Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(18)

“Yes. Rangers.”

Dean gave a low whistle. “That’s, like, elite, right?”

Jas shrugged. He’d thought it was. He’d been really excited to be accepted.

“Were you deployed?”

“Yes,” Jas said, and he couldn’t help how short his tone was. “Iraq.”

“Hey, Dean, have you seen that new movie—”

Dean cut off Samson’s change of topic. “You know, we should put you in touch with the nonprofit Samson and I work for, right, Samson? We help people with Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, head injuries. Trevor’s looking to expand the organization to include veterans. A lot of service people are diagnosed with CTE, too.”

Jas leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know how I could help.”

“Trevor’s looking to consult with some veterans, get an idea as to needs and resources, especially when it comes to mental health. The symptoms no one can see and often slip through the cracks.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a typical vet.” He hadn’t had to rely on the government’s dubious assistance.

He’d had advantages his brothers and sisters hadn’t, even with his discharge, his injury, and the trial that had pitted him against his own man and left him a snitch in the eyes of many of his colleagues. He’d had a job and money and health care and a place to lick his wounds. “I don’t think I can assist anyone.”

Samson cleared his throat. “Dean—”

“Even so—”

“The girl was checking Dean out, you asshole.” Harris dropped down in his seat, cutting Dean off and entirely distracting him.

“Is that so?” Dean preened, and stroked his beard.

“It’s cool. I told her Dean was married and had an adorable baby. Informed her all about how my precious niece was going to be a sushi roll for Halloween.” Harris wiggled his phone. “Got her number.”

“She’s a tootsie roll, not a sushi—oh shit.” Dean stopped. “A sushi roll would be really fucking adorable.”

Jas sipped his soda and relaxed at the banter resuming. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about vets and mental health, a subject he was ill-equipped to handle when he was actively trying to avoid thinking about the time he’d spent in Iraq.

“Anyway,” Dean said, and raised his glass to toast his cousin. “I’m sure you’ll have a great date. Try not to think too much about the fact that she thought I was hotter than you.”

Samson snorted, and Jas couldn’t help but chuckle as Harris’s smug smile vanished. The football player growled. “Fuck.”

JAS GRABBED HIS coat from the passenger seat of his car and clambered out. His personal vehicle was a hybrid. It barely fit his body, but he mostly drove long distances when he left the house, so he preferred to save some gas.

The evening fall air nipped through his lightweight cotton Henley as he walked up the driveway. A dark figure separated from the wide porch of the big house. Jas stilled until the man fell under one of the lights, and then he relaxed. “Richard. Anything going on?”

The blond-haired man shook his head. He’d maintained his high-and-tight haircut, though he hadn’t been in the military for a while. “No, sir. Quiet night.” He hesitated. “Except there is one thing. I was doing a round and Ms. Smith opened the door to her office and yelled at me.”

Ms. Smith was the name the guards used for Katrina. It was a simple way to make sure no one who overheard knew who their client was. “Yelled at you?” That was very unlike Katrina. In all the time Jas had known her, he’d never heard Katrina raise her voice to anyone. She was unfailingly polite to contractors and people on her payroll.

“Yes. She said I scared her, that she couldn’t see who I was.” The boy’s eyes widened. “I swear I didn’t mean to scare her, and the exterior lights were on. But I thought you should know. She seemed calm when I left her.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t reassure Richard. He’d talk to Katrina first, in the morning. “Will you be relieved soon?”

“Yes, sir. John’s arriving in about an hour for the night shift.”

“Excellent. Good night.”

Richard all but saluted him. Jas stopped when he was almost at his cottage and looked over his shoulder. From this angle, he could see the dim light from Katrina’s office spilling out onto the patio. It was late. If he wasn’t her bodyguard, if he was someone . . . else . . . to her, he’d go check on her now.

He wasn’t, though.

He went inside and shut his door firmly. If only he could shut the door on his wayward feelings as easily.

His phone buzzed and he smiled faintly when he saw who it was. He put the phone on speaker and toed off his loafers, depositing them on the shoe organizer next to his front door. “Hello, Mom.”

“Hello, dear. How are you?”

“Fine. Just got home.” He went to his bedroom and tossed his cell on his bed. He pulled his shirt off over his head, placing it neatly in the hamper.

“Where were you?”

“I went out with some friends in L.A.”

His mother paused. He could imagine Tara Kaur sitting in the living room of his parents’ small two-bedroom condo. They lived in a more affordable suburb of the City, but nothing in the Bay Area was affordable for the middle class anymore. The fact that they had a second bedroom was a miracle and a product of tight rent control and a generous landlord.