“We’re done.” Noble pointed to the door. “Get your go-bags and shit ready. Keep your cells on.”
A chorus of “Yes, Sirs,” followed his orders, and they left the war-room to check their equipment and uniforms. If the mission was a go, authorization would come down fast and they needed to be ready.
“Is your boss always this much of a dick?”
“Would you have questioned yours like that?” Saxon led the way to their storage warehouse where the cages which held their equipment were held, and keyed in the lock pin to open the door.
Rick caught the swing door and held it for Zenko. “No.”
“Then no, he isn’t a dick.” Saxon unlocked his cage and grabbed a spare go-bag. While Noble might have said Rick was on lockdown here, if Red Squadron went out, then they would either have to bring him with them or Rick would have to find another place to stay until they got back. There was no way he could see Noble leaving Rick here alone. “Here, you can use this one.”
“Weapons are through here,” Zenko called from an open door at the back of the room. “Take your pick.” he told Rick. “But nothing leaves this warehouse unless we get wheels up orders.”
“Copy that.” Rick went into the weapons room, looking for something close to the assault rifles he normally used in the field. He scanned the room and whistled low and soft. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”
“Depends on if we all vote for you to stay.” Drax raised one eyebrow. “What makes you think we want you Recon pussies in our house?”
“Because my dumbass out there,” Rick jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the open door and the cages. “Doesn’t know he loves me yet. And you want him to be happy.”
Shit, what did you say that for?
“I—uh—”
Drax snorted, biting back his laughter. “You’re good. I just wanted to make sure.” He thumped Rick hard on the back as he passed him to carry his weapons to the table in the other room.
“Asshole.” Rick called after him. He ignored the laughter from Drax and went to find an M-16 and some k-bars. Finally, he would feel fully dressed again. Weapons were as much a part of him as putting on pants. He considered what Black Squadron being here full time would mean. Was this the opportunity he had been waiting for with Saxon? Only time would tell if it was.
Chapter Twelve
“Doyou think the job will be assigned to Red Squadron?”
“No clue,” Saxon grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed one to Rick. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He took a sip of the beer and placed the bottle on the countertop. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” Rick looked around the small but functional kitchen. Most of the countertops were bare, except for a coffee machine and a toaster. He didn’t see any food, not even a jar of cookies. But then, he hadn’t gone digging through the cupboards to see what was there either. “Whatcha got?”
Saxon opened the freezer and rooted around inside before pulling out a package and turning it to read the label. “We can throw some steaks on the grill?”
“Sold.” Sipping his beer, he watched Saxon being domesticated and pottering around the kitchen. What did one do in this situation? Did he offer to help? How the heck had he gotten to almost forty and not know how he was supposed to act? To be fair—if the navy didn’t issue it or didn’t teach it, he probably didn’t own it or know how to do it. Someone needed to tell his SEAL instructors their educational material was lacking certain classes and at the top of the list was how to act in domestic situations.
Saxon stuck the meat on a plate and put it in the microwave to defrost. “I don’t have sides or rabbit food shit, but I do have bread.” He shoved open the sliding door to the deck and lit the grill. “When it’s hot you can throw the steaks on, I have to hit the head, and have a fast shower.”
“Sure,” Okay, that he could do. He’d grilled more steaks than he would like to count. His team liked their food, and he was one of the few who didn’t walk off and leave the meat to fend for itself once it was thrown on the grill. So, he was often the one who manned the grill. “You want it mooing or double dead?”
“Still on the hoof.”
“You got it.” He watched Saxon disappear into the house. Still on the hoof meant the grill had time to heat up. Finding a deck chair, he sat his ass down. Pulling on the laces, he took off his boots and socks, then propped his feet up on the railing. Beer in hand, he sipped and just enjoyed the quiet.
It was another beautiful evening in Italy, perfect for a grilling and eating outside. The sky was still blue with no sign of any clouds. The temperature had finally dropped from boiling to comfortable. Damn, he could get used to this.
You won’t be getting used to anything if you don’t talk to him.
He knew without looking that Saxon had stepped back out onto the deck. His body reacted to the man, even without touching him. That sensation had confused him for the longest time. The confusion had made him want to ignore it, to ignore what Saxon could mean to him. But ignoring it was no longer in the cards. It just wasn’t possible anymore.
“You didn’t put the steaks on?”
“Nope, I waited for you.” He dropped his feet to the floor and stood out of the chair. “We both like them rare so there was no point in over-cooking them.” Sitting here chilling with Saxon was kinda surreal, the last forty-eight hours had been one clusterfuck after another. From the intel Max and Noah had been bringing to the table, the fuckery wasn’t about to let up any time soon. He threw the steaks on the grill. “I’m just gonna wash my hands. Turn them in two minutes.”
“You got it.”
