Page 2 of Wrong Number Right Grumpy Navy SEAL

“Of course.”

I walk in and rely on habits that are now part of my DNA. Scan for exits first. The main entrance is behind me, kitchen corridor at two o’clock, emergency exit past the restrooms at nine. No visible threats, but I’m not ruling it out. Then the crowd. Couples, clusters, a DJ setting up in the corner. Nobody looks panicked. Nobody looks like they sent a string of desperate texts twenty-five minutes ago.

I stand with my back against a wall, with the best sightline I can find, then pull out my phone.

I’m here.

I send it and wait, watching the room to see who reacts.

A woman instantly looks at her phone and I’m moving, crossing the room. Dark hair, pale pink dress, phone gripped in her hand. Her shoulders drop an inch and she looks up, scanning the door, and her eyes land on me.

Up close, the first thing I notice is that despite looking stressed and tense, this woman is a fucking bombshell. She also looks vaguely familiar.

Then I realize why.

Holy shit.

Dahlia Easton.

Jared’s kid sister. Last time I saw her she was seventeen, trying to steal beer from the cooler at Jared’s promotion party. She is not seventeen anymore. She’s filled out in ways that make the pink dress more dangerous than an IED. She has hips, a waist, tits that I absolutely should not be noticing because this is Jared’s sister and she texted me in a panic and I am not the guy who preys on vulnerable women.

My cock twitches against my jeans and I hate myself a little.

“Cole?” She blinks. Confused. “I…that wasn’t… I texted Jared.”

“I’m out of the SEALs and staying with him while I work out what’s next. You got me.” I keep my voice even. “Wrong number. What’s going on?”

Her face cycles rapidly through a bunch of emotions, a blush flooding her cheeks. Then I watch as she clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath. She glances over her shoulder toward the party.

“My boyfriend. Ex. I just found out he’s been cheating on me. For months.” Her voice is flat, controlled, but her hands are shaking. “This is his friend’s engagement party and he’s about to walk in and I cannot be here when he does. I need to leave. I was trying to get Jared to come get me.”

“Where’s your stuff?”

She stares at me for half a second, like she expected more questions. I don’t have questions. I have a mission to take her to safety.

“Just this,” she says, picking up her coat from the booth.

I take it from her and hold it open. She turns, sliding her arms in. My knuckles brush the back of her neck, and I pretend I don’t feel it light up every nerve in my hand. This is the wrong fucking situation and the wrong fucking woman to lust over right now.

Outside, the air is cool enough that she pulls the coat tighter as we walk to my truck in silence.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask once we’re both in, engine running.

“I live with him. Lived.” She corrects herself, her jaw tightening. “I can’t go back there tonight. I can probably stay with my friend Marisa.”

She calls her friend and explains fast, talking in shortened sentences the way good friends do. That tells me this is a safe person for her to be with.

“Can I stay with you? At least for tonight? I can’t go home, and Cole is at Jared’s place.”

Marisa’s response is immediate and loud enough for me to hear it. ”Girl, that’s not even a question. Get your butt here, and we’ll figure it out.”

Dahlia gives me the address, and I pull out of the lot.

The drive is quiet. Fifteen minutes of dark highway and the low hum of the engine. She’s pressed against the passenger door, arms crossed, staring out the window. I keep my eyes on the road because if I look at the way that dress drapes over her thighs, at the bare skin above her collarbone, at her mouth, I’m going to think things that have no business being in my head right now. She just found out the guy she lives with is a cheating piece of shit. She’s scared and angry and probably running on fumes. The last thing she needs is her brother’s buddy eye-fucking her in a pickup truck.

But a selfish part of me wants to find this Jason guy and punch him into oblivion. Any man who’d willingly hurt Dahlia is a motherfucking moron. It’s not just that she’s my best friend’s sister; she’s fucking gorgeous. And this moron had her. He had Dahlia. And he threw it away on someone else, and there ain’t no excuse that could justify betrayal.

And an uglier part of me wants to drive past Marisa’s, take her somewhere private, peel that coat off her shoulders, and show her exactly what a man does when he’s lucky enough to have a woman like her in his passenger seat.