Irked by the thought, I clear my head. It's been over a year since I've gotten laid. That's all this is.
"Shit," Petr says. "It was worth a try."
"You've seen me combat drive. Not an issue," I reply and start the truck.
"Well … except I'm her ride," he says. "She can't drive my motorcycle. If you don't want her in the truck, I'll take her on the bike she doesn't know I own and will yell at me about."
The last thing I want is her in my truck, but I'd do anything for my guys, even manage Petr's sister for him.
"I'll handle it."
Petr glances at me, surprised. "I'll give the eulogy."
I'm not about to shy away from a little girl half my size who happens to have scared her spec-ops brothers and a former KGB officer shitless. If I can handle the super-alphas on my team, insurgents and the politics of being an officer in today's military, I can handle her.
I close the door to the truck, calm as ever before a mission, and circle the vehicle.
She stops, glaring up at me, hands on hips again. "My brother is not going with you."
"You've got a choice, ma'am," I tell her. "You're welcome to accompany us in silence, or you can walk to the retreat."
"He's not well enough to leave!"
"That's not up for debate."
"But Petr -"
"Not. Up. For. Debate," I repeat more slowly.
Her eyes narrow. "I know he didn't invite you to the retreat." She's referring to the reason I'm in town. After Mikael's death, her family opened up a foundation in his name to help underprivileged children of military families where a parent had been lost. The first annual camp for the kids is kicking off this evening.
"As a matter of fact, he did," I reply. "I'm the keynote speaker giving the initial address and sticking around for the week to help out as a camp counselor."
Her fiery look goes to her brother.
"So, ride with us quietly or walk. Your call." I'm using my calmest command voice, the one I've used to defuse situations between friendlies and restless allies.
"I'm not riding with you."
Normally, I wouldn't care how she got there. But I've got a competitive streak, one she managed to poke awake in the hospital. Our disagreement has elevated to a matter of principal, and I'm going to win this round.
"It's twenty four clicks from here. You aren't walking." Jesus. How did they grow up with her and stay sane? "I'm going to count to five. Have your ass in the truck by the time I'm done, or I'll put you there."