Page 34 of Loving a Warrior

Matt turned back with one eyebrow raised. “If you think one night’ll be enough, come find me after graduation.”

His voice was low, slightly teasing, a combination Shane hadn’t heard from him before. He wanted to hear it again, preferably while Matt was flat on his back in Shane’s bed. Shane let out a tortured groan, staring after him as his taillights disappeared around the corner.

* * *

“Get wet, people.”

It was full dark at 0500 the next morning, and a stiff wind was blowing off the Pacific, but they were still expected to dive into a boat filled with ice water. Shane could feel his balls crawling back up into his body in anticipation of the shock.

Up ahead of him, Matt emerged from the slurry, shaking his head like a wet dog as he ran to form up on the grinder with the other human icicles.

Everything we do in training has a purpose.

Yeah, right. This seemed like pure torture, hazing at its finest. What other reason could there be for making men fresh from their beds dunk themselves in an ice water bath? Finally it was Shane’s turn. Steeling himself, he dove into one end of the rubber boat and swam beneath the cross tubes to the other end, the cold almost stopping his heart.

Maybe it’s to make us actually look forward to PT.

Shane couldn’t wait to get the order to drop, or do flutter kicks, or pull-ups because at least he’d get warm…er. He’d get warmer. Since training began, he didn’t think he’d ever been truly warm.

“Into the classroom, gents!”

What? No PT? Freezing cold and feeling pretty damn sorry for himself, Shane sloshed with the others into the classroom, where a ceiling fan lazily turned, blowing air down on all the shivering bodies.

“Take your seats.”

These days there were plenty of seats to go around since they’d lost so many men. In fact, Shane could see one of the younger guys peel off to head toward the admin office—and the bell—instead of following his teammates to their desks.

At this moment, I don’t blame you, pal.

“Okay, people, let’s take some notes.”

For the next hour, Bernson lectured them on the fine art of surf observation. A few of the guys were having trouble holding their pencils steady, they were shivering so hard, and Shane could swear he heard their teeth chattering from across the room. That asshole Bernson poured himself a mug of steaming hot coffee and sipped it right in front of them as he turned the floor over to Chief Howe, a tall guy with weathered skin and salt-and-pepper hair.

“Gonna talk to you guys for a few minutes about hydrographic reconnaissance,” Howe said, “then we’ll head to the bay to do some practicals after chow.”

Shane flipped to a fresh piece of notebook paper, his gaze drifting to Matt, seated a few rows ahead. As he’d done a million times already, he relived their almost-kiss—the way he’d felt against him, the sound of his soft moan.

If only Matt would quit being so stubborn and admit how perfect it could be, how fucking convenient. They’d work their asses off during the week, then have weekends full of hot, stress-relieving sex to look forward to. Best of all, there’d be none of the messiness that came with the usual expectations. When BUD/S ended, they’d say goodbye and trot off to their respective teams, no one the wiser.

“All right. Quiz time!” Howe barked. “You can use your notes. Those who took notes, that is.” He pinned Shane with a gimlet stare.

Oh, shit.

Shane looked down at his blank notebook page. He’d been so busy thinking about Matt, he hadn’t written a single word.

“On your feet, Hovland.”

“Hooyah!” Shane surged to standing, bracing himself for the blast, which wasn’t long in coming.

“You know everything there is to know about hydro recon, do you?”

“Negative!”

“Oh? You think you’re too good to take notes during my class, then?”

“Negative, Chief!”

Chief Howe clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace, putting on a show of bewilderment. Shane’s knees were shaking, and he fought not to let it show. His classmates all had their heads down, trying to stay invisible.