Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) (16 page)

“I’ve met your neighbors. They’d love a chance to see my dick.”

True story.

Marlee huffs. “Be serious.”

I take a second to consider if she sounds seriously pissed or not. Since I’m pretty certain she’s not unduly upset, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into my arms. Kiss her too, partly because the Rodster is still standing there with his mouth open, but mostly because I’d never pass up a chance to kiss her. When I lift my head, she’s glowing.

Take that, Roddy McFuckup.

When I left her in bed, she was naked. Apparently, she subscribes to the same theory of front-door-opening that I do, because she’s now wearing a pink tank top and a pair of white cotton shorts. These are the kind of clothes best peeled off—slowly—and deposited on the bedroom floor. I make a mental note to take care of that as soon as I’ve kicked Lover Boy’s ass to the curb.

“Boy toy?” Roddy croaks. I can practically hear him looking up the words in his mental dictionary and then realizing that Marlee’s been getting some. From me.
Yeah, that’s right
.

Seriously? This is the man Marlee thought was keeper material? She could do so much better.

Marlee thumps me on the back. She’s sensitive about the eight-year difference between us.

“Vann’s teasing,” she announces.

I nudge her way more gently than she whacked me. “He’s seen your birth certificate. I can show him mine. You’re robbing the cradle.”

Roddy frowns. “Can I come in?”

I’m the one who answers first. “Why?”

Because I can’t think of a single reason he needs to be standing here.

Marlee pinches my ass, and I don’t think it’s a love bite. “What’s up?”

“You gonna formally introduce us?” I slide my arm around her waist. Roddy’s gaze tracks the move, and I waggle my fingers at him. Possibly with my middle finger extended.

Marlee scowls as if the request is downright unreasonable. “Fine. Vann, meet Rhodes Carlson. Roddy, meet Vann O’Reilly.”

I can’t help but notice that she doesn’t give either one of us a label. He’s the ex, the screw up, the past. I’m the friend, the sperm donor, and her present. Who gets to be her future is clearly still an open item. Except… I’m just the baby daddy. The guy who has the equipment to knock her up. There’s no long-term us.

Roddy takes a step forward. This puts his shiny loafers toe-to-toe with my bare feet. If this were my house, his ass would already be on the curb, but it’s not. So I step backward and let him come in. Naturally, he’s the kind of asswipe who takes an invitation for coffee and decides it means he gets to come over on Christmas and Easter, because he sweeps past me and into the living room. Marlee marches around throwing open the curtains and blinds.

“You haven’t made many changes,” Roddy tells her. He’s still clutching the fucking roses like a lifeline. Then he proceeds to identify all the pieces of furniture they picked out together, followed by the when and the where. If he were a dog, he’d have whipped out his dick and pissed on the stuff, too, just so I knew where I stood. Roddy’s got history with Marlee.

I could kiss Marlee when she cuts him off mid-description of a particularly ugly painting of ships hanging over their ex-sofa. “Why are you here, Roddy?”

Thank fuck she doesn’t hug him or offer to make him coffee. I lean against the wall, arms folded over my bare chest. Roddy’s gaze keeps straying to me, then jerking away, as if ignoring my being half-naked means he doesn’t have to think about the
why
.

Yeah. I fucked her, buddy.

She chose
me
.

Roddy finally stops hovering and drops onto the sofa, displacing a half-dozen small pillows. When he tries to find a place to set the flowers down, Marlee’s got him beat. Her coffee table is full of scented candles and little bowls of shells and colored sand. There’s no room for a beer, let alone a dozen long-stems. He finally shoves the bouquet in her direction.

“These are for you,” he says, announcing the obvious. We all know he didn’t bring
me
flowers.

“I’m crushed.” Not really, but I do feel slightly murderous. This is the guy who made Marlee feel inadequate. He broke her heart, pulled away from her, and made her feel empty inside. It seems wrong that he’s prancing around her house, acting like a few flowers make him a superhero and a sensitive guy. Marlee doesn’t even like cut flowers—she wants them to have roots, which means you bring her shit in pots and then help her dig the hole to plant them.

