Page 52 of Loving a Warrior

When Matt’s phone rang early Saturday evening, he was elbow-deep in formulas and frustration. He grabbed to answer it, not even looking at the screen first.

“Hey,” he said distractedly.

“What’s up, Soup?”

Matt’s heart gave a gigantic leap as Shane’s voice rasped in his ear. “Well, I’m pretty much on the verge of stabbing myself in the eye.”

“Why’s that?” Shane sounded drowsy, relaxed, like he was lying in bed.

As Matt told him about the physics test, inspiration struck. “I don’t suppose you’re a math whiz or anything, are you?” he asked, his soaring hopes dashed when Shane scoffed.

“Fuck, no. I barely squeaked through it in college.”

“Shit.” Matt slumped in his chair. “Me and Trey’ve been trying to help each other out, but it’s Clueless City over here.”

“I wouldn’t be much help either, sorry. You want me to let you go?”

“Nah, it’s okay. Trey ran out to grab us a pizza, so I have a few minutes. How was your week?” Matt put his feet up on the table and tilted his chair back.

Shane gave a tired sigh. “Interesting. I’ve been helping to out-process guys who are DORing. I gotta tell you, watching some of these guys ring out is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. They’re crying, ashamed, reluctant to do it, but it’s fucking tradition so they have to.”

“That sucks,” Matt said quietly, thinking of being forced to make such a tangible admission of failure. “I’d rather do flutter kicks all day in the surf than watch that.”

“Me, too.”

A brief silence fell, and then, hoping to lighten the mood, Matt asked, “How’s your new car?”

“Oh, dude, it’s so fuckin’ badass! It’s this black Dodge Charger. Used, but in really great shape. I took her out on the freeway this morning, cranked the windows down and let ’er fly.”

Mmm. The image of sexy Shane in his mirrored sunglasses, elbow propped on the window frame of his badass car while he nodded his head along to the throbbing beat of some hard rock music sent a bolt of desire shooting through him.

He scoffed to cover it up. “Hot guy in a fast muscle car, what a cliché. Next thing I know you’ll be swaggering around going, ‘I feel the need…the need for speed.’”

Shane let out a grunt. “Oh, I’ve been catching it from the instructor cadre, believe me. They call me Beefcake, and yesterday someone brought in one of those shirtless-man calendars and hung it on the bulletin board. Glued a picture of my face over Mr. October!” His tone rang with indignation, and Matt could clearly picture the thunderous scowl that must be on his face. He’d love to kiss it away…

“Hahahaha. That nickname’s gonna follow you all the way to the teams. You know that, right?”

“Awww, shit.”

He sounded so forlorn that Matt took pity on him and related what Uncle Rick had said about nicknames. “It means they like you, man. Cheer up.”

“Hmmm.” Shane paused. “That’s really interesting. Makes me wonder…”

Shane didn’t go on, so Matt said impatiently, “Wonder what?”

“If that’s why you call me a clown.”

Matt froze, his knuckles tightening on the phone. Busted, but no fucking way was he gonna admit that.

“Is it because you like me, Matt? Huh?” Shane’s voice was low, filled with a teasing amusement. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Nah.” Matt was proud of how offhand he sounded. “’Cause it’s not a nickname, it’s a statement of fact. Not the same thing.”

“Sure, okay.” Shane chuckled before giving a little groaning sigh, like he was arching his back in a stretch. “So. You wanna come over?”

Matt gulped, his belly tightening. “Can you help me with math?” he forced out, pressing the heel of his hand between his legs to try and calm his aching dick.

“Nope.”