid no matter what I chose, though. Seems like typical maternal behavior. When I went to the Naval Academy, she called me constantly to check in. It’s quite near impossible to get into trouble unless you’re really trying at Military School. Traveling abroad alone? Falling for a rock star? That nearly gave Natalie Dempsey a heart attack.
This is child’s play in comparison, so I tap back a quick thumbs up, and tell her that Marissa came as moral support, and to tell Dad to stop worrying.
“What’s your mom saying?” Marissa asks, breaking me from the technology.
“How do you know it’s my mom?”
Our drinks arrive in the lull while I stew with my friend’s accuracy. Marissa looks at Luke and then Dagger. “She has been so busy trying to be a SEAL that she forgot to make friends.”
I’m sure my face is beet red. “That’s not entirely true.”
Luke nods, pressing his lips together. “Work ethic. That’s a good thing.” At least someone gets it. “No boyfriend?” he adds, gaze dancing over my face.
I shake my head, relieved. This means he doesn’t keep up with celebrity gossip and the possibility of no one knowing about Henry is a real, actual thing. “No. Not on the docket, really.”
Dagger chugs his beer, uninterested, but Luke is looking at me. Really looking at me. It makes my stomach flip and my skin prickle. “She’s already caught on to Team life. Single and ready to mingle,” Dagger chimes in, licking beer off his lips.
I counter, “That’s not true. Some guys are married.”
Luke nods. “Yeah, they’re on their first marriage.” He smirks.
Marissa shakes her head, a disgusted look on her face. “That’s not nice.”
<
br /> Dagger smooths the hair on the sides of his head back behind his ears. “No one said our lives were nice. Speaking of nice, tell me about you.” The way he speaks paired with how he’s looking at my friend makes it seem like he’s asking her something completely different. Naughty.
Marissa ignores his glare and starts talking about her job in intelligence. By the time my food arrives, I’ve drained my martini and it’s standing room only outside on the patio. Some of Luke and Dagger’s teammates are lingering near our table or have pulled up chairs. They look at me curiously, like the newest exhibit at the zoo. Without our uniforms on, I have no idea who these men are, what their ranks are, or how long they’ve been in the Navy. I am out of my comfort zone.
I chug a glass of water to balance out the martini and excuse myself to the restroom that I noticed when we first walked in. It’s down a dark hallway covered in tattered band posters. They have a small stage here at Mayton’s and I try my hardest not to let Henry come to mind, but it’s difficult because this is exactly his scene. Or it was, before he blew up. Yanking the jumpsuit down my shoulders to expose my entire body to pee gives me a chill.
I’m reading a sordid love story about Tawny and how much she loves cock scratched into the stall when I hear the door creak open. Dressing, I exit to wash my hands. A woman is standing there. Waiting for me. She’s wearing all black, with her hair slicked back into a bun. An employee here.
She clears her throat and crosses her ballet flats at the ankle, watching me fiddle with my hair. “You’re the woman who made it through SEAL training.” Her voice is clear, concise.
“I am,” I reply.
“You’re also Henry Durnin’s ex.”
I lose my breath. There’s no sense in denying it. “That will be an unfortunate confirmation. Yes.”
“I knew it. I knew it!” she exclaims. “No one believed me, but I recognized you when you walked in and put two and two together when I saw who you were hanging with. A quick Google proved me right. You are so much prettier in person.”
Women’s intuition. People downplay it far too often. This hostess pegged my life with a swift study and one internet search.
“Way prettier in person.” She raises her brows as she glances at her phone, presumably to look at whatever ugly photo of me is there.
I wince. “Thanks. I think?”
“I read all of the tabloids,” the woman says, pausing to look at me closer. “You’re really beautiful. They made you look like a sewer creature in Pink Flash.”
I hate that tabloid the most. They were horrifyingly mean toward me. Made up stories constantly. My stomach tenses.
“Congrats, by the way,” she says. “I was rooting for you before I knew who you were.”
The media picked up the story of the first female Navy SEAL candidate about halfway through my training. Lt. Williams has been a shark in protecting me in all ways. She has a law degree and a pension for women’s rights. Having her on my side is one of my greatest benefits. She’s also the reason all of my teammates are afraid of me. I’m never certain what side of the double-edged sword I should fall on.
“Thanks for that,” I reply. “Could you, ah, not say anything tonight?” I was warned by my mom that it was going to get pretty crazy when word got out about my completion and pinning as a SEAL. My mom runs the CJJ Public Relations office in San Diego and she’s going to try her best to control everything possible.
“Of course,” the girl says, lying. “I won’t say a word.”
Smiling, I thank her and exit the restroom. I pull out my phone and text my mom to whine about being recognized. It’s hard enough trying to fit in with a bunch of alpha males without people hounding me to see what I look like and where I came from.
She texts back immediately as I lean against the wall in the dimly lit hallway.
Mom: Come to the office on Monday so we can get ahead of it. We planned to give them a story in a week, might as well do it a little earlier than that. Just a small bio about who you are with a photo. Maybe that will appease the masses for a while. It’s a big deal, Aara. It’s your life, so you don’t think anything of it, but people are going to always be curious. It’s the nature of the beast.
Sighing, I recognize the truth in her words. I reply that I’ll see her Monday and tell her I love her.
