Page 138 of Zorro

The man let out a pleased grunt. “Hell yes.”

Zorro grinned and raised a brow. “Okay, hit me with it.”

Bear didn’t pause. “Horchata. Cinnamon-forward. Limited-run. You drink it in secret because you say it’s cultural heritage, but really? It’s just dessert.”

The table broke into laughter. Gator leaned in, voice thick with Cajun charm. “Try me, cher.”

Bear smiled faintly, eyes still half-lidded, voice as dry as dust. “Swamp Berry Rush. Alligator-themed packaging. One squeeze and it hits you like a Cajun exorcism.”

Izzy didn’t even glance up from peeling her orange. “He drinks it with his plush gator. Name’s Elvis.”

Buck snorted into his beer. “Aww. Does he cuddle it when he takes his nappies?”

Blitz’s voice came immediately from somewhere behind a cooler. “Does Elvis sing lullabies or just hum the national anthem through his one eye?”

Gator, unfazed, drawled with the same proud dignity he used for breaching charges. “He’s armed. He’s loyal. He’s seen some shit.”

Zorro grinned, tipping his bottle toward the fire pit. “He probably outranks half the team.”

Joker muttered into his whiskey, “I’m losing control of my command.”

Izzy leaned forward, the wicked gleam in her eyes belying the soft braid down her back. “It’s programmable.”

Gator groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Babe…that’s classified shit.”

Izzy just smiled, all sugar and threat. “He rotates between ‘Jambalaya on the Bayou’ and ‘The National Anthem.’”

The team lost it.

Even Flint let out a huff that might’ve been a dog laugh.

Bear waited for the chaos to settle. Then he turned his head, calm as dusk, and looked straight at Blitz.

“Hmm. Tough,” Bear murmured. “But I’m going out on a limb here. You rotate between Coca-Cola’s Touchdown Twisty, Field Goal Fizz, Kickoff Cooler, and Zero Sugar Conversion.”

There was a beat of silence.

Bree burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Bear…you’re scary.”

Blitz raised both hands, mock-defensive. “Okay, but I only drink the Conversion on game days. That’s sacred.”

Buck wheezed. “Man’s got a playoff beverage rotation. Lord help us.”

Zorro leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “We need to start putting Bear on recon for emotional patterns. He’ll take down a whole psychological ops division with nothing but a juice box lineup and a vibe.”

Zorro laughed, shaking his head. “Call me fucking impressed, but if you can do the wives…I’ll be very impressed.”

Bear finally cracked a real smile. Before anyone could fire back, Bear tilted his head slightly, eyes tracking each woman in turn like he was calling targets on a range.

“Maritza? Guava nectar. The thick kind. You eat it half-frozen with a spoon when Buck’s deployed. Julia, organic watermelon-mint, glass bottle, no sugar. You forget one in the freezer every single time. Izzy…electrolyte lemon-lime. Room temp. You hate cold drinks unless they burn. Pippa. Sparkling elderflower cordial in a recycled bottle with gold foil and a label that says bespoke.” His eyes ticked toward Helen, and he allowed the faintest smirk. “Helen, Peach Sweet Tea. First sip gets a yeehaw. The rest, you sing ‘Home on the Range.’”

D-Day groaned. Blitz snorted.

“Bree, cold-brew hibiscus concentrate. The kind that’s as pink as a scandalous thong and wakes the devil.” Then, quietest of all, “Everly. Coconut water with cinnamon and a single clove. You say it’s for hydration. But really? It’s control. You never finish it.”

Silence stretched for a beat too long.

Buck finally muttered, “Well shut my fucking mouth.”

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