Page 8 of A Spark of Luck
Now, they were getting a break to check their gear, resupply, and clean up. Minus meeting Doc Michaels, this deployment stayed stuck in his craw, an unusual circumstance for him. Did this sexual attraction to Doc trigger this constant irritation at the missions, his leg, and the food? Or did he need a break from Doogie’s nagging and the guys’ antics? He couldn’t be sure which one or whether it was both. When you lived in each other’s pockets, determining honest friction from job fatigue stayed a challenge. Cait threw a kink in his routine, in his internal dialogue, in his habits.
The minute he joined the Navy, he’d developed a need for good coffee and a good breakfast. He’d never had an attraction to a woman that he couldn’t walk away from. Why this time was different when nothing happened was scraping his last nerve.
The knock on his quarters told him it was time to quit dwelling and get his ass out of bed. He shifted his legs off the bunk and pulled on his fatigue pants. “Come,” he yelled.
Doogie entered and closed the door.
Hunt eyed the man. “Up early or didn’t sleep?”
The man made a rude noise in his throat.
“I never sleep here. I’ll get a combat nap later.”
“What’s up?”
Doogie shifted to the single chair in the room and sat. “That’s what I was going to ask you. You’re preoccupied.”
He bit back a denial and reached for his t-shirt. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“Don’t blame the job, man. You shut down after your stitches. What is it?”
Hunt sat on the edge of the bed and fitted his socks and stomped into his boots before he could even try to answer. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”
“Dr. Michaels. It’s her, right?”
Hunt grabbed his watch and kept his silence.
“Life is short. Grab the highlights while you can.” Doogie stayed focused on his face.
He was too tired and too frustrated to try to cover. “Look, there might be a spark there, but . . .”
“But, what? She’s smart and sassy, and the tension off the two of you was a ten. Get her in bed.”
“There’s women you hustle into bed and then there’s ones who might be more.” Where that bit of wisdom came from Hunt did not know. It wasn’t his philosophy.
“Might be more? You’ve hardly talked to her, and I’ve never seen you hustle a woman into bed in your life. Maybe it’s time.”
“You’re keeping track?”
Doogie huffed. “No, but I know you keep yourself on a tight leash around alcohol and women. A war zone is not the place to break that pattern.”
“I know that.” But he still had a feeling in his gut that left him teetering on an edge. If he let this go, would he be sorry?
He had no frame of reference for deciding on that, and he didn’t make any moves in his life without having a full picture and a commitment to a course of action.
“Fastest way to find out is to talk to her, see what she thinks.” Doogie stood and grinned. “Look at us. Talking about girls like we were in high school.”
Hunt growled, irritation riding him to an edge. “I’m not now nor have I ever participated in a conversation about girls.”
Doogie went to the door. “Women then. I’m not the one to give advice, but I think if you feel strongly about her, you should test it.”
SEALs kept a low profile when they were in country, and dividing his focus with a woman wouldn’t age well. On the other hand, the sparks between them hit an unusual mark. He wasn’t going to try to coax her into bed and be done. He had to come up with a way to make a connection last. Because he cared. He’d done nothing butthink about her for days. Doogie was right – he was distracted. It was time to quit dancing around that fact and figure out how to approach her.
Something he’d never done in his life. Flexible, adaptable, innovative, intelligent – that’s what his instructors had to say about his abilities and his skill as a leader. But in this, he might need a manual or a romance novel to figure out what next. Because he planned to jump in the deep end and see if he would sink or swim.
Chapter Four
Cait shifted on her narrow, hard bed, eyes on the gray ceiling, and contemplated life, in general and hers specifically. Wrinkled and stained, her green scrub pants needed to be shed immediately. Instead, she collapsed onto her bed as soon as she shut and locked the door. Privacy was a need not a want. She had managed to dump her boots and her scrubs top, but barely.
