Chapter Three

Katy

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Scott, wake the hell up,” Mullins says as I try to stir and fail. It seems like just seconds ago I collapsed in my cot.

“Screw off, woman,” I groan, pulling the thin blanket over me, which she promptly rips off.

“Get up right now. I’m bored.”

Sitting up, I sigh into my hands. “You’re a single woman on a military base—I’m sure you can find someone else to bother in bed.”

“Oh, I fully intend on flaunting my single status. Who knew a bet would have you tied down and pregnant?”

I throw my legs over the side of the cot. “Thanks for reminding me of the family I can’t see.”

“Sorry,” she says easily, though I know she means it. “Come on, babe, rally. We have plans today.”

“You have plans today.”

She eases down next to me with a sigh. “We’ve been here three weeks, and I’m already going crazy. Come on.” She gives me a nudge, her lips turning up as almond-shaped eyes bat my way.

“Fine, where are we going?”

“To see the fight.”

“What fight?”

“Get dressed.”

The fight turns out to be a boxing match at the base gym.

“Great,” I mumble as we walk inside. “As if we don’t have enough testosterone floating around us.”

“Yes, girl, breathe it in. All of these men are in their prime.” She inhales deeply as if she’s smelling freshly baked cookies, and I laugh.

“Finally! Thought that would never happen.”

“What?”

Concern etches her features. “You…laughing. You’ve been pretty tense since we got here.”

“I’m piecing soldiers back together. It’s a somber job, Mullins.”

“All the more reason to soldier up, Katy.”

She looks over to me as we make our way toward the ring, and I feel bad. She’s missing her friends, and I’ve been a walking zombie.

“I just can’t get used to being away from them,” I admit.

“Understandable,” she says with another nudge. “I swear I get it. I love that little boy like I gave birth to him, but we have to rally. Try and find a reason to smile.”

“I will,” I promise under my breath, and in the next one, I’m stumbling in my footing as my eyes fix on a six-foot-two soldier getting his wrists taped, a smirk on his face as the guy taping him keeps him in conversation.

“Briggs is fighting?”

My eyes wander from the curve of his lips to his bare chest. He has a lone tattoo on his back, a soldier’s memorial. The combat boots and rifle supporting the helmet look damn near lifelike on his clear skin. He’s muscular but slim, and his bronze skin is covered in a sheen of sweat.

“You’ll be catching flies if you open that mouth any wider,” Mullins whispers over to me. Instantly I’m defensive.

“What the hell?” I snap at her. “I’m no stranger to a decent body. Shut your hole.”

“Hey, I know you love your Captain and so does your Captain, but Briggs is seriously smoking, and that twang?” She shakes her head. “Damn, damn, damn.”

I scrunch my nose at her. “That’s nothing new either—he’s a Texan.”

“Fine, play immune, but I couldn’t blame you if you were checking him out.”

My eyes rove over him. “He’s decent looking for his age.”

“He’s your age,” she scolds. “Just because you married up doesn’t mean you’re older.”

“Why am I here again?”

“You’re my wing bitch, like it or not.”

“Not.”

“It wasn’t a question,” she laughs before turning to me. “Twenty minutes, okay?”

“Ladies,” Jones says, taking the seat below us on the small aluminum stands. “Ready to see Briggs kick some serious ass?”

Mullins asks my question. “He’s that good?”

“He’s fast and hits hard. I’ve rarely seen him lose at spar. He always wears them out. He’s got a lot of stamina.”

“Stamina,” Mullins sighs as her tongue rolls out of her mouth.

“Jesus,” I say, shaking my head.

Morrero pops up next and gives us both a wink. “Ladies.” He joins Jones below us as my eyes wander back toward Briggs, who’s looking straight at me. My reaction is immediate—I wave like a four-year-old, giving him a shy smile. Glove up, he mimics me with the same stupid wave, wearing a smug smirk, which only makes me seem more ridiculous. Mullins bursts into laughter at my expense.

I move to stand. “I’m outta here.”

“Calm your ass down,” she growls, pulling me back to sit. “It was cute.”

“I was just trying to be friendly.”

Jones turns to me, his red hair firing off in the glint of the sun streaming through the windows. “You getting much action in the clinic?”

