Page 33 of Hot SEAL, Under Pressure

ChapterThirteen

San Clemente Island. Stefan had been there before. He’d never forget the place.

Part of California’s Channel Islands, San Clemente was owned by the US Navy and administered by Naval Base Coronado, so it was used for tactical training and testing.

Stefan wouldn’t say he had good memories of his time here on ‘the rock’, but he’d never forget the torturous time he spent here during BUD/S.

And now, surreally, he was back here again for this bull shit show for a different kind of torture. The kind that came with twenty-four/seven cameras up his ass. And a cute but clueless teammate.

He stared at Shelly now as she dragged her gear off to the brush.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Picking a spot to camp,” she huffed.

“In the brush?”

“Yes. It’s out of the way. So it’ll be more quiet and private.”

“Yup. Just the kind of conditions wildlife prefers when it slithers or creeps into some tourist’s tent,” he commented.

She stopped dead and she dumped everything she held onto the ground.

“Where should I set up?” she asked, the frustration clear in her tone.

That wasn’t encouraging. They’d arrived five minutes ago and she was already unhappy.

Biting his tongue when he really wanted to tell her and everyone else there what he thought of this game they’d set up, he pointed to the open area of sand where he’d dropped the gear he’d been assigned by the crew. “Right here. Next to mine.”

“Fine,” she huffed and dragged her stuff toward his.

She had nothing to complain about. He was there, wasn’t he? And she probably didn’t realize it, but she was damn lucky he was keeping his language mostly clean for the cameras.

Hell, he’d even sat down and talked about himself while staring into a camera lens like an idiot when she’d sent a crew to his barracks last night for her stupid introduction episode.

This was him being nice. She should probably be more appreciative and less annoyed. Although she was likely more annoyed with the gear than with him.

Speaking of the gear…

“Do we know what they packed for us?” he asked, eying what looked like a tent, a sleeping bag and not much more.

“Nope.”

He glanced up at her. “I thought you planned this.”

“I did. The episodes and the challenges. And I saw the website and the social media plan. But this—” She swept a gaze around them. It looked like a sporting goods store had exploded. “This is a different department.”

“Great.” He bent to unzip a bag he’d carried that had made an intriguing clanging sound as he’d dropped it.

Time to see what they were in for.

He pulled out a camp stove, a pot, a tin plate and cup and a spoon and glanced up at her. “We have to cook?”

She nodded. “Every meal while we’re here except for tonight’s.”

“You know, there’s a perfectly good chow hall here that they use during trainings. Beds and toilets and showers too.” He hooked a thumb toward the other part of the island as he realized the one thing he hadn’t spotted in the bag was a roll of toilet paper.

“Survivor,” she huffed out while dragging her folded tent open.

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