Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 119

One time, a Capuchin monkey stole my sidearm.

It was about 18 meters up a moss-slick ceiba tree in the Guatemalan jungle, middle of the wet season, mid-mission, and I'd only put it down for three goddamn seconds to help stabilize a teammate’s busted ankle. The monkey dropped from the canopy like a ghost and snatched it up with a squeal, scampered right up the nearest tree like it had been planning it all day.

It was raining sideways, and I couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of me. By the time I’d realized what happened, the little bastard was sitting thirty feet up on a branch with my weapon in its hands and its beady little eyes squinting right down the barrel.

I had to scale that tree with no rope, no traction, half-blind, with the very real possibility that a monkey might accidentally fire a loaded Glock into my chest.

That was more enjoyable than this night.

At least the monkey had an excuse. These people?

None.

Loud, restless, sugar-high-from-pizza energy. Still half-drunk on whatever was in their Solo cups. Someone had a vape that smelled like battery acid and cotton candy. Someone else was barefoot and stepping on popcorn.

I’d barely sat down before some dude asked if I could shoot blindfolded. Another tried to get me to demonstrate by throwing a fork at an apple across the room. Someone else had just dared another guy to lick a footprint off the floor.

Penny was seated between my legs on the floor, leaning back lightly against one of my knees. It should’ve helped. Should’ve grounded me.

It didn’t.

It made it worse.

Her head tilted against my thigh occasionally, her voice joining the chaos now and then. I was only half-listening to the group. The other half of me was doing what I always do in rooms like this: assessment.

I’d already cataloged every possible threat.

There were four exits. Two that could be easily blocked. Three of the guys had bulk, but not skill. One had a stance like he boxed, but it was sloppy. The strongest two were the ones who tried to double-arm-wrestle me earlier, Ethan and Joel. I knew I could take them both.

I’d gone easy on them. Could’ve dislocated Ethan’s shoulder with half a twist. But there was no point in humiliating them. No point in being a threat in a room full of people already wide-eyed and too curious for their own good.

Still, the way they’d laughed — called themselves “strong” — like that word even meant something when you’d never had to use strength for anything other than throwing a ball…

Yeah.

Capuchin Monkey Night was better than this.

And now they were picking a movie.

God help me.

“I feel like we have to go action,” one guy says. “Army guy inspired me.”

“Yeah!” someone else says. “What about *American Sniper?”*

“Nooo,” a girl groans. “That’s so serious.”

“But he’ll be able to tell us what’s real and what’s not!”

All heads swivel toward me.

I don't move.

I don’t want to watch a war movie. Not here. Not with these people.

Penny shifts a little, and I feel her body tense. “Maybe not the best idea,” she says gently, looking at the group. “It’s not… I mean, Asher—”

“I’m fine,” I say, voice low.

She turns to me, tilting her head, looking up.

Jesus.

She shouldn’t look at me like that. Not from down there. Not with her lips slightly parted and her hair falling over one shoulder and her eyes big and concerned and—

“I mean it,” she says. “You shouldn’t have to watch stuff like that if you don’t want to."

I barely hear her.

All I can think about is her sitting between my legs, looking up at me with those big green eyes, her full lips way too close to me. All I can think about is how easy it would be to lean down and kiss her right now. How I could tip her chin back, let my hand slide into that golden hair, grip it, lower her just enough to—

“I'm fine,” I say again, more firmly this time.

She nods. Bites her lip. Turns back toward the group.

That doesn’t help either.

The movie starts.

People cheer. Lights dim.

The first fifteen minutes are training montages. Chris Kyle, in uniform. Gun ranges. Conversations with his brother. A funeral.

“Is that what training looks like?” someone whispers.

I grunt. “More or less.”

Someone else pipes up, “Is it true that SEALs have to hold their breath for like… five minutes straight?”

“Depends.”

The movie shifts. First kill scene. A child with a grenade. Chris hesitates.

The room goes quiet.

Even the drunkest ones fall still.

Then: bang.

Gasps. Someone says, “Damn.”

Someone else: “That’s cold.”

“That’s the job.” I say quietly.

Penny leans forward a little, arms around her knees.

I can feel the unease in her body now. Like she’s trying not to react but her shoulders are wound tight.

The scene cuts to the sandstorm. Sniper nests. Panic. Bombs.

“Have you ever been in something like that?” someone whispers.

I don’t answer. But yes.

Someone else pokes again. “Did you ever… y’know. Snipe someone?”

Penny turns slightly, glares toward them. “Guys.”

They shut up.

The room stills again.

I glance down. She’s breathing faster now. Subtle, but I see it. Feel it in her shoulder brushing against my leg.

Then she murmurs something under her breath.

Too soft. I can’t hear it.

She stands.

Slips away.

I figure maybe she’s going to the bathroom. Fresh air. Something.

But ten minutes pass.

And she doesn’t come back.

I feel it like a cold current under my ribs.

I get up.

And follow.