Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Technically, the navy didn’t like them having social media, and Rooster’s videos and images of himself doing killer workouts were definitely a gray area, but he didn’t use his real name or say he was navy on there so no one had busted him for it yet.
“You men planning to still be running come lunch? Let’s pick up the pace,” the senior chief ordered. He was a good guy, and he’d probably just pretend he hadn’t heard Rooster’s plans. But would the reporter? Fuck. Bacon was not going to get used to this having to watch every word thing.
“Hey, Rooster, let’s try to catch Shiny,” Donaldson yelled. Shiny was up front by the LT—he might be young and skinny, but he could run.
“Can we join the chase?” Bryant sounded eager and not at all winded.
“LT probably thinks we’re still back down the hill.”
“Then let’s prove him wrong.” Bryant flashed a smile that had Bacon seeing exactly why that magazine had picked him for most eligible bachelor. It was an almost feral grin, dirty without trying to be so, challenging and secretive in equal measures and way too damn appealing.
“Okay.” Bacon usually ran in the back out of loyalty to Curly, but he couldn’t deny the urge to show off some himself. “But if you injure yourself—”
“Stop worrying, Petty Officer.” Bryant added a wink.
Oh fuck. The man was dangerous in so very many ways.
But Bacon couldn’t worry too much about that right then because Bryant sped up and Bacon had to put some extra kick in to keep up with the pursuit of the lead group. They passed Rooster and Donaldson, who had settled in mid-pack, and fell in with Shiny, Bullets, and the LT.
“Bacon. What the... You looking to take out our...guest?” Bullets goggled at them.
“Nice run.” Somehow Bryant managed to keep his voice even and steady, even after the effort required to catch up to the leaders. “I told you, Lieutenant Thomas, you don’t have to worry about me keeping up.”
“Good.” The LT all but grunted his reply as they came back around to the starting point. As always, he didn’t have to work to catch his breath as they came to a stop. Man was a machine. “Now we hydrate, get changed, and then eat before we’ve got meetings. Those will be of no interest to Mr. Bryant, so, Bacon, you’ll take him on a base tour. The BUD/S recruits are in the grinder today. He can observe that.”
Bacon read between the lines that they’d be talking mission strategy for the upcoming deployment and the team leadership didn’t want Bryant there. But that meant Bacon missing the strategy talks, further underscoring that he’d been given this shit assignment. He should be in there, finding out which targets they needed him to take out. And he knew this had less to do with his bum finger than with him being Lowe’s friend, and the LT still being pissed about Lowe leaving.
And to make matters worse, he’d sat for his chief’s exam recently. Luckily, his LT didn’t make the promotion decisions on his own, but still he probably wouldn’t be singling Bacon out for any praise anytime soon either.
Fuck it. He drank his water and changed to his uniform with angry movements, trying to ignore Bryant best he could.
“They gave me fatigues for when we deploy. Should I wear those or civvies for the tour?” Bryant asked him, seemingly oblivious to Bacon’s bad mood.
“Civilian clothes are fine on base,” the LT answered for him. “And stick to Petty Officer Bacon.” With that last order, he headed out, seemingly satisfied that Bacon could keep the reporter in line.
Bryant changed to cargo pants and a blue shirt with buttons. It wasn’t as inappropriate as a suit would be nor was it sloppy, but he still stuck out. Not that him in camo was going to be an improvement—it didn’t matter what they put Bryant in, he was still a damned distraction who didn’t belong with their team.
On the way to the chow hall, Bryant did more of what he’d done on the run, letting the guys chatter without interrupting them with a lot of questions. Bacon figured he was still taking tons of mental notes, though. His eyes were sharp and piercing, the kind that didn’t miss the slightest detail.
“I just hope we don’t go wheels up tomorrow,” Curly said. “We’ve got a cake tasting.” He managed to drop in wedding prep in every other conversation. It would be the fifth wedding Bacon had been in over the last year, and he’d lost track of the ones he was just a guest at. He guessed some of it was their age—even their civilian friends were partnering up and marrying off.
“How’s the bachelor party plans coming?” Donaldson asked Bacon as they entered the chow hall and got on the long line for food. “Tell me we’re doing strippers for Curly. If you need recs—”