She was first jump on this load, and Jim would be right behind her. If he needed a little juice, she’d supply it.

“Kick her ass, more like. It’s the first real bitch we’ve jumped in a week.” She gave him an easy elbow jab. “Weren’t you the one who kept saying the season was done?”

He tapped those busy fingers on his thighs to some inner rhythm. “Nah, that was Matt,” he insisted, grin still wide as he deflected the claim onto his brother.

“That’s what you get with a couple Nebraska farm boys. Don’t you have a hot date tomorrow night?”

“My dates are always hot.”

She couldn’t argue, as she’d seen Jim snag women like rainbow trout anytime the unit had pulled a night off to kick it up in town. He’d hit on her, she remembered, about two short seconds after he’d arrived on base. Still, he’d been good-natured about her shutdown. She’d implemented a firm policy against dating within the unit.

Otherwise, she might’ve been tempted. He had that open, innocent face offset by the quick grin, and the gleam in the eye. For fun, she thought, for a careless pop of the cork out of the lust bottle. For serious—even if she’d been looking for serious—he’d never do the trick. Though they were the same age, he was just too young, too fresh off the farm—and maybe just a little too sweet under the thin layer of green that hadn’t burned off quite yet.

“Which girl’s going to bed sad and lonely if you’re still dancing with the dragon?” she asked him.

“Lucille.”

“That’s the little one—with the giggle.”

His fingers tapped, tapped, tapped on his knee. “She does more than giggle.”

“You’re a dog, Romeo.”

He tipped back his head, let out a series of sharp barks that made her laugh.

“Make sure Dolly doesn’t find out you’re out howling,” she commented. She knew—everyone knew—he’d been banging one of the base cooks like a drum all season.