Page 88 of Loving a Warrior

“Not to add to your stress or anything here,” Owen began with a smirk, letting Matt know he was dearly hoping to add to his stress, “but you’ve caught the attention of several team master chiefs.”

Matt’s eyes widened as his anxiety level promptly shot through the roof, to Owen’s obvious satisfaction. “I have?”

“Yep. Your recent scores, and who your uncle is, means they’re starting to keep a close eye on you. Just thought you’d like to know.”

With a clap to Matt’s shoulder, Owen headed off to supervise the next shooting pair’s run on the kill house.

Elation and worry roiled in Matt’s gut. He knew from talking to his uncle that by this stage of BUD/S, weeks away from graduation, the various team master chiefs would be sitting down to assess each graduate—to see who was good, and more importantly, who was better.

“It’s like a draft, Matty. They’ll each be wanting the best.”

Was he really one of the best? Were they all haggling over him, or putting him on a “fuck no” list? Matt glared at Owen’s back, wanting to punch him out for deliberately adding an additional layer of apprehension to the mix. This was definitely a time when too much information was not a good thing, especially when his professional reputation was on the line.

He glanced over to where Trey was sitting on a nearby rock, stuffing his face with a cold spaghetti MRE and chewing with his mouth open, blissfully ignorant of Matt’s distress.

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Matt began pacing restlessly, wanting to talk to someone. To his dad, to his uncle…to Shane. God, he wanted to talk to Shane, get his level-headed perspective on things, talk this out with the one person who truly understood him.

Ah, clown, I miss you.

They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, not since their return from Vegas. Besides dealing with their brutal schedules, Matt was determined to give Shane some distance to figure his shit out without any influence from him. So far, so good, since he hadn’t heard any rumors about “Beefcake” ringing the bell. Shane had made enough of an impression on the cadre that Matt was sure he would’ve heard something if Shane was gone for good.

So what now?

With a groan, Matt sank down onto a nearby rock and stared down at the rocky ground between his booted feet. There really was no “what now.” The only choice they had—whether Shane stayed in or got out—was to keep doing what they’d been doing…stealing whatever time they could together and making it count.

Would it be enough? Only time would tell.

“Knytych! Jordan! You’re on deck!”

“Hooyah!”

As Matt leapt to his feet and double-timed it toward the kill house, he tucked Shane carefully away inside the little compartment in his mind reserved just for him and got back to business.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Damn, he’s beautiful.

Matt couldn’t help but stare as Shane walked with his class up from the beach toward the building where the equipment drying cages were. He was wearing a wet suit top and the standard canvas swim trunks, his diving rig strapped to his back.

Sand coated every inch of him and wet fabric clung to ridged, corded muscle. Matt dragged his eyes from Shane’s prominent bulge up to his face, only to meet his amused gaze.

“Hey, Soup.”

The voice behind him caused Matt to jump a mile, much to Aaron’s mocking disgust.

“Wow, such steady nerves,” he teased, reaching out to give Matt a shove. “And they’re letting you play with guns?”

“Aww, fuck you,” Matt mumbled as he shoved him back, wanting to kick himself for flirting with Shane right under so many noses. “Whaddya want, asswipe?”

“So get this.” Aaron propped his elbow on Matt’s shoulder. “This one dude I know, his girlfriend is a bartender at some kick-ass new nightclub.”

Matt eyed him warily. “So?”

“So?” Aaron pushed on his head. “She’s gonna get a group of us in tonight, no cover charge, no waiting in line. Slip us some pitchers of beer. All we have to do is make sure we’re generous with tips for the servers.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A bunch of us are goin’. You in?”

Matt hesitated, not wanting to automatically say no this time.

“C’mon, Soup, stop being such a loner for once.”