“Why are you here, Roddy?” I listen carefully, but Marlee doesn’t sound like she’s about to fall into his arms.

He ignores me.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he counters. “Or my emails.”

She shrugs. “I’m pretty sure we said everything that needed saying during our court-ordered therapy sessions and then afterward, through our lawyers. I don’t have anything left to say to you.”

That’s my girl.

Despite her matter-of-fact statement, Roddy’s face kind of softens, although honestly the man is more dough boy than not. I have no idea what she ever saw in him. “I miss you,” he says, holding the flowers out again.

I swoop in and grab them. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Prick,” Roddy mutters, just quietly enough that I can’t make a big deal out of it.

“There’s a vase in the kitchen,” Marlee says, effectively exiling me. Her kitchen opens to her living room, separated by a waist-high pass through. The lack of wall means I hear Roddy’s next words all too clearly.

“I want you back,” he announces and grabs her hands. “I want us to be a team. A family.”

The lack of wall means I have a perfect view when Marlee stumbles, off-balance, and lands on Roddy. He takes immediate advantage, running his hands up her arms and wrapping himself around her like some kind of fucking octopus with a death wish. Forget putting flowers in vases—I’m gonna shove the whole bouquet up his ass, thorns first.

I toss the roses in the sink and mentally plot a course for Roddy.

The only thing saving his life is that Marlee’s already on it. She climbs off her ex, and I’m pretty sure she pays zero attention to where her knees and elbows go, because the man yelps and lets go real quick, which is the only point in his favor. I’m about to eject him from our house when I get a good look at Marlee’s face. She looks… wistful.

“Really?” she whispers.

Fuck. Me. Roddy’s said the magic words.

This is so not good.

I can’t compete with that. I’m not the family guy, the stable guy you can count on to be there. Maybe Roddy
is
. Marlee said that I was her wingman—and there is a wingman’s rule book. Every guy knows it. If I’m the wingman, that makes Marlee the pilot. It’s her choice who she goes home with—and it’s my job to make sure she gets her choice. I’m supposed to have her back, to look out for her, and to hook her up with her fantasy.

“I miss you,” Roddy says, holding out his hands. “You make me better and my life’s empty without you. You’re the one who asked for the divorce, not me, and I want us to be together again.”

“Because you were never there.” She doesn’t take his hands, but her own kind of flutter up and then back down again. As if she’s thinking about it. As if maybe it’s
my
presence that’s holding her back. And then she slides a glance at me, and I don’t know what to fucking think.

“You didn’t talk to me,” she continues, looking away from me. “You couldn’t even be bothered to fight with me. You just—removed yourself. Ignored me.”

Roddy stares at her and drops his hands. “I love you.”

Present tense.
Not
past.

He’s got that to offer her, too.

She inhales softly, and it’s as if I can see her rifling through her memories. As if she’s got a photo gallery of her ex up there in her head, his image memorialized there forever. Whatever happened at the end—or even in the middle—her marriage wasn’t all bad. She has good memories, too. Memories starring Roddy and not me.

“We’re over,” she says.

“When we got married,” Roddy says slowly, not moving from his spot on the couch, “you made me promises. You promised me love and you promised me forever. I screwed up, and I’ll own that.”

I must have made a sound—bet it was a fucking snort—because both of them whip around and stare at me. Roddy is the first to speak.

“Excuse me,” he says finally, meeting my gaze head-on for the first time since he realized I was half-naked and all Marlee’s.

I settle for giving him the death stare. Marlee’s got her back to me—she can’t see my face now. “Vann.”

He makes a production out of saying my name, as if he’s already forgotten it. He thinks he can screw with my head, but I’m a trained professional. I let him see the knowledge in my eyes, the desire I feel for Marlee. We’ve slept together. I’ve been balls-deep inside her. She was mine as recently as this morning—and the Rodster has nothing. Squat. Shit.

