Chapter Four #3
“Yeah.” Shane spun his coaster around and around with his finger. “There’s a big golf resort there on the island, and when I was a kid I’d get paid to dive the water hazards and retrieve golf balls. On a good day I could make fifty bucks. It was great.”
Their food arrived, and the conversation lagged a bit as they applied themselves to it.
“These are really good,” Matt finally mumbled around a mouthful of blackened tilapia and tangy mango salsa. He tipped back another swallow of cold soda, trying not to stare as Shane licked his lips clean of the salsa juice before wiping them on a napkin.
“This is one of my favorite places.” Shane sprawled out in his chair and linked his fingers behind his neck with a groan of contentment. “I come here a lot.”
Matt leaned back, too, letting himself relax in increments. It’d been a long time since he’d had dinner with someone and he was finding Shane surprisingly easy to talk to. “Do you, uh, live around here?”
Shane tilted his head to look at the sky. “Alexis—my sister—and I own a house not too far from here, actually, a legacy from our maternal grandmother. It’s kind of run-down.” He shrugged. “Lex wants to sell it.”
“And you don’t?” Matt prompted when Shane fell silent.
“I don’t, but it needs a lot of work,” Shane said at last. “And obviously I’m not gonna be around much, you know? Even if I don’t make the teams, my rating—”
“What’s your rating?”
“Damage Controlman. I was ARFF in the Corps.”
Matt pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Firefighting, huh?” Air rescue and firefighting was a highly specialized Marine Corps rating, and DC was its closest Navy counterpart.
“If I wash out of BUD/S, I’ll finish out my enlistment on a ship and then go into the civilian firefighting sector. Either way, I won’t be around much. Keeping the house is stupid.”
“Is it paid off?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, she should be happy for a free place to live. I know I would be.”
“Right? But she’s raising a kid and doesn’t wanna deal with some old house. I get that her priorities are different than mine.” Shane sighed. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope. It’s just me.”
“Well, having a sister is both a blessing and a curse. Ask me on different days which one it is.”
“I’m sure she’d say the same about you.”
Shane chuckled, although his eyes looked rather sad. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that, Soup. I’ve got to be the bane of her existence these days.” He pushed back his chair. “Ready to get out of here?”
They each tossed several bills on the table before ambling to the truck, hands crammed in their pockets. Neither of them spoke on the way back to the base, and Matt was hyper aware of Shane’s knee a tantalizing few inches from his hand as he shifted gears.
He opened and closed his fingers restlessly on the gearshift knob, imagining being able to reach over and slide his palm up the length of that muscular thigh, wondering what it’d be like to feel Shane come apart under his hands and mouth…
Jesus!
The fantasy of warm denim under his fingertips was so real, so vivid, for a split second Matt thought he’d actually touched Shane. He whipped into a parking space in front of the barracks and leapt out of the truck.
“Thanks for the ride, and the company,” Shane called after him, voice sleepy and relaxed. The sound of it stroked along Matt’s nipples like a rough tongue.
“You’re welcome,” he forced out. “I hope everything’s okay with your sister.”
He loped away, trying to stop thinking about Shane on his knees, on his back…
“Hey, Soup!”
Matt swung around to see Shane pointing to the basketball court adjacent to the workout area. “How about a quick game of one-on-one? Loser paints helmets.”
One of their assigned tasks over the weekend was to give their helmets a fresh coat of green paint and stencil their class number on it in white.
Matt was about to refuse when Shane grabbed a ball from the caddy and spun it expertly on the tip of his index finger. “Unless you’re scared. Shrimp.”
Oh, no, he didn’t.
Matt strode forward and tossed his keys and wallet to a nearby bench. “You think short guys don’t got game? Bring it.”
With a grin, Shane tossed him the ball. “Just see if you can get past me.”
Matt sneered at him and dribbled in place while Shane took up a defensive posture between him and the net. Studying him and his body position, Matt broke for it, feinted, and scored with a perfect layup.
He danced back while Shane retrieved the ball. “First blood, Hovland,” he crowed.
Shane laughed. “I let you score to make you feel better about yourself. Enjoy it, because it won’t happen again.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.”
The next few points were hard-won for both of them. It was obvious to Matt that Shane was the better player, but he refused to make it easy for him, and soon they were drenched in sweat.
