Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 91

The place smells like grilled meat and sweet soy sauce, and the grill’s been going so long now there’s a haze of heat between us and the vent above the table. I’ve got a piece of samgyeopsal sizzling in front of me, the kind that snaps when you press it with tongs, and Anna’s talking with her hands, telling Penny about the time Rooster tried to cook steak using a blowtorch.

Penny laughs, covering her mouth with her hand, and God help me, I’m watching her like she’s the only source of light in this entire restaurant.

She fits here. I didn’t expect that. She’s so out of place in my world of war scars and grim humor and shadowed memories, but she’s holding her own, eyes wide with curiosity, soft voice peppered with questions, bright with interest.

Rooster’s been good. He hasn’t mentioned the firefight in Kandahar or the time he got stuck in the back of a Humvee with a corpse for twelve hours. He’s left out the dark shit—the parts that make you look at the world differently. The parts that never leave you. I’m thankful for that. Penny doesn’t need to see how far the abyss really goes.

“So,” Anna leans in, her elbow on the table, “what’s the hardest move you’ve ever done in ballet?”

Penny tilts her head, thinking. Her curls bounce a little, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and tucking one behind her ear.

“There’s this one lift,” she says slowly, like she’s deciding how to explain it to people who’ve never danced a day in their lives. “It’s called the fish dive.”

Rooster whistles low. “That sounds dangerous.”

Penny grins. “It can be. I have to leap, and my partner catches me mid-air, almost upside down. I’m basically parallel to the floor, and he supports me only by my waist and the upper part of my back. It’s fast and dramatic and really easy to mess up.”

Anna’s eyes widen. “You’ve done that?”

“In practice,” she says. “Never in a performance. But… I’ll have to. It’s part of the Black Swan pas de deux.”

My hands move without thinking, grabbing more grilled meat and laying it onto her plate. She’s already finished most of the vegetables I set for her, and I know she gets hungry after rehearsals—she never eats enough before. It’s a silent rhythm now, this looking out for her without words.

“Do you ever worry they’ll drop you?” Rooster asks.

Penny’s smile falters just a bit, but she shrugs. “All the time. But it’s part of the job. You have to trust them. You can’t hesitate mid-jump. That’s even more dangerous.”

God, the idea of her getting hurt like that makes something cold tighten in my chest. I poke the meat harder than I should.

“She’s got the wildest imagination I’ve ever seen,” I say, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere lighter. “Always throwing the weirdest questions at me.”

Penny turns to me, mock offended. “Hey!”

Anna perks up. “Like what?”

I look at her, narrowing my eyes playfully. “You asked me last week if I’d rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck.”

Rooster snorts into his beer. “Oh my God. What did you say?”

“I haven’t decided. Both sound like a logistical nightmare.”

“I just like to know these things,” Penny mutters, grabbing a piece of meat from her plate. “It’s important.”

“It’s insane,” I correct, and she laughs, her nose scrunching.

And fuck, I could get used to this.

This table. These people. Her smile. Penny is all light and softness and pink tank tops and curly, shiny hair. We're all dark and blood and PTSD. Even Anna has been with Rooster long enough that her view of the world has changed a little bit. But Penny? She's still so innocent. So... Penny. And yet. Yet, she fits here, with us, with my friends, like she was always meant to sit in this Korean BBQ booth, talking and laughing with us.

She leans in again, spark dancing in her eyes, breaking my thoughts. “Okay, okay. I’ve got a new one. Would you rather have fingers for eyelashes or eyelashes for fingers?”

Rooster almost chokes on his drink. “Jesus Christ.”

Anna cackles. “Fingers for eyelashes? What would you even do with that?”

“I don’t know!” Penny says, laughing. “But think about it. You could grab things without even opening your eyes.”

“You’re sick,” I mutter.

“You love it,” she fires back without missing a beat, then freezes a little, like she didn’t mean to say it.

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

Rooster breaks it with a grin. “So this is the girl you’re so mad in love for.”

The air leaves my lungs in a punch.

Penny’s hand stills. Her eyes go wide.

“Rooster,” I growl.

Rooster raises his hands, eyes darting between us. “Shit. Sorry. I just—uh—I misread. Thought—never mind. My boy Tank's been talking about a girl and I just assumed...”

“You assumed wrong.” I mutter.

Anna narrows her eyes at me. She knows. Of course she knows. She’s always been sharper than most.

Penny recovers, laughs a little too quickly. “Well, I do ask a lot of questions. Probably drives him crazy.”

“More than you know,” I mutter under my breath.

We don’t talk about it again. The conversation shifts—back to food, to work, to old stories about Anna’s vet clinic and the time Rooster got a cat stuck in his hoodie and panicked like a baby.

But I’m barely hearing it.

I’m watching her.

The way she talks with her hands. The way she lights up when someone’s laughing at her joke. The way her cheeks turn the faintest pink when she catches me looking.

She’s not my girl.

She can’t be.

But at this table, with these people, in this tiny window of time—she almost feels like mine.

And that’s enough.

For now.