Page 47 of Hot SEAL, Under Pressure

She sighed. “Gabby was born and raised in Hawaii. I assume she can swim pretty good since, you know, she grew up on an island and all.”

He scowled at her completely baseless and snippy reply.

Living on an island had nothing to do with swimming ability. Just as being a SEAL didn’t mean he loved the water. He didn’t.

He’d rather run every day over having to swim. He truly hated both swimming and the ocean. But he did it all and he’d done it well. He just didn’t enjoy it.

But even so his being in the water today for this race would be preferable to Shelly being in there. He’d trade places with her if he could. And he knew not to bother asking because there was no way they’d let him.

If they would let them trade off, the two married SEALs from the other shows who had a relationship with the producers would have already done so.

“Being able to swim and swimming a mile in the surf off this island are very different.” Stefan hoped Shelly didn’t find that out the hard way today.

“Since I’ve got nothing to tell you about them, do you have anything to tell me about how to not lose this race?” she asked.

Or not drown, he mentally added to her question.

It was a delicate dance he did between making sure she understood the very real danger and scaring her so badly she froze up or refused to compete at all.

“Stay far away from the rocks so the surf doesn’t throw you against them. And be careful walking barefoot to the water. Some of these cactus needles will penetrate a boot. If you get cut, the blood will attract sharks.”

Terror widened her eyes.

Okay, maybe that last part had been too much information for her. That was his bad.

He dismissed his prior comment with a wave of his hand, hoping to lessen its effects. “Don’t worry about sharks. They’ll go for the sea lions first.”

She visibly swallowed and started to look a little pale. He decided to keep any further advice to himself.

“Five minutes. Meet up at the rally point. We’re starting the race early.” The kid who acted as Shelly’s assistant had trotted up and delivered that news before scooting away.

Shelly reacted accordingly, her nerves visibly ramping up to danger levels as she watched the kid leave then spun to look at Stefan.

“Good thing we never got around to eating breakfast,” he said for lack of anything else helpful.

Swimming a mile with a full stomach in frigid ocean water was not a good idea. In fact, it was downright dangerous. Cramps were a very real possibility.

Apparently, no one in charge cared about that because the race was about to begin. And during the coldest part of the day when the sun hadn’t had time to warm up the sand or the water yet.

Were these producers masochist or just stupid? He decided to find out.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t wait around to answer the question from Shelly that would no doubt follow his announcement.

He took off running in the direction Jonas had gone. He caught up with the kid easily and grabbed his arm. “Hey. Can I talk to you?”

Jonas glanced around, as if unsure. Like he was looking for someone to ask permission. Finding no one, he said, “Um. I guess. Sure.”

Stefan was firmly in favor of doing what he needed to do and asking forgiveness later rather than taking the time to obtain permission before, so he said, “Why is the race happening this early?”

Jonas audibly swallowed. After what felt like a long moment of hesitation, he said, “I guess it’s okay if I tell you… We got a report of a storm moving in. We have to get the race in before then.”

Even an impending storm would increase the roughness of the surf. He could hear the waves crashing on the beach, on the rocks. Loud. Violent. And these guys were going to throw seven females of questionable experience and skill into the drink with a storm coming in?

“No. Cancel. Postpone. Do the race tomorrow.”

“We can’t change now.”

“Why not?” By all indications the producers were making things up as they went along. They could do whatever the hell they wanted to.

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