“Time out!” Shane jogged to the side of the court and yanked his T-shirt over his head before mopping his face with it and tossing it negligently to the ground. Matt did the same and they faced off again, their grunts, shouts and the sound of the dribbling ball starting to attract a crowd.
Shane scored, followed by Matt sinking a three-pointer with nothing but net.
“One point up, how ’bout that?” Matt taunted. “I want my helmet done by morning chow.”
Shane bared his teeth at him, keeping the ball moving in a lazy dribble, around and between his legs.
He looked relaxed, but Matt kept his guard up, wary.
Suddenly Shane exploded into action, his height and speed formidable as he drove toward the basket.
His shot bounced off the rim. They leapt for the rebound.
Shane snagged it and Matt knocked it free, getting control of the ball.
He backed up, dribbling. Shane moved into guard position a few feet away, his chest slick, the tufts of hair under his upraised arms glittering with moisture. Matt’s nostrils flared at the smell of him.
Needing to touch, feeling reckless, on his next drive forward Matt slammed his shoulder into Shane’s, knocking him off balance.
With an outraged roar, Shane dropped to the ground and swept Matt’s legs with one of his.
Matt crashed to the cement, losing his grip on the ball.
It bounced away and they lunged for it. Shane reached it first and pulled it to him, trying to curl around it, but Matt managed to jar it loose.
They grappled, their chests and bellies sliding together as they fought for dominance.
“So this is the way it’s gonna be?” Shane growled, and when Matt snarled an affirmative, slammed his elbow into Matt’s cheek. Matt countered with a vicious throat punch, but Shane easily blocked it and rolled to his feet out of reach, beckoning to him with a mocking grin.
Matt surged to standing with the ball and they faced off again to chants of “Fight, fight, fight.”
Matt drove toward the basket only to be brutally hip checked by Shane. Staggering, he missed the shot, then sucker-punched Shane in the ribs as he went up for the rebound, reveling in Shane’s pained “oof.”
Before Matt could leap out of reach, Shane tackled him to the ground. As they rolled over and over, fists flying, Matt dimly heard an amused yet firm voice cut into the haze of bloodlust, “Save it for training, gentlemen.”
They broke apart, gasping for air, only to see Salazar looking down at them, hands on hips.
His tone brooked no argument, and disappointed mutters went around the assembled crowd as their fun came to an abrupt end.
One by one they wandered away. When Salazar was satisfied the “game” was over, he followed them.
Shane struggled to his knees, his nose bloodied. Matt’s jaw throbbed, and he took his chin between his fingers and cautiously wiggled it back and forth.
“Nothing broken?” Shane’s words came out hoarse, thick with exertion.
Matt gave a cautious nod. “Nothing broken. You?”
“Nah. You’re not tough enough to break me.”
Matt was too tired to get spun up about the taunt, so he settled for extending his middle finger and shoving it into Shane’s face.
Laughing, Shane got all the way to his feet and held his hand down to Matt. Matt pointedly ignored it, standing up by himself.
“Good game.” Shane stuck out his fist and Matt bumped it with his own.
“Yeah. Good game.”
They collected their T-shirts and belongings before strolling toward the barracks, where they went their separate ways with nods and a muttered, “See ya.”
Once in his room, Matt dropped everything and headed for the shower, where he filled one palm with body wash, braced the other on the tile wall, and stroked himself until he came with heavy, wrenching spurts, reliving the feel of Shane’s sweaty body against his, the sound of his grunts in his ear…
When it was over, Matt leaned against the wet tile, panting.
What the hell was going on with him? He couldn’t remember the last time a man had turned him inside out like this, so what was he doing, hanging out with Shane?
Most of the rest of the guys didn’t hate him anymore, so why not hang out with them?
Matt nodded decisively as he hung up his towel.
Okay. He and Shane had had a nice dinner, some nice conversation.
They’d already cleared the air over the room-trashing incident, and tonight indulged in a friendly little basketball game.
Jerking off afterward didn’t mean anything.
Jerking off was fun and great stress relief. No biggie.
He leaned against the sink and stared at himself in the mirror.
“You must avoid Shane,” he informed his reflection. “There are hundreds of dudes on this base to be friends with. Got it?”
As he shut the lights off and got ready for bed, he had the sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be quite as easy as that.