Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I chuckle. “It’s about your breath, man. It’s so bad.”
Brady shoves me, and then his eyes widen when I almost lose my balance, and he holds me so I can right it.
“Baby, I’m injured.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shove you that hard, but you deserved it. A little.”
I focus on Kit. “We want to make an actual plan. Figure out when we can all see each other again and think of ideas on how to make this long-distance thing work. I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t go months without seeing one or both of you anymore.”
“Me neither,” Brady agrees.
Kit nods. “I’ve had some thoughts on that, actually.”
We reach Kit’s car, and I lean against it to get a break from hobbling.
“Is it weird I want to have this conversation, but at the same time, the thought of being a fully functioning and communicative adult sounds like the worst possible hell I could go through? And that’s saying something from a guy who was in a helicopter crash recently.”
“It’s not weird,” Kit says but then lowers his voice. “For you.”
I shrug. “I’d be offended, but hey, you knew this about me from the moment we met. Action and adrenaline, good. Being responsible, bad.”
“Mm, talk caveman to me,” Brady purrs.
“After food,” Kit says. “And decisions.”
Right. Decisions.
We can do this.
We can be adults.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
kit
I swear these two can’t be adults.
This was their idea, but so far, all the solutions they’ve come up with are winning the lottery so money isn’t an issue, quitting our jobs, and living happily ever after in postorgasm bliss twenty-four hours a day.
Maybe the bottle of scotch to share with dinner wasn’t a good idea. I should probably remove it from the dining table.
“Then it’s settled,” Prescott says around a mouthful of rice. “Lottery winning for the … well, win. Happy ever after and all that crap.”
“So glad we’re getting the serious suggestions out of the way first,” I say.
I don’t blame them for fantasizing. I get it. They’re worried about the reality, which is going to include separation. There’s no way around that.
I take a bite of food and swallow. “I have an actual idea, if you two are done living in an alternate reality.”
“You don’t like our lottery idea?” Prescott asks.
“Let’s call that plan B.”
“What’s your boring idea, then?” Prescott sips more scotch, and if I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d mistake his attitude for his bratty side he sometimes lets out to play. But I do know him, and the way his lips press together and his brow scrunches, I can tell he’s scared of what my answer is going to be.
“I hate my job,” I admit.
“You what?” Prescott exclaims. “I thought you looooved it. You were doing so much goooood.”
“I was in my last post, but …” I take a deep breath and mutter, “You were right about leaving the navy. I hate my new position, and I’ve only been doing it a couple of months. I want to quit.”
“Do it,” Prescott says. “Re-up. Come back—”
I hold up my hand. “But I don’t want to rejoin the navy either.”
“Then what are you going to do with your life?”
Brady shudders at Prescott’s words. “Wow, way to sound like my dads when I told them I was giving up football.”
“Eww, you’re right. That sounded way too responsible of me. Kit should quit and become my housewife. Make me dinner. Clean my underwear.”
Yep. It really is impossible for them to behave like adults for longer than a couple of minutes at a time.
“I was thinking of setting up my own company.”
“Doing what?” Brady asks.
This is the part I’m kinda nervous about because I’m worried people will think it’s a dumb idea, and I haven’t even started looking into it. It’s a random thought that popped into my head and I’ve been mulling over. “With my experience at the Pentagon approving training exercises for the military, and having gone through BUD/s, I know what level of fitness the military expects, so I was thinking I could train people before they enlist so that when they’re tested and pushed to their limits, they’re ready for it.”
“You want to become a personal trainer?” Prescott asks.
“No. Well, yes, technically, but it’ll be so much more involved than gym work, and the best part about it is I could do it anywhere.”
“I approve,” Brady says. “Mainly because of the doing it anywhere part.”
I deflate. “You think it’s a dumb idea.”
Brady shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m just wondering if there’s a market for that sort of thing. Like, don’t people who want to enlist do it and then are put through military training to get to that level?”
“Basic training is just that: basic,” I say. “This would give anyone a leg up. But maybe you’re right. I might not get many clients if I limit myself to training special forces type stuff exclusively. What do you think?” I ask Prescott.