Chapter Eight
Shane sat bolt upright in bed, his heart beating its way out his chest.
Was that gunfire? Was he late for watch?
A split second later, awareness returned as the loud knocking at the door came again.
“Fuck me,” Shane said aloud to the empty room. For a moment he was tempted to pull the covers back over his head and ignore everything, but instead, he grabbed some nearby sweatpants and yanked them on sans underwear before stumbling to the door.
“What?” he snarled, flinging it open, in the next instant catching his breath at the sight of Matt standing on the porch, hands stuffed in the pockets of his cargo shorts.
“What’re you doing here?” he croaked, his cock springing to life.
Matt shuffled his feet, the circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn’t gotten any more sleep than Shane had. “Wanted to talk to you, duh. I don’t have your number.”
“Wow. Okay.” Shane squinted into the sun as he ran his hand over his stubbly chin, feeling unwashed and greasy.
In contrast, Matt looked freshly showered, the scent of his light, citrusy aftershave drifting to Shane’s nose.
He stood back and opened the door wider. “Come in, then. I’ll make some coffee—”
“No, out here.”
Oh-kay.
Shane followed him outside to lean against the railing, aware that his clinging sweatpants were doing nothing to conceal his erection. He didn’t even bother trying to hide it. What was the point?
Matt was staring, a flush high on his cheekbones. “Shane—”
“What? You’re looking at me like you want to eat me for breakfast. It’s making me hard.” He slid one hand down to give himself a lewd squeeze. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
With a muffled groan, Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop it. We can’t.” Despite his words, he stole another peek at Shane’s crotch. “Don’t you know how stupid that would be?”
“Why stupid? I’m gay, you’re gay. Well, I assume, anyway. Bi?”
“No, not bi.”
“Okay, then.” Shane nudged Matt’s foot with his. “It seems we both like dick. What’s wrong with hooking up?”
Matt shot him a glare. “Whaddya mean, what’s wrong with it? We’re in the same class, for one.”
“And? I’m not gonna grab your ass on the O-course, for fuck’s sake. Gimme a little credit here.”
“I might grab yours.”
The disgruntled answer was so unexpected that Shane barked out a startled laugh. “Really?”
“Listen.” Matt sighed. “The problem is you’re a distraction, Shane. And the last thing I need—we need—is a distraction. Not at this stage of the game.”
“Oh, I disagree. Weekdays are for business, but weekends? All about the stress relief.” Shane pushed off the railing and sauntered toward him, stopping when he was close enough to touch.
“But—” Matt clenched his fists as if he was fighting not to reach for him. His eyes dropped to Shane’s dick again.
“We’re grown men, aren’t we?” Shane took another step closer. “And I think we both understand what’s at stake here.”
When Matt didn’t answer, Shane slid his hands tentatively onto his hips, slipping his thumbs under the hem of Matt’s T-shirt to stroke the soft skin. “C’mon, sexy,” he said coaxingly. “Let’s go inside so I can make the, er, acquaintance of every inch of this incredible body.” He tugged him closer.
Matt tipped his head back against the side of the house with a groan. Leaning in, Shane pressed his parted lips to the hollow of his throat. “It’ll be so good.” He nuzzled the underside of his jaw, the scent of aftershave and soap tickling his senses.
For one brief instant, he felt Matt’s hand on the back of his neck, encouraging him, and Shane’s heart started to race. Oh, fuck yes. Almost dizzy with anticipation, Shane sought his mouth, struggling to focus when Matt pushed him gently away.
“What?” he croaked, letting go. “Why—”
Matt edged past Shane before turning to face him.
“I know it’ll be good. In fact, I have no doubt it’ll be mind-blowing.
The thing is, I don’t want my mind blown.
Not now.” He started down the porch stairs.
“I just came over to apologize for running away last night. It was shitty and immature, and you didn’t deserve that.
” With a self-deprecating quirk of his lips, he said, “See? I’m learning. ”
Slumping against the railing again in resignation, Shane watched him scuff toward where his truck was parked at the curb.
“After we both make it through BUD/S, then?” he called after him.