And then the fucker makes the mistake of looking Marlee over. Not her eyes or her gorgeous face. Nope. He stares at her tits, her belly, lower… and makes it perfectly, silently clear that if I’ve been Marlee’s most recent, he’s been her most.
Goddamn it.
Does she make that hoarse, needy groan for him, squeezing
his
dick right before she comes her head off?

I’m better.

That’s what I have to remember.

“I’d appreciate it if you gave us some space,” Roddy announces, as if accommodating his desire to be alone with my girl is the most reasonable request ever.

Which is why there’s no way in hell I’m moving. Marlee kicked him out once—I’ll handle things for her this second time around. Plus, we’re having a baby together and that definitely counts for something.

“Don’t particularly see the need.” Maybe Marlee and I can feed his blooms to the trash compactor together as one of those couple-bonding activities women’s magazines are always talking about. And yes—I’ve read those. Guy’s gotta look at something when he’s waiting for the dentist, and it’s priceless intel. Kinda like getting handed a combination to do and wishlist.

I got to hand it to Roddy, though—he’s no longer a quitter. He tries again.

“Because I want to discuss our relationship with my wife.”

I meet his death glare with one of my own.

“Ex.” Those two letters make all the difference in the world.

“Vann.” Marlee twists in her seat, staring at me with an expression I can’t read.

Wingman.

Wingman.

Wingman.

The fuckster takes this opportunity to reach over and grab her hands again. This time, she lets him. “I want us to get back together,” he announces.

Rewind.

I. Don’t. Think. So. “You took your shot. It’s over.”

Pretty sure that’s what the word
divorced
means—and it’s the explanation and see-you-later that should be coming out of Marlee’s mouth. Except she sort of freezes, staring down at their hands, and Roddy seizes his chance.

“I’d really like for us to get back together,” he repeats softly. Clearly, he’s decided to pretend that I’m not present—and that Marlee and I haven’t just spent the night together.

I’m about to remind him that I’m still present, when she slays me with a single word.

“Why?” I’m not thrilled that Marlee’s apparently settling in for a fucking heart-to-heart with her ex. He had his shot. He screwed it up. I don’t care that he’s driven out here from Nevada or that he stopped to pick up flowers. That doesn’t cancel out the years he spent ignoring Marlee and freezing her out. See? I may not be the king of chitchat, but I know how to listen. So why does she sound… so fucking wistful? Why is she even listening to
him
?

I only have so much time before Marlee’s pregnant and our deal is over. I certainly don’t want to share any of it with her ex-husband. Even if I had until now and the end of the world, it wouldn’t be enough and I still wouldn’t be in a sharing mood. She’s the last cookie in the package, the one cold beer in the fridge, the blankets on the bed. In one word:
mine
.

And I’m her wingman.

I have to look out for her.

“I love you,” Roddy trumpets as if there’s a private tune playing in his head, one accompanied by a brass band and clashing cymbals. And then he leans in and kisses Marlee right there in front of me.

It’s a sweet, reverent kiss. I try telling myself it’s the kind of kiss you give your eighty-year-old aunt. But, yeah. That’s bullshit. Marlee’s ex is just getting warmed up, and maybe he’s not as stupid as I thought, because he’s giving her something I can’t. Feelings. Emotions. Genuine caring radiates off him and he just might be offering a future, too. I can’t fix this, can’t MacGyver it. I mean, I could shoot the guy—a dozen different ways of killing him come to mind—but that’s not the fix Marlee needs. She needs her family, her team, her unit.

So what if she makes my life better, too? Roddy may be a fixer-upper—but I’m a fucking teardown. I’m the hunting cabin in the woods where the roof and the floor are inches apart and the whole shithole’s covered in vines.

Her hands come up. She gently pushes him away, but is that what’s right for her? She needs time without my watching like the fucking peanut gallery. She needs the space to think this over and choose what’s best for her.
Wingman.
So before she can say anything, I do the best thing I can.

I leave.

I take my barefoot, broken-down, broken-hearted wingman self right through the wide-open front door and out of Marlee’s life.