Page 34 of Down and Dirty

“Huh? He has different hair color,” he pointed out.

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s the spitting image of you. Pretty.”

So many people called him Pretty Boy, he no longer considered it a compliment. But he kinda liked Britta thinking he was pretty. Sammy, on the other hand, could be heard sputtering his outrage in the backseat. The last thing he wanted was to look like his father. Or pretty.

“Where are you taking me?” Britta asked as he pulled out.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“That’s what you said that time when you showed me tongue kissing.”

He laughed and heard laughter behind him, too, and one “Yeech!”

“Well, not as good a surprise as that.” He turned to smile at her before returning his attention to the road.

“Dolt!” she muttered.

Britta had to be terrified over this first ride in a car, but she never showed it as they cruised out of the base and toward the Coronado Bay Bridge. Her knuckles were white where she held on to her knees, but brave girl that she was, she never let out a peep.

The Bay Bridge had a high arch in the middle to allow for oceangoing vessels to pass through. When a tugboat let loose with a loud foghorn under them, Britta jumped as far as her seat belt would allow and muttered what must be a Norse curse, something about Thor’s bloody toenails.

Out of the relative quiet, Sammy said, “Scaredy cat!” As if he hadn’t practically peed his pants the first time he’d heard it. Then Sammy remarked to Britta’s back, “You sure are big.”

Uh-oh!

Britta turned slightly to look back at Sammy.

“Are those boobs for real?”

A stunned silence met his question. Where did the kid learn this stuff? Well, some of it came from the mercenaries that had lived in the rebel camps in Afghanistan. But some of it had to come from TV or Zach’s buddies or, okay, himself. He had to be more careful.

Even Cage and JAM had no smart remark to make, or none they were about to speak aloud, and Britta probably didn’t even know what he meant.

She soon proved him wrong.

“Dost know what they do with boylings in my country who misbehave?”

Sammy raised his chin defiantly.

“We boil them in oil.”

Sammy’s chin dropped, and for once he didn’t have a quick comeback.

“I think you should apologize, Sammy,” Zach said into the rearview mirror.

After a moment, to Zach’s surprise, Sammy murmured, “Sorry.”

Zach turned on the radio. He wouldn’t be able to carry on much of a conversation with Britta, but then she wouldn’t be able to hear Sammy’s crude remarks.

Britta remained quiet on the half-hour ride while he pointed out various landmarks. And the country music station told her all about cheating hearts, low-down men, and redneck women.

Soon they pulled into the driveway of Mac and Madrene’s modest oceanfront cottage. There were a half dozen other cars around, indicating the party was already in full swing.

He got out, then walked around to help Britta, who was struggling with her seat belt, complaining about being a prisoner. Since it was a two-door, the guys had to wait till they were out first to emerge.