THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,377

will land somewhere in the middle of good and bad and you’re left feeling relieved in the end. I deployed the tactic because she was hesitant to come, and I need my best friend tonight. Surrounded by a peer group who is supposed to see me as equal, but despite my best efforts, and I do mean best, they can’t get past my gender. I lock my arm in Marissa’s. I’m wearing a black pants jumper. It’s casual, but dressy. God knows what comments I’d get if I put on a dress like I initially wanted. “That was a purposeful ruse. It’s pretty harmless as a long-standing establishment. I needed you mostly as a Team guy buffer.”

Marissa makes an ungodly noise of disapproval. “You are a fucking Team Guy, Aara. Man up.”

Part of me knows she’s right. In for a penny, in for a pound. I see a familiar face outside in the ivy-covered patio area. I say face, because nothing else is familiar. Seeing each other in civilian clothing has been a rarity throughout training. I swallow hard. “Listen, I’m manning up,” I say, releasing her arm. It’s hard to explain that this is different. My training has prepared me to climb the physicality mountain and become a Navy SEAL. Actually being able to relate to them? Becoming part of the brotherhood? Yeah, there’s no instruction manual for that.

They’re loud and raucous, beer steins in hands as they linger by a tall gas heater. “Hoffer,” I say, forgetting his first name. He turns from his conversation and looks at me. It’s obvious he doesn’t recognize me at first, no one does. Their eyes raking my body in a way that definitely hasn’t happened before. “Hey guys,” I say tilting my chin to the other guys.

“Dempsey. Are you under there?” Sanders says, smarmy smile flashing.

I roll my eyes. “What are you guys drinking? Next round is on me.”

They are all drinking the same gross beer so it’s easy to remember. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend? Unexpected Teammate bene,” Hoffer teases.

My best friend steps up to the plate, extending her hand. “It’s Marissa and I’m not a benefit. I’m a hindrance. Her best friend.” She nods her head to the side, and continues on. “A leech who hangs around to make sure she stays in good company.”

“We are fantastic company. Trust us. We won’t let anything happen to her.” Sanders says, putting his arm around my shoulder, an awkward move, that he releases quickly. He clears his throat, then apologizes. “Didn’t mean to touch you. It was completely platonic and I meant no disrespect.”

Hoffer laughs. “Dempsey is like Midas. No one touch her or your life will explode!”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Listen, guys. Treat me like you’d treat…your sister, if she was a Teammate.” This conversation needs to happen because the rules are so stringent that they’ll prohibit bonding of any kind if we don’t find a middle ground. The bonding is crucial for a SEAL Team. “I mean, maybe not a sister. A best friend?”

“I fucked my only friend that was a girl,” Hoffer admits.

Looking to the side, I try to think. “Okay, maybe not a friend then.” Marissa groans, and asks what I want to drink. I give her my card, and the large order of beers and she disappears into the crowd gathering in the outside area. “What about if you treat me like a girly…man?”

Everyone laughs loudly and it makes me smile. Progress. “If you say so. Is your dad stopping in tonight?” Sanders says, gaze lighting on the entrance that’s visible from outside.

I shake my head. “I thought it best if there were only one Dempsey in the room. I wanted to hang out with you guys without worrying he was threatening your life.”

The demeanor of the group changes and the nervous energy is palpable. Bad joke, I think to myself. “Team Five guys,” Hoffer deadpans. I don’t have time to worry because a waitress brings a tray of beer mugs with Marissa tagging behind, a drink in both hands. She forces a beer mug to me, knowing to order me what the guys were drinking. I thank her with my eyes as Sanders proposes a toast. I raise my mug, going on my tiptoes. “To leaning into the impossible,” I say, clinking and spilling some foam.

“To achieving the impossible,” someone else growls.

“To being professional badasses,” Hoffer adds.

“To America,” Sanders says.

I drink a few swallows and try not to