“You gotta let me have one night with you, Matt. Just one. We’ll get whatever this is out of our system and then we’ll go back to being friends, no harm done. Whaddya say?”
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.
“Well, if you’re not too good to take notes, and you’re not already an expert in hydro recon, it must be some plain old-fashioned distraction. What could you possibly be thinking about so hard that it kept you from paying attention in my class?”
Shane’s throat was so tight, he couldn’t speak.
He didn’t have to, as Chief Howe went on, his tone biting.
“Were you thinking about your skin care regimen, perhaps? That’s what pretty boys like you think about, right?
Or maybe you were thinking about all the pussy you’re gonna score this weekend when you go to the club and tell the ladies you’re a Navy SEAL. Is that it?”
“Negative.” Shane’s voice was scratchy, barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Negative!”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter what you were thinking about, because the fact is, you were fucking distracted while I’m teaching something that could mean the difference between life and death.
Task force commanders use this sort of data to plan missions and decide where to establish beachheads.
They need to know certain things before they send their men in, and if you fuck it up, people die. ”
Shane stood frozen as Howe plowed inexorably on. “Not only that, say you’re point man on an assault. If you get distracted, you could miss a trip wire, or a pressure plate buried in the road that then blows up all your men, maybe even you.”
Explosions, screams, the smell of charred flesh.
“This is serious business, and if you’re not able to fucking pay attention during a fifteen-minute lecture, I sure as hell don’t want you on my team.”
Moans, cries for help, then a terrible silence.
“There’s no second place in a gunfight. Losers get killed, Hovland. Getting distracted makes you a loser.”
There was a loud crack as the pencil Shane didn’t even realize he was still holding snapped in half under his clenching fingers. Guys all around him jumped a mile at the loud noise, their heads dropping even lower.
Howe paused in his tirade.
“Instructor Bernson,” he said softly, “take this dreamer out to the surf for some individual attention. Get him out of my sight.”
* * *
Matt trotted out of the chow hall, anxiously looking around for Shane. He hadn’t shown up for breakfast after he’d been herded from the classroom by a grim-faced Bernson.
What the fuck happened?
Shane could be a goof, but when it came to training, he was always focused and all business.
Why hadn’t he taken notes and paid attention during the lecture?
It couldn’t be that he’d drifted off to sleep; the ice bath had assured that everyone was wide awake, their bodies’ energy focused on not shivering to death.
“There they are!” Elias pointed to some distant figures approaching them at a slow jog.
One of them was Bernson, keeping pace next to a visibly exhausted, wrung-out Shane.
Matt caught his breath at the sight of him—soaking wet, of course, and covered with sand from head to toe.
As he drew closer, Matt could even see sand clumped in his eyelashes and caked on his lips.
He was white as a ghost, his normally vivid blue eyes dark with misery.
Bernson shouted for the class to form up. “Anyone else gonna space out during a lecture?” he yelled, glaring at each of them in turn.
“Negative!”
“Boats up! Get your fuckin’ asses to the O-course.”
They were worked hard on the O-course. Shane seemed grimly determined, displaying none of his usual spark.
Whenever he passed Matt, he kept his face blank, not even acknowledging Matt’s breathless “hey.” As the day wore on, Matt found himself missing his murmured taunts, the way he called him “Soupy the Smurf” with that gleam of mischief in his eye.
Shane was hurting, and Matt could tell it went way beyond the physical.
When they were finally secured for the night, he spotted Shane trudging up the steps toward his room and broke into a trot in order to catch him.
“You okay?”
Shane barely glanced at him. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Is there—” He was going to say “anything I can do” but that was ridiculous, so he settled for a lame “I just wanted to see how you were.”
“I’m fine,” Shane said flatly, moving off down the landing away from him.
“Shane—”
“Look.” Shane spun back around to face him. “You were right. No booty call’s worth this.” He shook his head. “Just stay away from me, man.”
Matt could only stand there, stunned, as Shane keyed in the code for his room, shoved his door open and slammed it behind him.
After another moment’s hesitation, Matt turned toward his own room.
He waited for the relief to hit, but instead a vague sense of loss swamped him as whatever had been budding between them died a wet and sandy death.