“Jeez, this is the wild bunch we’ve heard so much about?” Duke smirked and started pointing to each SEAL, starting with Seth and ending with Ryan Evans. “Mr. Married with twins over here, McCoy with the serious girlfriend, LT with the pregnant wife, and Mr. I’m-getting-married-next-weekend. Pansies.”
It was Team Eight’s last night in San Diego, and the four party dudes of the bunch had finally convinced their Team Fifteen counterparts to join them for a night out on the town. Jackson had initially turned down the invite because he was supposed to have dinner with Mia, but a major hole had opened up in his schedule after she’d pretty much kicked him out.
The last thing he’d felt like doing was going home to an empty house, where he knew he’d end up drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey and stewing over their ridiculous fight. So he’d come to the Hot Zone instead, a nightclub in downtown San Diego, in the hopes that if he was surrounded by his buddies, he wouldn’t be tempted to drink himself stupid and show up at the base tomorrow with a massive hangover.
Except the second he’d joined the others by the second-floor railing that overlooked the dance floor, he’d discovered that most of his friends were already calling it a night.
Carson set his beer bottle on the wide iron railing and shrugged in the face of Duke’s taunts. “Hey, just ’cuz my wife is pregnant doesn’t mean we don’t have wild and crazy sex every night. With that said…” He flashed a smug grin, his blue eyes gleaming in the shadows bathing the club’s upper loft space. “It’s time for me to go home and do some of that.”
Cash, Seth and Ryan followed suit, polishing off their beers in a rush.
“Yeah, I’m outtie too,” Seth announced. “My wife is a million times more interesting than you dumbasses. Besides, she lost a bet this morning so she owes me a BJ.”
The foursome bumped fists with everyone and said their goodbyes, then headed for the wrought-iron spiral staircase that led to the main floor.
Jackson and Dylan were the only Team Fifteen members left in attendance, though Dylan’s presence was unexpected. The guy had barely left the house since Claire and Aidan’s return, so Jackson hadn’t expected to see him tonight.
Heck, he hadn’t expected to be here himself. All he’d wanted to do tonight was spend time with Mia, but the infuriating woman had sent him away.
And he was real ticked off about it, too. He understood why she felt the need to shelter her kid brother, but she was being naive about the entire situation. Danny was a teenage boy with a serious girlfriend—the two of them would’ve slept together sooner or later. At least Jackson had managed to drill the importance of safe sex into the kid’s head before he went out to do what he’d already been dead-set on doing.
No way was Jackson taking the blame for Danny’s decision, and he refused to beg and plead for Mia’s forgiveness. As far as he was concerned, she was the one who needed to apologize to him.
“So you’re the last two remaining bachelors, huh? Must suck losing your posse.”
Team Eight’s Max had to raise his voice to be heard over the loud house track pounding out of the speaker system. The flashes of strobe light illuminated his face and revealed the wry look in his blue eyes.
Jackson leaned against one of the floor-to-ceiling beams in the large, open-concept space and brought his beer to his lips. “Actually, Dylan’s taken,” he said.
“Very taken,” Dylan confirmed.
“So that leaves one,” Hunter remarked, glancing at Jackson. “You’re carrying the torch alone, huh?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I’m kinda seein’ someone too.”
Or at least he had been, up until an hour ago.
“And he was never much fun even when he was single,” Dylan piped up. “No threesomes or fourgies for Texas. He’s a total prude.”
As the other guys cracked up, Jackson didn’t miss the sly grin Dylan shot him. Fortunately, the other man chose not to bring up the voyeur role he’d played in Jackson’s living room, proving that he was smarter than he looked.
“So where are your girls tonight?” Lancelot spoke up.
“Claire’s around here somewhere,” Dylan responded.
“She is?” Jackson said in surprise. “I didn’t see her when I came in.”
“She made a beeline for the dance floor the second we got here.” Dylan grinned. “You know I don’t dance unless I’ve had at least four beers in me, so she gave me permission to come up here and get loaded first. But I’m sure she’ll track me down soon to drag me out there.”
Lancelot glanced at Jackson. “What about your lady?”
He slugged back some more Bud Light, hoping the alcohol might lift his spirits. It didn’t.
“She’s at home,” he admitted. “Actually, we got into an argument right before I got here.”
“Yeah? What’d you fight about?” Duke asked curiously.
With a deep exhale, Jackson quickly filled them in on everything that had gone down earlier. When he’d finished, he expected the Eighters to laugh and make light of the situation, but they surprised him by taking it very seriously.