His Plus One by Kate Aster

Chapter 2

- GRAYDON -

I’m a mama’s boy.

Not in the conventional ways, I guess. It’s not like I’m any more attached to my mother than most men.

I don’t need her to approve of the women I date or ask her opinions about… well, anything really.

Hell, I rarely manage to even make it home for any of the Big Three holidays, though my job’s really to blame for that.

But growing up in our house, a house with four brothers, someone had to be the one to take Mom’s side. To give her the remote control. To explain the nuances of whatever MMA fight we were watching on TV. To enlighten her about why Mason felt the need to date any woman with legs or why Carson beat the crap out of every class bully during his senior year of high school. And when Colt disappeared, falling asleep with some girl in a treehouse, it fell to me to convince Mom that nothing happened between them. Even though I’m still not quite convinced of that myself.

That’s me. I’m like the ombudsman between us guys and our mom. I’ve never minded. It’s a skill that lends itself well to my career path, as I fully intend to command in SOCOM one day, hopefully with an Admiral’s star on my uniform. Command at that level takes some serious liaison skills.

So I don’t mind the role I play in my family. Even though, when Mason and Freya started planning this wedding, by default I became the one who is delegated the task of dealing with our mom.

Which is a hell of an undertaking, considering Mom would really love to plan this whole destination wedding thing herself, even though all she gets to do as the mother of the groom is plan the rehearsal dinner.

She hates that, out of a seven-day cruise, she has only one responsibility. She likes to be in control, which must have made her life hell raising four sons who went into the military, which literally plucked from my poor mother’s hands any semblance of control she had.

Come to think of it, maybe that’s why she strives for control any chance she gets, because the chances for it are rare with all of us being moved around the planet like pawns in our nation’s constant chess game.

Hell, she’d row the damn boat to Bermuda herself if they let her.

But planning one rehearsal dinner is all she gets—so you can be sure she wants that night to be perfect.

“Do you think Freya will like it? They had salmon as one of the options, but you know your dad loves it and then ends up with an upset stomach for days afterward. I didn’t want him to be tempted. And halibut sounded just as good. I asked Freya and she says anything’s fine, but I want this to be special for her.”

“Freya is an easy keeper mom,” I say, even though I feel like her wedding to my brother has gotten a little out of control.

“True. But I’d still hate to choose the wrong fish. Do you know what her family likes?”

“Mom, I’ve only met Freya twice in my life. I don’t know anything about her family.”

“Do you think I should ask her? I hate to bother her. She’s already got so much on her plate. If she’d just give me a couple other nights to plan…”

“I’m sure just sending her a quick text won’t trouble her too much. Or maybe reach out to Freya’s mom.”

My mom emits a pfft noise. “No. Anytime I text her, the reply I get back makes no sense.”

“Yeah, Freya said her mom got one of those Apple watches last Christmas and hasn’t really figured out the dictation thing yet. Last time I got a text from her mom, she was telling me to chicken early. I ignored it.”

“Check in early. Not chicken,” my mother replies. “You know, do it online before we get to the ship.”

“Oh!” I exclaim, kind of impressed that my mom figured it out.

“So you didn’t check in yet?”

“No. Why would I?” Why would I want to kick off this madness any earlier than I have to? I add in my head.

“Honey, you need to do that. You can even print out your luggage tags from your computer. Look in your email. The cruise line sent a few emails about it. Didn’t you see them?”

I groan. “Yeah, I think I saw something like that.”

“Do it now, Graydon. I don’t want one of my sons holding us up when we arrive.”

Fact is, I’ve been putting off doing the online check-in, longing for the days when my Team used to force me to change my plans last minute. But in this new job, life is decidedly predictable.

Unfortunatelypredictable.

“Okay,” I grumble, saving my mom the trouble of nagging me about it. I walk to my laptop and sort my inbox by sender to check. A string of ignored emails from the cruise line meets my eyes.

“Book your port excursions now,” one reads.

“Now’s the best time to order a drink package,” another email tempts me because I’ll definitely need more than a few drinks on a ship filled with Adlers.

“Today only: Ten percent off spa treatments.” Delete.

“Upgrade your room to a suite for even more fun.”

“Suite Deal: You deserve an upgrade!”

“Last chance to upgrade to a suite.”

“Extended offer! Upgrade today.”

