Chapter Thirteen
“Okay, guys. Welcome back.” Bernson settled in against the desk, his arms crossed, as he looked over the eighteen Hell Week survivors.
His knees still aching and his bruises nowhere near healed, Matt was beyond relieved when they ended up spending all day in the classroom, delving deeper into the mechanics of hydrographic reconnaissance instead of getting wet and sandy.
As the week wore on, classes on diving physics and compression tables were added to the curriculum.
Math had never been Matt’s strong suit. He found himself too busy with homework and practicals to spare a lot of thought to Shane, although he craned his neck for a glimpse of him every time he passed the training center offices.
Before he secured them on Friday, Bernson announced that Monday would bring a timed physics test. “Pass it or you’re history.”
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.”
“Then no.”
“I’m in bed right now, naked…hard. You sure?”
“I’m totally sure.” Matt had never been less sure of anything in his entire life. “Gotta study.”
“Too bad. Well, how about this. How ’bout I wait a little while to jerk off, in case you change your mind?”
“Jesus, Shane,” Matt growled, although he was fighting a sudden urge to laugh. “You’re shameless.”
“And horny.”
The door lock whirred as Trey punched in the code to open it. As he breezed in, carrying two large pizzas, Matt said briskly, “Well, sorry, can’t help you with that. Bye.”
He hung up, and a few seconds later his phone chimed with an incoming text.
Night, Soup.
Night—Matt paused for only a moment before typing—clown.
* * *
Shane gazed around his kitchen in satisfaction. The pot roast was in the oven and smelled amazing, the table was meticulously set. He’d even bought a cake and had the bakery pipe the words Math Whiz on it. Any excuse to celebrate, although Matt passing the physics test really was a big deal.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. The cheap grocery store flowers might be too much, though.
Grabbing the vase from the center of the dining room table, Shane carried it into the living room and stuck it casually on top of a bookshelf.
Smirking at himself for being such a sap, he returned to the kitchen, where his phone was buzzing on the counter.
“I’m not gonna be able to come over tonight.” Matt’s voice throbbed with disappointment.
Shane clenched his fingers around the phone as that same disappointment swept over him. “Really? Why?”
“Last-minute dive practical. Like, I need to be prepping my equipment now. Sorry, I gotta go. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Fuck. Shane muttered a goodbye and hung up, resisting the childish urge to throw his phone against the wall. As he tossed it to the counter, it vibrated with an incoming text, so he snatched it back up eagerly. Maybe Matt had another suggestion for getting together…
Have you called Derek yet?
Now Shane really had to fight not to smash his phone on the ground.
“No, I haven’t called Derek yet!” he yelled as if Alexis could hear him. “I kinda need every spare minute for the guy I’m trying to score with, okay?”
As if mocking him, the oven timer dinged. Grumbling, Shane grabbed his oven mitts and pulled the pot roast out, a mouthwatering smell filling the kitchen. He did understand Matt’s insane schedule, that the dive phase he was in meant exercises and practicals day and night.
Yeah, he understood. He got it. But dammit, he’d been really looking forward to seeing him. Shane banged around stashing the plates and silverware away, at last slumping against the counter to stare balefully at the cake.
Christ, you really are a sap.
The kitchen finally put to rights, Shane stretched out in his recliner with a beer to watch a movie.
He fell asleep halfway through it, jerking awake at the sound of a car door slamming outside.
A quick check of his phone revealed it was three in the morning, and also that there was no word from Matt.
Heaving a sigh, he got up to put his almost-empty beer bottle in the sink, then went to the front door to make sure the porch light was off. Peering out, he could see there was a truck parked at the curb. Huh. That looked a lot like Matt’s truck—wait, it was Matt’s truck!
Shane yanked the door open and strode out onto the porch. What the hell?
“Matt…?”
“Hey.” That one word sounded so wrung-out, so exhausted, that Shane immediately dragged one of the other chairs over to where Matt was sitting deep in the shadows.
“What’s wrong?”
When Matt didn’t reply, Shane leaned back in his chair, ankle resting on one knee, waiting him out.
After a moment Matt’s leg started jiggling up and down so fast Shane could feel the vibrations in the porch floor. “My team, uh, failed the dive practical tonight.” He swallowed, then forced out, “It was my fault.”
Oh, shit.
“What happened?”
“I fucking choked, okay?” Matt said harshly. “Being underneath that hull—” He shuddered visibly. “I got disoriented. I panicked. By the time Trey got me calmed down, it was too late. We came in way over the time limit.”
“Oh, man…” Shane didn’t know what to say. Failure wasn’t looked upon kindly in this business, and second chances were rare.
It pays to be a winner.
“So what does all this mean?” he asked cautiously. “Will you get to run the exercise again?”
Matt made a bitter sound. “They goon-squaded us, but yeah, we’ll get one more chance at it in a few days.”
Shane winced. Being on a goon squad was never a pleasant experience and usually meant punishing PT involving logs, water and sand.
“Okay. Well, think positive. Another chance is good, right? Now you know what to expect.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Matt’s leg jiggled faster. “I’m sorry. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, didn’t want to go for a run, so I came over here to think. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I was up.” Shane’s throat tightened at the thought of Matt trusting him enough to come over, even if it was obvious that sharing his failure with Shane was hard on him. “What else are friends for?”
The silence that fell after that was deafening, and Shane clenched his fist on the arm of his chair, wishing he knew what Matt needed. At last he asked, “You hungry?”
Matt didn’t reply, but his eyes flicked over to Shane’s face and then away. He shrugged.
Relieved to be given something to work with, Shane leapt to his feet. “Wait just a sec.”