He brushed past her, striding away into the darkness. She called after him as he practically ran from her. “Then you’d better get used to the idea of women. We’re coming for you. I’m coming for you, Griffin Caldwell.”

Chapter 3

Griffin was shaken like he hadn’t been shaken in years. Rattled as hell.

He veered away from the instructors’ bunkhouse and kept walking, following the dirt road into the trees. The night and the forest closed in around him, calming him enough that he could breathe semi-normally. This was his native environment where he felt most at home, most in control. Night was the time of the SEAL. They owned the darkness.

Was Sherri right? Were women SEALs inevitable? Worse, was he obsolete?

All SEALs came with an expiration date. Some of those dates were set by bad knees or a bum back or, for some unlucky bastards, by a bullet with their name on it. He generally avoided thinking about the end of his career, not only out of superstition, but also because he couldn’t imagine not being on the teams. What would he do with himself if he wasn’t running ops with his brothers, his hair on fire and balls to the wall?

An empty void was all that came to mind.

Normalcy.

Slow death by boredom.

His stride lengthened as sudden fury ripped through him. No woman, not even one who kissed like Sherri Tate, was chasing him off his team.

He broke into a run, speeding up until he was pumping along in a full-out sprint. Sky-blue eyes chased him. A mysterious, sexy smile taunted him. Even Sherri’s scent, soft and sweet, hounded him.

He ran until his lungs burned and his legs were on fire.

Finally, as the panic receded, his pace slowed. He fell into a walk, winded as hell. Weary, body and soul, he turned around to head back to camp.

A sick feeling in his gut told him Sherri was right about the future of the teams. He either accepted women into his band of brothers, or he was out. Finished.

SEALs were famous for their ability to adapt to any situation…but could he adapt to this? He truly didn’t know if he could or not.

Only one way to find out.

Dammit.

He made it back to the barracks at about the same time the other guys piled into the Quonset hut after their workouts. Kenny opened a cooler where, for the past few hours, a case of beer had been icing.

“Beer?” Ken asked him, holding up a brown longneck.

“Nah.” Griffin’s hangover still clung to the edges of his brain, and a headache jackhammered at his eyeballs. It would have sidelined anyone with a lower pain tolerance than he had. He stretched out on his bed, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Trevor, who bunked beside him, sat down and asked quietly, “You okay?”