Mom: Forever and ever.
There’s a lump in my throat when I push off the wall and let another girl slide past me and into the restroom. Four men are looming where I need to pass to get back to my table.
“Hey there,” one says. He has blond hair, greasy skin, and a death wish. The way his eyes roam over my body, I know nothing he says next is going to be pleasant. It’s an awful fact of life as a woman. We know immediately when there’s a threat in the atmosphere. Lucky for me, I’m not an ordinary woman. “Let me buy you a drink,” he says, his buddies smirking, standing down behind him.
“No thanks,” I say, keeping my chin held high.
Big nasty dude replies, “That’s not nice. Why don’t you give me a smile, thank me for my offer, and have a drink with me? That’s what a good girl would do.”
Okay, so this is where my eyes should bug out of my head. The part where my stomach sinks. Reality sets in. But I’m Aarabelle Dempsey and I might need my friend here tonight for confidence, but I don’t need help with this.
I step closer, shoulders tight and body humming. “Excuse me? Did you just tell me what to do? No one tells me what to do.”
It’s crowded in Mayton’s now. I bet the place is packed beyond code. This tiny hallway conceals me from my friends outside.
The man moves toward me, unfazed by my words and hostile posture. “Come on, sweetie. One drink. I’ll make sure you have a good time.” He steps toward me, his left foot forward, his right-hand snaking around my waist. The same time his sweaty hand meets my body, Luke appears, a brawny, commanding presence that morphs the atmosphere—lights it with danger.
“Need anything, Little Dempsey?” Luke drawls. His voice holds a bit of sarcasm, but his eyes are like loaded guns as they take in the man with his damn hand on my fucking body.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Nope.” With my right hand, I take his filthy arm from my waist and circle it so it bends an unnatural way, forcing his back to me, and his knees to hit the floor. I bend his arm behind his head and circle his neck with my left arm. “I can take care of this.” I finish speaking once I know I have him locked. He isn’t moving. He can’t.
Luke laughs, folding his arms across his chest. Dagger is now next to him causing a scene with his cackle.
“You motherfuckers best be on your way before Little Dempsey dispatches of you, too,” Dagger says to the friends.
They back away, not taking their eyes off me. My glare is unsympathetic—a promise to do to them what I did to their filthy hideous friend. They apologize as more of my teammates circle around, now a hoard of muscular men who look like they deliver evil as a profession. Tattoos lick up their necks, their jaws are sharp, and their gazes glint just enough to let everyone know what they’re capable of.
Even though he stinks like stale beer and unwashed hair, I lean down and whisper into the asshole’s ear. “Don’t ever touch a woman without her permission.” I put my foot in the center of his back and kick him forward unexpectedly. He doesn’t catch himself. He lands on his chest, arms splayed on the cement floor in front of Luke’s feet.
My heart is hammering. Not because of what I just did, I’ve done that before unfortunately. The nerves are because I’m surrounded by people who I desperately want to consider me an equal. I don’t see how it’s possible when I have to fight off lechers during a night out. I breathe out long and hard and realize my shoulders are lifting and lowering with each breath. Luke’s stance is wide and commandeering as he peers down at the dude on the floor. He tilts his head to the door.
The man gets up, palms facing Dagger and Luke, and now Sanders and Hoffer. He explains he’s here on vacation and was looking fo
r a good time. Marissa barges in, a huge bite of food stuffed in her cheek.
“I miss everything,” she exclaims, throwing her hands up. “You okay?”
I nod at my friend. Dagger fidgets with his perfect hair and tells the guy, “Bro, it’s the twenty -first century. Don’t fuck with women. They fuck back. If they want a good time, they’ll ask for it.”
That brings a smile to everyone’s face, and he storms off, the woman from the bathroom behind him. Did she do this? Did she set this up? My mind floods with the possibilities. I didn’t even see her exit because I was so preoccupied with dealing with this bullshit. I should apologize to the guys. For ruining their night. The music dies down, and it is probably security—dealing with the three men who Marissa chased toward the security guard. These guys have me in their circle now, and they’re now experiencing a taste of what it’s like to be in my world. I’ll report this man. I will make him rue the moment he laid eyes on me, and that’s one more burden I have to bear.
Sanders comes over and extends his hand to shake. “You’re a badass, Little Dempsey.”
I scoff. “Shut up, Sanders.”
“I mean it,” he counters, eyes earnest.
“He’s right,” Luke says as Dagger drains another beer. “You’re a badass.”
Dagger wipes his mouth, belches, holds his empty mug in the air toward me. “A dime who can commit some crime. My type of chick.”
Luke cringes. “That’s probably not too PC either.”
I laugh though, shaking my head. “It’s not PC, but it’s okay. He’s not trying to grope me.”
Swallowing hard, I let my eyes skirt away from Hart’s. A camera flash makes me retreat a few steps. The bile rises from my stomach up to clog my throat. The ping of horrific familiarity forces me to wrap my arm around my stomach. The guys turn where the loud flashes are originating. Big cameras, trained on me.
“Fuck,” Luke whispers. “Block her,” he orders, positioning his wide body in front of where the group of cameras are facing.
Legacy: A Salvation Society Novel Page 5