David wasn’t kidding. They really do push the upgrade thing.

Somewhere in the string of emails I manage to fish out the one that gives me the chance to check in online.

“All aboard! Check in early… and skip to the fun!”

Skip to the fun. I suppress a scoff. Yeah, that’s just how I would have put it.

“Found it. I’ll do it right now,” I assure her.

“Good. Be sure to get the wi-fi package too, so that we can all stay in touch easily when we’re at sea.”

Yeah, like that’s what I want to do.

“And I’m doing assigned seating for the rehearsal dinner just so we don’t have total chaos,” she adds.

I chuckle quietly. Mom is always trying to keep things orderly. In a house with four boys, she had a hell of a time at it. “Fine by me.”

“I thought I’d sit you next to one of Freya’s single friends,” she continues. “She has a few of them who sound like they’d be a nice match for you.”

Inwardly, I cringe. “Oh my God, Mom. Are you serious?” I knew I’d be getting this from Freya. I hadn’t anticipated my mom getting in on the action.

“Of course, I’m serious.”

“I don’t like getting set up by my mother.”

“I’m not setting you up at all. It’s all about being a good host. Sarah probably would rather sit next to a single SEAL like you rather than your Uncle Bob anyway. You know how inappropriate he is.”

“Who’s Sarah?”

“Nice girl. Worked at the bookstore with Freya before she moved. Freya said you two would get along well. She knows a few other single women who are coming, but I think Sarah sounds the most promising. But I told Freya’s mom to seat you with Janine for the reception just so she doesn’t feel like she’s the only single person there.”

“Who’s Janine?”

“Freya’s cousin.”

My world is spinning off its axis, but in slow motion. The precious week of leave I’m burning to go on this cruise sounds more painful than when I got a MRSA infection removed from my thigh.

It’s one thing to avoid Freya. But my mom, too?

Just how big is this ship?

My eyes zoom in on a handful of words staring at me on my screen: Upgrade to a suite.

Upgrade.

“…let me know if you upgrade because I might actually go.”

Was Hailey kidding when she said that?

“Mom, you and Freya aren’t going to spend the entire cruise setting me up with women,” I warn her.

“I told you, no one is setting you up. You’re just doing your part to make sure that everyone is having a nice time at your brother’s wedding. You are one of the groomsmen. Isn’t that a responsibility?”

“No. My only responsibility is to get Mason drunk off his ass the night before the wedding. And he already said he’s not up for that, so I’m in the clear.”

“Well, sitting with a woman and having some nice conversation from time to time isn’t much to ask of you.”

The hell it isn’t.

“Mom, I don’t want you to seat me next to anyone. I’m—”

I find myself opening one of the upgrade emails.

Oh, shit. Am I really thinking about doing this?

“You’re what?”

I look at the email, scrolling downward to see photos of suites that might comfortably fit two people who have no interest in each other whatsoever.

Am I really going to say it?

“I’m actually bringing someone,” I blurt.

There are exactly three beats of utter silence until I hear her skeptical tone. “You’re bringing someone?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“You mean, a girl?”

I groan. “No, Mom. A Rottweiler. Of course, a girl. What did you think?”

“You’ve never mentioned anyone.”

“Yeah, well…” I leave it at that rather than confessing that the women I’ve dated haven’t lasted long enough to warrant a conversation with my mother. The last time I came close to that was a few months ago when I dated a woman I met while training for a marathon. I thought we had promise till we crossed the finish line—literally—and discovered we had nothing left to talk about.

“How long have you known her?”

“Years. I met her on a mission way back. She’s a digital forensics analyst. Pretty fucking brilliant actually.”

“Language,” she scolds.

“Sorry. Anyway, she’s coming with me. I thought you should, well, meet her,” I finish, knowing those words will be enough to completely dispel any skepticism from her.

“You actually want me to meet someone you’re dating? My goodness, this must be serious.”

“It’s not serious,” I say quickly. Hell, I don’t even know if I can convince her to go, I feel like adding, but don’t.

“You really should have told me earlier about this.” Her reproachful tone lingers. “It throws off all the seating charts. Does Freya know?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“Well, I’ll call her right now.”

When we end the call, I can practically hear the squeal she emits even though she’s all the way up in Connecticut and I’m in Maryland. It’s that loud. And that predictable.

