Kowalski’s voice cut through. “Break!”
Hudson rolled off. He looked anywhere but at Shaw as he scrambled to his feet.
The second time around Shaw had him face down on the mat in seconds. Third time he came in fast again, closed the distance without warning and caught Hudson off guard, driving him back a step. Hudson recovered, barely, and countered with a palm strike to Shaw’s sternum. It would’ve worked on almost anyone else, but Shaw anticipated it and twisted Hudson’s arm enough to force him down.
Hitting the mat with a surprised grunt, Hudson stared up at the ceiling. Kowalski called it. “Match.”
Shaw offered Hudson a hand.
His palm was slick with sweat, rough with calluses, grip firm as he pulled Hudson up. Shaw's forearm flexed under his long-sleeved shirt, and for a second they were close—too close—their hands still locked together.
Hudson should let go. Shaw should let go. But neither of them did.
Their grip lingered, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for heat to prickle Hudson’s cheeks.
Loosening his fingers, Shaw let his hand fall away.
Hudson met his eyes one last time. Shaw’s expression was neutral—but there was something else there too, something tight he was working to lock back down.
“Good fight,” Hudson said, a little hoarse.
Shaw nodded. “Yes. Good fight.”
Then they stepped off the mat in opposite directions.
Rolling his shoulders, Hudson was already cataloguing what he’d do differently next time. His body still vibrated, blood running hot.
Just adrenaline from the fight. Had to be.
CHAPTER SIX
HUDSON
The recon assignmentshould have been serious. Observe and report on simulated enemy movements and document tactical positions without being detected. Standard surveillance exercise that would factor into their final rankings.
Hudson and Reed gave it their absolute professional best. Hudson pressed his face into the dirt to muffle his laughter. Reed's shoulders shook beside him.
"I'm just saying," Reed whispered from his position three feet to Hudson's left, both of them belly-down in the underbrush monitoring the clearing below, "if you're hooking up with a girl and she has a cat, you gotta pretend to like the cat."
Hudson turned his head slowly to stare at Reed. "But it was one of those weird hairless ones that looks like raw chicken."
"Still, man. Gotta pretend to be into it. For the sake of your sex life.”
Hudson bit back a laugh. "Right. Good advice. I’ll make sure to remember that.”
Three hours documenting enemy movements, and somehow they'd ended up discussing previous dating disasters instead. Reed was the best partner for shit like this. Made the boring stuff bearable.
"Okay, but seriously," Reed continued, adjusting his binoculars, "the cat thing is real. Girls love when you pay attention to their pets. It's like... I don't know, shows you're paternal and shit. Baby-daddy material."
"You get all this wisdom from dating Sarah?"
"Nah, I figured this out way before Sarah. Trial and error, man. Lots of error." Reed paused. "Wait, hold up. Phone Guy is taking a fucking selfie."
One of the “enemies” had been on his phone for the last hour, doom-scrolling.
"No."
"I shit you not. He's literally taking a selfie right now."
