clothing. And as long as Alyssa kept this phone call short, and then walked—naked—back over here to the bed when she was done …
His plans for the remainder of the evening were entirely salvageable.
“Hang on just a sec,” she said into the phone. “I was getting a pen and … Can you spell the congresswoman’s name for me again? Oh, it’s not? She’s an assemblywoman. Okay. Got it. And her website is … dot
gov
. Right.”
She wrote it all down on the pad, and then said the words that could, absolutely, not just ruin his evening, but trash the entire rest of his week. “And the flight information … ?”
Sam sat up.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Alyssa told her friend. “We’re picking up Ash tomorrow at eight and … No, he’s having his first sleepover tonight—with Cosmo, Jane, and Billy and …” She laughed. “It’s really okay, but yes. Let’s plan to talk again tomorrow morning and … After eight, yes. How about I call you from the car? All right—talk then.” And with that, she hung up the phone. And turned to Sam. “Want to go to New York?”
“In January?” he asked. “Not really.”
“It’s almost February,” she pointed out.
“Same thing.”
“Please?”
“No fair,” he said. “Naked begging—how am I supposed to say no?”
She snorted. “Saying
please
isn’t begging.”
“It is,” he pointed out, “if you say it while you’re naked. Although crawling across the floor would help.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You
really
don’t want to go to New York City?”
The idea of leaving her alone here with Ash freaked him out—which, in turn, freaked him out even more. Sam knew it was irrational. It was caused by the residual fear he’d felt when he’d watched, from a distance, as that fuckwad had pulled that weapon tonight. His brain again played the sequence, pushing it into what-if mode, presenting him with an extremely unwelcome image ofAlyssa being shot, point-blank, and falling as blood bloomed on her shirt—
What the hell was wrong with him?
He pushed the unwanted worst-case scenario away, wishing he could scrub his brain clean.
The what-if hadn’t happened.
But it could have.
But it hadn’t. Alyssa was safe.
She was skilled. She was careful. She was smart—and she was waiting for him to respond.
“Ah, shit,” he said.
“Shit is yes, right? Fuck is no? Or is it fuck is yes and shit is no,” she teased. “I always get that mixed up.”
“For you, sweet thing,” he conceded, “it’s always,
always
yes. I’ll go if you really need me to.”
She narrowed her eyes at him because she hated regular terms of endearment, let alone that particular one, which she felt was extra-objectifying. So he quickly pointed out that, “New York in the dead of winter—crowded, dirty
and
cold—earns me far more than one
sweet thing.”
“Yeah, poor baby, it’s only the cultural capital of the entire world, and you get to go there for free, first class flight, four star accommodations …”
“SEALs and former SEALs?” he asked. “Who are the SEALs who’re going with me?”
She smiled at his question and he knew he was right. Whatever he was being sent to New York to fix, he was not going to be assisted by his friends who were still in SEAL Team Sixteen, like Ken or Cosmo or even Silverman. No, he was going to get stuck babysitting the young and stupid enlisted men, who were still unattached and thus willing to do Ken—or Chief Karmody, as those very youngsters called him—this kind of favor.
And yeah, it made sense that the young’uns would leap at the chance for an all-expenses-paid trip to spend a few days of their hard-earned liberty in the Big Apple. Sam knew for a fact that they’d just returned from several cold, rough months in Afghanistan. And while he respected that completely, he also knew—from the experience of having formerly been young and stupid himself—that it meant that they weren’t going to
His plans for the remainder of the evening were entirely salvageable.
“Hang on just a sec,” she said into the phone. “I was getting a pen and … Can you spell the congresswoman’s name for me again? Oh, it’s not? She’s an assemblywoman. Okay. Got it. And her website is … dot
gov
. Right.”
She wrote it all down on the pad, and then said the words that could, absolutely, not just ruin his evening, but trash the entire rest of his week. “And the flight information … ?”
Sam sat up.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Alyssa told her friend. “We’re picking up Ash tomorrow at eight and … No, he’s having his first sleepover tonight—with Cosmo, Jane, and Billy and …” She laughed. “It’s really okay, but yes. Let’s plan to talk again tomorrow morning and … After eight, yes. How about I call you from the car? All right—talk then.” And with that, she hung up the phone. And turned to Sam. “Want to go to New York?”
“In January?” he asked. “Not really.”
“It’s almost February,” she pointed out.
“Same thing.”
“Please?”
“No fair,” he said. “Naked begging—how am I supposed to say no?”
She snorted. “Saying
please
isn’t begging.”
“It is,” he pointed out, “if you say it while you’re naked. Although crawling across the floor would help.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You
really
don’t want to go to New York City?”
The idea of leaving her alone here with Ash freaked him out—which, in turn, freaked him out even more. Sam knew it was irrational. It was caused by the residual fear he’d felt when he’d watched, from a distance, as that fuckwad had pulled that weapon tonight. His brain again played the sequence, pushing it into what-if mode, presenting him with an extremely unwelcome image ofAlyssa being shot, point-blank, and falling as blood bloomed on her shirt—
What the hell was wrong with him?
He pushed the unwanted worst-case scenario away, wishing he could scrub his brain clean.
The what-if hadn’t happened.
But it could have.
But it hadn’t. Alyssa was safe.
She was skilled. She was careful. She was smart—and she was waiting for him to respond.
“Ah, shit,” he said.
“Shit is yes, right? Fuck is no? Or is it fuck is yes and shit is no,” she teased. “I always get that mixed up.”
“For you, sweet thing,” he conceded, “it’s always,
always
yes. I’ll go if you really need me to.”
She narrowed her eyes at him because she hated regular terms of endearment, let alone that particular one, which she felt was extra-objectifying. So he quickly pointed out that, “New York in the dead of winter—crowded, dirty
and
cold—earns me far more than one
sweet thing.”
“Yeah, poor baby, it’s only the cultural capital of the entire world, and you get to go there for free, first class flight, four star accommodations …”
“SEALs and former SEALs?” he asked. “Who are the SEALs who’re going with me?”
She smiled at his question and he knew he was right. Whatever he was being sent to New York to fix, he was not going to be assisted by his friends who were still in SEAL Team Sixteen, like Ken or Cosmo or even Silverman. No, he was going to get stuck babysitting the young and stupid enlisted men, who were still unattached and thus willing to do Ken—or Chief Karmody, as those very youngsters called him—this kind of favor.
And yeah, it made sense that the young’uns would leap at the chance for an all-expenses-paid trip to spend a few days of their hard-earned liberty in the Big Apple. Sam knew for a fact that they’d just returned from several cold, rough months in Afghanistan. And while he respected that completely, he also knew—from the experience of having formerly been young and stupid himself—that it meant that they weren’t going to
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