“Some,” I say honestly. I’ve been trying my best to deal with the state of the soldiers that grace our tables. A bullet and shrapnel can turn flesh and bone into a jigsaw puzzle. The first week, I’d been dazed by it. Jones seems to read what I’m not saying.

“It must be rough stringing us all back together, am I right?”

It’s then that I see a shrapnel scar on his neck. He’s seasoned, then—this deployment isn’t his first rodeo. My respect for him grows.

“Yeah, I’m still trying to get used to it, to be honest.”

“I have a feeling they’re more afraid of you.” The smooth voice doesn’t belong to Jones, but to the man I’ve just been humiliated by.

And I’m immediately back on the defensive. “And you know this because?”

Briggs shrugs, and I become mildly distracted by his build. I’m only human, and his body is impressive. From his trim waist to his pecs, every single one of his muscles is bulging and defined. I find the flare of muscle on his sides that lead up to his shoulders the most fascinating. The man has never missed a workout in his life. He cuts through my thoughts.

“Could be that ‘eat shit’ demeanor you have going on, Scottie,” he says, holding my gaze when I reach his.

“Maybe that’s just the vibe you’re getting from me. You know, to eat shit.”

“I ate fried maggots in the Philippines. I’m pretty sure that’s close enough to shit, so I’ve got you covered.”

My lips turn up in time with his.

“Thatta girl,” he says, slipping on his headgear. “You see that asshole over there?” He points to the other side of the ring. I see a guy a little taller than Briggs being taped up.

I tilt my head and lift my eyes, having no idea where he’s going with this. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to kick his ass,” he says then slides in his mouth guard, extends a glove toward me, and muffles out, “For you.”

“No thanks,” I say waving him away.

“Oh, damn,” Mullins whispers low beside me. I burst out into nervous laughter, and she does too.

The ego on this guy.

I straighten my shoulders as his eyes grow dark. He’s not a fan of being laughed at. I shrug. “Sorry, Briggs, but you should know better than to waste your best line on a married woman.” My thumb tickles the finger where my band is missing.

He spits his guard out with a chuckle. “Rest assured, Scottie, I’m fighting for your honor with the purest of intentions.”

“Really?”

“Briggs, get your ugly ass in the ring!” Someone shouts from the stands on the other side.

He lifts his glove in that direction, and I’m positive he’s giving the guy the finger. I can’t help but smile. He’s the perfect picture of an American soldier: strong, virile, and confident, with a healthy dose of cocky.

He turns back to me. “As I was saying—”

Morrero speaks up next. “Yeah, yeah. Man, get your ass in there and fight.”

Briggs ignores him, and his eyes cover me in a brief sweep. “He called you frozen.”

“What?”

“Ice Princess,” Morrero mutters.

“Then I’ll kick his damn ass myself if you can’t take him.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Mullins and Jones both turn back to me, laughing, as Mullins looks pointedly at Briggs. “Briggs, she’ll meet you, tit for tat. You’re out of your league.”

“Nah,” he says, winking at me. “That was fucking permission.” Without waiting for my reply, Briggs gestures to the guy who taped him and puts the guard back in his mouth.

Minutes later, I’m enthralled as he throws the first punch.

“Holy fuck,” Mullins gasps beside me.

I can’t even lie; the man delivers punches like I imagine he does bullets. He’s a born fighter.

Morrero looks back at Mullins pointedly. “If you think that’s impressive, I can do you one better.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, and I see a tinge of a spark light in her eyes. I know that look.

“He’s middle. I assure you, I’m a heavyweight.”

Jones shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure I just puked in my mouth.”

Mullins rattles off some Spanish to Morrero, and his eyes light with the same spark. I took French in high school, so I’m clueless.

“Any idea what they’re saying?” Jones pipes up from below.

“None,” I reply as Briggs throws a killer right hook and it dazes his opponent.

“He really is good,” I hear myself say.

“There’s no other man in the world I want fighting with me when I hear those snaps.”

Snaps. He’s talking about the sound of a bullet whizzing past him. I try to picture myself in that situation as Briggs delivers what would be a knockout punch if they didn’t have gear on. His opponent instantly taps out. As the crowd of mixed military cheers for his victory, he pounds his gloves together, his golden eyes filled with pride. In this moment, I believe Jones.