Page 5 of The Playboy SEAL
We’re sitting on a bench bullshitting. Moose watches Smith run on a treadmill at full speed. That man works harder than all of us in this gym. He’s a fucking beast. With his awesome scars, he’s basically the Godfather of the SEAL Teams.
“What does she look like?” I ask, breaking my gazefrom Smith’s feet pounding rubber. “If you’re passing her off, I bet she’s not my style.”
Tahoe wanders off, mumbling under his breath, a towel slung over his shoulder.
“She’s your style. Trust me,” Moose says, finally meeting my eyes.
“Ah shit, buddy. You fucked her, didn’t you?” I’m not opposed to having sloppy seconds if she’s as hot as he’s insinuating. “A good fuck, or just hot as shit? Either one is fine by me. Sometimes hot as shit is better than a good fuck because I get more ammo for the spank bank.”
“You’re twisted as fuck. You know that, right?” Moose groans.
I stand, turn, and glance at the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
I run my hands through my long, sweaty hair. “Someone has to do the job. Answer my question.” This already seems like too much work. I’m a busy man. The effort must be at the most minimal level if it’s going to work out. I bought a house recently, and fixing it up takes more time than I ever thought I could devote to something that wasn’t my career.
My number one priority will always be my job. Sex is just a necessary evil to keep my head straight. I need it as much as I need water—oxygen. I’m not even embarrassed to admit it anymore. The first step is recognizing you have a problem. The second step is telling yourself it’s not a fucking problem.
Standing, he shakes his head. “She’s both. A solid both.” Moose groans. “I’m already regretting opening my mouth. You make us look bad.”
I could resent that statement, but he’s right. SEALsare known for our philandering ways. We take too many trips. We are away from home too frequently. Cheating on a girlfriend or spouse is too easy. It falls into the excitement category. Some have described it as a thrill—a rush. I think deep down they feel guilty afterward, but they would never let that show. Others call it sex addiction, plain and simple. They love their wives and children, but they require the thrill of the chase as much as I require sex to thrive.
When you understand those facts, I’m one of the good guys. I don’t have anyone at home to hurt. I’m alone. There’s no woman to call or text a million times a day. I don’t check in with anyone. I open an app instead.
“Is that code for she sucks awesome dick?” I flex my bicep. The lighting does awesome things for my muscles. They’re tan and rigid, angles and valleys glistening with perspiration and rippling muscles.
He pushes me, and it breaks my gaze from the mirror.
“Fine. Fine. I promise to be a gentleman. For the first half of the date, anyway. She’s DTF for sure?” I’m surprised Moose has been with a woman like this. Typically he’s known as the good guy. The one who would never slum with a one-night stand.
His eyes widen. “Oh, yeah. She’s DTF,” he replies.
Wow. That fucking good?
“You had a weak moment, bro?” I tease, making my way to the locker room attached to the gym.
I hit the urinal, relieving myself with a long groan. Moose does the same next to me.
He finally responds, “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess I thought trying something new mightbe a good thing. Break up the monotony, you know?”
“Sex is always a good thing.” I make an inappropriate joke that would get me banned in all fifty states, and Moose merely rolls his eyes. I start one of the showerheads and wait until the water turns lukewarm and grab my bottle of soap.
We thought Moose was gay for a long time. He’s probably the best-looking guy on the teams, behind me, of course. He doesn’t sleep around at all, and I think I’ve only seen him date one blond chick like five years ago. His mother set him up with her, and she looked absolutely terrified at the beach party our command throws yearly.
“Do you sleep around a lot?” I ask. Curiosity wins out in the end. Is he a closeted version of myself?
I glance sideways to glimpse his face. He shakes his head, his eyes closed as soap streams down his face.
“You know I don’t. Carina set me up with her friend. Smith was there, and I couldn’t reasonably say no. She owns a yoga studio. Her head is on straight.”
For the moment I squash the image of fucking a woman with her legs bent behind her head in humping dog position in favor of learning more about my friend. “Carina’s friend? So she is most definitely hot as fuck?” Well, sort of learning something about my friend, mostly worried about my prospects.
He cranks the water off. It halts with a groan. “Of course she’s hot. I just told you that. She isn’t looking for anything serious. Her morals line up with yours. She’s serious.”
“Now I see why you couldn’t say no. Alcohol involved?”
He shakes his head as he wraps his towel around his waist. It barely makes it around. “Teala knew what she wanted before she took one sip. And she didn’t want a second date, or even the possibility of more. Trust me, I asked.”
Teala. I like her name. It’s different. I grew up in Florida, so the Caribbean was always where my family would vacation. The teal blue waters quickly became what I associated with my family and being together. I still head down to an island when I run into time off.
