Page 69 of Loving a Warrior

“Yeah, I get it.” But still, this was work related, and it bugged Shane that Matt had been left out.

Sighing, he checked his phone again. Nothing. Crap. Well, he’d just have to give Matt his own private lesson later. A quiver went through him at the thought. Mmm. That could be fun, lots of fun.

The Friday-night vibe was fun, relaxed, and semi-intoxicated. The yelling coming from the backyard around the cornhole board meant the relative peace probably wouldn’t last for long, though. Shane winced as he glanced around his small living room, thinking maybe he should have removed all his breakables from within reach.

His fridge was overflowing with beer contributions, so Shane grabbed himself a cold one before heading out to the backyard to check on things. A few guys approached him with their field gear, and Shane got to work helping them adjust the harnesses for fit and comfort, explaining the positioning of the equipment that hung from it. Despite the party atmosphere, Shane was gratified when everyone seemed to take the lesson seriously.

At last sprawling out in a lawn chair with his beer, Shane checked his phone again, grimacing when the lock screen showed nothing. I’m sorry, Matt. I should’ve fucking called you myself.

He couldn’t totally blame the guys. Aaron was right—Matt refused every invitation extended to him for after-hours stuff. Pursing his lips, Shane held his beer bottle up to the light to contemplate the golden liquid inside.

Why did Matt always turn them down? Was it just because of the temptation to drink?

Shane took a long swallow of the cold brew and closed his eyes. No, he didn’t think so. It didn’t seem to be social anxiety, and Matt wasn’t a snob. To Shane, he was simply a guy careful about who he gave his friendship and loyalty to. He’d rather have a few good friends than a ton of acquaintances.

Matt’s inner circle. His pack. And someday…his SEAL team. Not a bunch of dudes who could still wash out of training, any one of whom might quit on a moment’s notice. Getting close to them now wouldn’t be Matt’s style.

A sharp nudge to his foot, and Shane opened his eyes, a smile breaking across his face when he saw Matt looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his torso, a black baseball cap on his head. His H gear dangled from his right hand.

“Earth to Shane again,” he said. “What’re you thinking about so intently?”

Shane put his beer down and gave a leisurely stretch. “Oh, you know, just the dynamics of pack animals.”

Crinkling his nose, Matt kicked him in the shin. “You’re weird. You know that?”

All Shane could do was grin stupidly up at him, and Matt rolled his eyes, brandishing his equipment. “So show me how to use this, clown.”

As a former Marine, Shane was intimately familiar with the standard infantry gear that was new to all these sailors. He helped Matt don the harness and adjust the padded shoulder straps, then crouched at his feet.

“Ammo pouches sit here right next to the clasp,” Shane murmured, tracing his fingers lightly along the canvas utility belt riding low on Matt’s hips. “Canteens here. Med pouch in the small of your back.”

Matt gazed down at him, lips parted, breathing slightly rapid. “My combat knife?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Sheath on either your right or left thigh, depending on your dominant hand.” Shane knew Matt was right-handed, so he patted Matt’s left thigh, letting his fingertips linger on firm, denim-covered muscle for just the briefest of instants. “Right here. You want your knife opposite the side you’ll work your rappelling line.”

“Right here?” Matt stroked the place Shane had just touched. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

His heart speeding up, Shane rested his open palm on Matt’s thigh again. “Yep, right here. Got it?”

Matt brushed trembling fingers over Shane’s. “Got it.” Pulling away, he shed his H gear and tossed it on a nearby chair, his T-shirt still slightly rucked up to reveal the dark strip of hair under his navel leading down into the waistband of his jeans. Dragging his eyes away and muttering a curse, Shane got to his feet and strode toward his bedroom, needing a few minutes to get his body under control.

He gasped when Matt, right on his heels, slammed and locked the door behind them, grabbed two fistfuls of Shane’s shirt, and shoved him against the wall. Their mouths sought each other in a clash of lips and teeth, Matt’s tongue hot and eager as he drove it against Shane’s. Shane groaned under the onslaught, dropping his hands to Matt’s ass to pull him up hard against him.

Matt sucked hard on Shane’s lower lip. “Gonna blow you right here. Right now. Need to taste you.” He fumbled with the button of Shane’s jeans, getting it flicked open and just starting to slide the zipper down when a huge crash sounded from the patio.

They froze.

“Hovland!” someone yelled. “Where the hell’s Hov?”

“Jesus fuck!” Shane banged the back of his head against the wall two or three times as Matt dropped his forehead to his shoulder with a tortured groan.

A persistent knocking started up at the bedroom door. “Hov! Aaron made a big mess.” It was amazing how grown men could giggle when drunk, and there was a hell of a lot of giggling and scuffling outside the door. “Hov! Finish taking your shit or whatever and get out here!”

Pulling away from him, Matt laced his fingers behind his neck and blew a breath up at the ceiling. “Go,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I’ll wait to come out till the coast is clear.”

“Fuck,” Shane said again, running the backs of his fingers roughly down Matt’s flushed cheek in apology. He waited until he’d slipped into the bathroom before unlocking the bedroom door and opening it a crack. “Can’t a guy get some goddamn privacy around here?” he snarled into the laughing faces in the hallway.

“Jerk off later,” Trey yelled, unperturbed. “Aaron broke your fucking table!”