Page 19 of Loving a Warrior

“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.