Shit. I better come up with a good way to sell this to Hailey. I click the link in the upgrade email.

Owner’s suite. Spa suite. Villa suite. Grand suite.

Options abound if you’ve got a credit card handy, apparently.

I pick up my phone and pause a moment, considering. I’ve never actually called her before in my life, which suddenly strikes me as odd since I’ve known her for so long. We’re more the type of friends who text each other—brief messages on happy hour night like “Are you here yet?” or “Stuck in traffic. Save me a barstool.”

My fingers hover for a moment. Phone call or text? Which way wouldn’t reek of desperation?

I decide on a text simply because if I call her, she’ll likely think I butt dialed her. “What sounds better 2 u? Owner’s suite, spa suite, villa suite, or grand suite?” I type in.

Less than a minute passes before I receive a simple “?” in reply.

I guess I have to make it clearer. “U said u’d go w/ me on the cruise if I got a suite,” I tap in, deciding to just go with that assumption rather than asking. Because asking would lead to begging, and I’ve never begged a woman to spend the night with me, let alone seven nights in a row.

To my surprise, my phone rings.

“I never said that,” Hailey barks the moment I say hello.

“Yeah, you did. You said if I upgraded, you might actually go.’”

“There’s a big difference between might actually, and definitely actually.”

She’s right, of course. But if I admit that this early in the conversation, I’ve already lost. “Oh, come on, Hailey. You’ve known me too long to let me suffer through this alone.”

“I have to know someone a lot longer than three years to suffer through a wedding cruise.”

“Four years. You’ve known me four years,” I remind her.

“Three years.”

“Four years,” I insist, wondering why half our conversations include this argument. “And you won’t suffer. It’ll be fun. We’ve deployed together, shared missions. We’re a team.”

“We were never a team,” she corrects. “You’re a SEAL. My team is with the hacker nerds who wait for you back at some remote base.”

“Same team, different jobs,” I insist as I take a screenshot of the biggest suite and text it to her. “How about that one?”

“What one?”

“I just texted you a screenshot. It’s got a separate room where you can sleep and a sofa that turns into a bed for me. You’ll barely know I’m there.”

“I’ll know you’re there when I trip over you to go to the bathroom.”

I realize I need a different tactic. “Think about the selfies, Hailey,” I tempt. “You and me on a pink sand beach. And doing karaoke. Didn’t you say you’ve always wanted to do that? Let’s stick it to Stephen. Son of a bitch deserves it after what he did to you.” I mean every word of it, especially since she didn’t take me up on the offer to deck him.

She pauses just enough for me to dare to hope.

She’ll say no. I prime myself for disappointment. Hailey’s a work friend, and they’re different from other friends. Sure, I trust her, I respect the hell out of her, and her face has been familiar to me for four years.

We’ve eaten lunch every day together these past months, done group happy hours a handful of times. Looked out for each other when we’ve both been in the field. She’s sent me Christmas cards over the years, and I’ve always followed up with a friendly apology for the fact that I never send them.

But we’re not the kind of friends who take a cruise together. Alone. Without Swami, Maya, David and the rest of our eclectic lunch crew.

She’ll never say yes. Dammit.

“It’s not like I want him back, you know.” Her words come out in a rush.

“Of course not. You just want to prove to him that you can do better than him.”

“There’s more to it than…” Her voice trails a moment until she breathes out a pained sigh. “It does get tiring, actually. I’m so sick of taking care of our dog while he goes off someplace with his Barbie du jour.”

“I don’t blame you. Let’s do it, Glasses,” I say, using the nickname I gave her years ago as a sort of reminder that we share a history together—a bond, of sorts.

“I hate sounding so pathetic that I’d even consider doing this.”

“It’s not pathetic. It’s justice.”

“You know, I’m not even the beach type. I burn too easily.”

“I’ll bring a tub of sunscreen. Hell, I’ll even rub it on your back for a selfie that’ll make him unfriend you.”

“It would be fun.” Her voice softens as she says it, and I’ve known her long enough that I can picture her right now, pressing her lips together thoughtfully as her eyes turn to narrow slits behind those glasses.

Hot damn. I have the perfect wedding date—a reliable hacker who wants nothing more from me than a few selfies.

Life is good.

I click on the link and hit “upgrade.”