Jagger's Moves by Allie Standifer

Chapter One
    "You've got to be the dumbest SOB alive, Jagger," Trip muttered from his sprawl in the lime green plastic chair. The man might look half-asleep, but Trip would know every marked exit, possible exits and have a memorized the passing individuals while sizing up their threat level.
    Yeah, tell him something he didn't know, but Jagger kept his expression bland as he turned to look at his teammate, BUD/S partner, and best friend, Garrett "Trip" Trippington. "You didn't have to play tag along."
    Tyler Jaggerstein regretted ever mentioning his leave to his mother. Because she just happened to tell her best friend. The same best friend who happened to be the mother of his childhood pen pal. A confusing relationship to be sure, but once the Westlake's moved away, the mothers were determined their children would grow up as friends even if distance separated them.
    Now thanks to the combined efforts of his mother's Catholic guilt and Mrs. Westlake's Jewish passive aggressive double speak, he and his buddy were waiting at the airport.
    "Shit, it's been fifteen years, man." Running a hand through his shaggy sun-bronzed hair Jagger paced the small arrival area in the Key West airport. "What the hell am I doing here wasting my—our—vacation time?"
    Finally lifting his dark head, Trip narrowed his pale blue eyes as the two SEAL’s gazes met. Alpha male to alpha male, knowing neither one would give or cry uncle. "Hell, yes, I did have to play tag a long. The other guys are never going to believe me when I tell them about your little imaginary friend come to life."
    "Trip, man, she's not imaginary. Hell, if she didn't exist, then why did our mothers set me up?" Again, Jagger pulled at the longer-than regulation length of his black hair. He thanked God his job allowed for something other than the buzz and brush most active members of the military suffered with.
    "Cause your mama is tired of her baby boy lookin' like a dumb fuck and this is her way of helping you locate your balls." Pulling the tip of his straw cowboy hat over his eyes, Trip smiled around the toothpick rolling between his teeth.
    "You're a moron," Jagger replied lamely as he lifted his watch for another time check. "She's a real woman, an author of some sort, and she's coming here for something to do with her books. I guess she'll try to pimp her books at that conference we saw the flyers to."
    "Pimp her books? You suck, my friend. What if this chick is actually successful? Maybe she doesn't have to 'pimp' herself anywhere." The lecture came from beneath his buddy's hat without Trip moving once.
    Damn, sometimes jealousy burned hot and bright at the ease the big Texan seemed to take in the world. It didn't matter if they were dropping out of a plane over enemy territory, playing World of Warcraft or driving through rush hour traffic on their way home from the Virginia base. Nothing shook Trip up to the point their C.O. ordered him through a complete physical after their last mission.
    Trip, it seemed, felt three bullets in his body was nothing more than a bump and hadn't bothered to mention the injuries as they bugged out over the Iraq border. Hours after their evac and subsequent debriefing, Jagger went in search of his swim buddy and found him prepped for surgery.
    The fuckin' dumbass, already high on happy juice, mumbled something about not holding back the team then passed out.
    When he blinked those freaky wolf blue eyes open in the recovery room, their C.O. reamed his buddy a new one. Then happily ordered a battery of tests for Trip. Since his 'cough and cup' testing, Trip did his best to play better with the rest of the team. But the Texan still kept to himself too often and way too easily. Something Jagger was having more and more trouble doing as the minutes ticked by on his watch.
    "She reeled you in faster than a bass on a hot Texas summer day," Trip drawled. The heavy sound of the South dragged out his voice even as he kept his head down and arms