with light green tie, tucked himself close to Garrett's woman's side.
"That suit?" He snorted a laugh, already dismissing the older male as no threat. "I could take him out, drunk with both my hands broke. Besides, women everywhere love their military men. We're SEALs, man." He clapped his buddy on the shoulder. "Women have a thing for SEALs."
"Might be true, bud, but some ladies aren't too much for the blood shed. They actually like men who know something about wine, art, and shit like that. What the fuck are you going to talk to her about? The twenty ways to use C-4 when exploding an enemy camp? How to field strip a 9mm?"
"Those are damn important things to know," Jagger objected more from habit than passion. "They'll save your life more than knowing which fork to use at dinner. Which is probably the only thing pretty boy knows."
A sharp elbow poked his ribs. "Here's your chance to find out one way or another, stud man."
The smile his beauty shot the man at her side went straight to his groin. Shit, if he didn't get his head together, he'd lose the goddess to the three-piece suit. Never mind that Trip would rag Jagger about it for the rest of their lives.
The goddess in the swirling red sundress closed the distance between them. Her head was turned in profile, speaking to the unworthy man at her side. The words flowing out in her husky voice weren't English. Sounded German to him. But his language skills sucked at best. He'd barely made it through his foreign language Navy courses.
The other man smiled down at the woman on his arm, brimming with confidence, secure in his knowledge he had no other competition.
Moron , Jagger thought with an inner snort of contempt. If he had this woman in his life, on his arm, he'd never stop looking out for her or the possible dangers to his female.
"You gonna man up or should I start dying your camos a pretty pink?"
"Bastard," Jagger snarled back at his friend good naturally. "She'll be in my bed before the night's out."
"So sure of yourself?"
"There's nothing women love more than honoring a military man."
"Care to wager on that?"
"Nope." Jagger shook his head. "My mama taught me to never bet on women, horses, or honest politicians."
"Keep your money then, Jagger. I'd rather have the lady anyway."
"In your dreams, brother man."
"You'd know nothing about my dreams."
The woman stopped a few feet away from him, a harassed look crossing her pretty face. The pompous man at her side whispered fast and low in her ear, but she was only paying him half her attention.
In English, she replied flatly, "Really, Herr Hitzig, I assure you, I'll be fine. As much as I enjoyed our conversation on the plane, I really need to go."
She tugged on her arm, but the German refused to budge. The thick mustache above his lip twitching as he responded in rapid German while a red flush of anger or desire mottled his face.
"Ma'am?" Jagger interrupted their little gabfest when he noticed the man's hand tightening around her silky upper arm.
"Tyler?" A soft husky feminine voice disrupted his mental smack down of her unworthy suitor. "Tyler Jaggerstein?"
His head jerked up at the sound of his name on such luscious lips and all the moisture evaporated in his mouth. The goddess was talking to him? "Um...yeah? I mean…yes ma'am."
Oh, and wasn't he brilliant. Couldn't tell the Navy spent over a million dollars educating and training him. Sure, the majority of it was learning to blow shit up, shoot people, jump out of planes and other fun things, but they did make his BUD/S class learn the proper etiquette in case of formal events.
The muffled snort coming from slightly behind him had a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. And he thanked his higher power for the desert tan he'd received as a side bennie from their last mission.
"Ty!" A smile worthy of poems, songs, and sonnet's curved her plush glossy lips even as she moved to untangle herself from her persistent suitor. In a move almost to
"That suit?" He snorted a laugh, already dismissing the older male as no threat. "I could take him out, drunk with both my hands broke. Besides, women everywhere love their military men. We're SEALs, man." He clapped his buddy on the shoulder. "Women have a thing for SEALs."
"Might be true, bud, but some ladies aren't too much for the blood shed. They actually like men who know something about wine, art, and shit like that. What the fuck are you going to talk to her about? The twenty ways to use C-4 when exploding an enemy camp? How to field strip a 9mm?"
"Those are damn important things to know," Jagger objected more from habit than passion. "They'll save your life more than knowing which fork to use at dinner. Which is probably the only thing pretty boy knows."
A sharp elbow poked his ribs. "Here's your chance to find out one way or another, stud man."
The smile his beauty shot the man at her side went straight to his groin. Shit, if he didn't get his head together, he'd lose the goddess to the three-piece suit. Never mind that Trip would rag Jagger about it for the rest of their lives.
The goddess in the swirling red sundress closed the distance between them. Her head was turned in profile, speaking to the unworthy man at her side. The words flowing out in her husky voice weren't English. Sounded German to him. But his language skills sucked at best. He'd barely made it through his foreign language Navy courses.
The other man smiled down at the woman on his arm, brimming with confidence, secure in his knowledge he had no other competition.
Moron , Jagger thought with an inner snort of contempt. If he had this woman in his life, on his arm, he'd never stop looking out for her or the possible dangers to his female.
"You gonna man up or should I start dying your camos a pretty pink?"
"Bastard," Jagger snarled back at his friend good naturally. "She'll be in my bed before the night's out."
"So sure of yourself?"
"There's nothing women love more than honoring a military man."
"Care to wager on that?"
"Nope." Jagger shook his head. "My mama taught me to never bet on women, horses, or honest politicians."
"Keep your money then, Jagger. I'd rather have the lady anyway."
"In your dreams, brother man."
"You'd know nothing about my dreams."
The woman stopped a few feet away from him, a harassed look crossing her pretty face. The pompous man at her side whispered fast and low in her ear, but she was only paying him half her attention.
In English, she replied flatly, "Really, Herr Hitzig, I assure you, I'll be fine. As much as I enjoyed our conversation on the plane, I really need to go."
She tugged on her arm, but the German refused to budge. The thick mustache above his lip twitching as he responded in rapid German while a red flush of anger or desire mottled his face.
"Ma'am?" Jagger interrupted their little gabfest when he noticed the man's hand tightening around her silky upper arm.
"Tyler?" A soft husky feminine voice disrupted his mental smack down of her unworthy suitor. "Tyler Jaggerstein?"
His head jerked up at the sound of his name on such luscious lips and all the moisture evaporated in his mouth. The goddess was talking to him? "Um...yeah? I mean…yes ma'am."
Oh, and wasn't he brilliant. Couldn't tell the Navy spent over a million dollars educating and training him. Sure, the majority of it was learning to blow shit up, shoot people, jump out of planes and other fun things, but they did make his BUD/S class learn the proper etiquette in case of formal events.
The muffled snort coming from slightly behind him had a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. And he thanked his higher power for the desert tan he'd received as a side bennie from their last mission.
"Ty!" A smile worthy of poems, songs, and sonnet's curved her plush glossy lips even as she moved to untangle herself from her persistent suitor. In a move almost to
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