On the other side of the table, Seth snorted. “You know, just ’cause you put the word fucking in front of it doesn’t make you less of a pansy for saying the word adorable.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “A man thinking his kid is adorable doesn’t make him a pansy, Masterson. You’ll find that out one of these days.”
“Never,” Seth vowed. “No kids for me, thank you very much. I’m getting my tubes tied.”
The other men laughed, Cash included. Seth’s pessimistic position about children was nothing new; the man was adamant about never siring a child. Which was probably a good thing, because the thought of a little mini-Seth with big-Seth’s smart mouth was kinda terrifying.
“Where the fuck is Carson?” Garrett suddenly asked. “He’s late.”
Cash averted his eyes, but nobody glanced his way, which told him that Carson hadn’t blabbed about what went down in Becker’s hallway over the weekend. Thank God, because the last thing he felt like doing was justifying his feelings for Jen to anyone else.
“Well, we’re not waiting for him anymore,” Ryan announced, reaching for the deck of cards. “I, for one, am ready to milk Texas for all he’s worth.”
“Why do you assholes always target me?” Jackson demanded.
“Because your poker face sucks,” Matt drawled as he took a sip of his beer. “So does McCoy’s. You two are easy money.”
The banter continued as Ryan dealt the first hand. Jackson, of course, tried bluffing his way into the pot, only to lose five bucks when Ryan and Aidan suckered him into going all in. Laughter ensued, followed by Jackson’s grumbling that his poker face had yet again failed him.
As money changed hands and chips clinked in the center of the table, Cash sipped his beer, his thoughts drifting to Jen. As much as he liked hanging out with the boys, he kinda wished she were here too. He’d grown accustomed to her company over the past two weeks. Not just having sex with her, but simply having her around. Watching TV while she messed around with her camera, cooking dinner while she worked on her laptop. He liked how they could be in the same room and not have to be wrapped all over each other.
Other girls he’d dated expected him to sit there holding their hands and constantly make conversation, but Jen was perfectly content doing her own thing while he did his. She didn’t push for them to be joined at the hip, or make demands of him. She was happy no matter what they were doing, and he appreciated that.
“I swear, if Shelby comes home as drunk as she did last time, I’m divorcing her,” Garrett was saying. “I’m beginning to dread the words girls’ night.”
Cash lifted his head. “They don’t get that drunk, do they?” he said with a frown.
Ryan joined the conversation with a groan. “Last time, I spent the entire night holding Annabelle’s hair while she puked out ten gallons of tequila.”
“Hey, I love girls’ night,” Matt argued. “Savannah did the dirtiest striptease for me last time, but then again, my girl’s better at handling her liquor than your pansy ladies.”
Becker suddenly growled, jabbing a finger at O’Connor. “Don’t get me started on Savannah. She and Jane went shopping last week and I got a credit card bill for six hundred dollars. Six hundred dollars worth of lingerie, for chrissake.”
“Oh come on. Like you didn’t benefit from that shopping trip.”
“I certainly did not,” Becker said stiffly.
“I call bullshit. After Savannah modeled what she’d bought, I didn’t let her leave the bed for a week. And Savannah told me she and Jane made identical purchases.” Matt cocked a brow. “Did Jane get that lacy black mesh thing with the garter belt?”
“No,” Becker muttered.
“No?”
The lieutenant commander sighed. “She got it in red.”
As everyone laughed, Cash experienced the most bizarre pang of envy. He found himself wishing that he could contribute to the conversation. Not that he wanted to talk about what kind of lingerie Jen wore, but the idea of calling her his “girl” and sharing stories appealed to him.
Man, he really had it bad.
“All right, enough with the chick talk,” Seth announced. “I feel like I’m at a teenage girl’s slumber party.”
Ryan shuffled the deck, but before he could deal a fresh hand, they were interrupted by the arrival of Carson.
The room fell silent.
“Wow,” Dylan remarked. “You look like shit, LT.”
Cash wholly concurred. In fact, he’d never seen Carson look so…wrecked. Clad in faded jeans and a T-shirt boasting several holes, jaw covered in stubble, blond hair tousled as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it. And his expression reflected nothing but sheer misery.
“Sit down,” Garrett said quietly. “I’ll grab you a beer.”
“In a minute,” Carson said in a tired voice. His blue eyes shifted to Cash. “McCoy, a word?”