“Well,” Jean-Luc said like a petulant child. “What else are we going to call ourselves? It’s a great acronym. I thought all you military types like acronyms?”
“No,” everyone said in unison.
“Will you drop it already?” Marcus said with an eye roll. “Nobody wants to be called HORNET.”
“Oh, hey, that reminds me.” Audrey jumped up from her seat on the lounger beside Gabe. “I made something for everyone.”
Handing him her margarita, she left the room.
“Should I get my swim trunks?” Marcus asked.
Gabe shrugged. He couldn’t begin to guess what she was up to. Last time she told them she had a present at Harvard’s twenty-fourth birthday party last month, she’d bombed them with water balloons.
Gabe heard the door of her workshop off the kitchen open and close. Please, he thought, don’t let her have water balloons again. Or worse, a hose.
All smiles, she came back to the patio with nothing but a box of gray T-shirts and set it on the table.
“I used to draw caricatures for a living so…” She unfolded the first and shook it out. “Here, Jean-Luc, this one’s yours.”
Jean-Luc grinned, yanked off his shirt, and pulled on the one she handed him. Across the shoulders in dark yellow lettering was his nickname, “Ragin’ Cajun.” Underneath that, in smaller lettering: “Hostage Rescue & Negotiation Team.”
No wonder she wanted to know everyone’s nicknames last week. The little sneak. He’d known for weeks she was up to something, but hadn’t been able to figure out what.
“I kind of went with Jean-Luc’s hornet theme,” she explained as she passed the shirts out.
On the front was a cartoony depiction of a beehive surrounded by six hornets sporting the faces of each of the men. Marcus’s hornet wore a fedora and Harvard’s carried a book. Jesse’s wore a stethoscope and cowboy hat. Ian’s carried a bomb with a lit fuse, which made the hardass chuckle when she handed him his shirt. Even Quinn’s lips twitched as he got a load of the camouflage greasepaint and bandolier his hornet wore.
Finally, she returned to Gabe’s side and handed him the last folded shirt. His hornet stood inside the hive with a cane and an air of superiority.
The cane. He looked at it, propped beside the chair. Had she included the damn thing six months ago, he would’ve taken offense. Now—not that he’d admit it aloud—he kind of liked it. He really liked the crown she’d drawn on his hornet’s head. Grinning, he held up the shirt and read the back. Instead of “Stonewall,” the nickname his SEAL teammates had dubbed him so many years ago, it said, “King Bee.”
Gabe caught her hand and drew her down onto his lap for a kiss. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Good.” She returned his kiss. “’Cuz I made myself one that says Queen Bee. Of course, we’ll have to get married to make it official.”
He sputtered. “Married? But—but—I thought living together was enough.”
With an indulgent smile, she patted his cheek. “It was. Now it’s not. I’m flighty like that, so you’d better get me to the altar before I change my mind again.” She gave him another quick kiss on the lips as Raffi strolled over and held out a hand to help her off his lap.
“I’m kidnapping your woman,” Raffi said, “and holding her ransom for some girl talk.”
Gabe pointed at him. “Don’t even joke about that. It’s not funny.”
“Bro, I never joke about girl talk.” With a grin, he looped his arm through Audrey’s and they sidled away, laughing quietly together.
Gabe stared after them with a scowl. She wanted to get married? Okay, yeah, he’d known from the start she did. Someday. But not now. She had to know how much he loved her—he sure showed her as often as he could—so why did she need the rings, and the priest, and the cake, and the license? Couldn’t they just go on like they had been? Why screw with something that wasn’t broken?
“You look like my sister just beaned you upside the head with a two-by-four.”
“She did,” Gabe muttered and rubbed his head. “A whopper of a two-by-four.”
Married?
Bryson grinned and held out a fresh bottle of beer. “Here. I’ve discovered this is the best cure for the headache she causes.”
“Thanks.” He took a swig from the bottle and eyed his possible future brother-in-law. Bryson had aged considerably over the past several months, had lost the little bit of extra weight he’d carried before the hostage situation, and had very little hair left on his head. But stress did that to a guy.