Page 39 of Loving a Warrior

With a huff, Shane got to his feet and held his hand down to haul Matt to his. They grabbed a nearby hose to rinse their legs so they wouldn’t track mud through the house, and Shane showed Matt to the guest bath before tossing him a towel. Matt wallowed under the hot spray as long as he felt was polite, at last getting out to wrap the towel around his waist.

He smiled when he saw Shane had thoughtfully put a clean pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt on the bed for him. Matt rolled the waistband to keep from tripping over the long legs and went in search of him.

He found him racked out in his recliner, sound asleep. His skin was damp from his own shower, and he was dressed in a pair of ratty cutoff shorts, chest bare. Have an orgasm, go to sleep…typical man.

Except there isn’t anything typical about you, is there? You’re this crazy mix of sensitive and badass, and I have no clue what to make of you. You’re so fucking sexy you drive me out of my mind, but it’s—almost—as much fun fighting you as it is kissing you.

“Aww, dammit,” Matt hissed under his breath. “I don’t have time to be mooning over your clown ass. I’m out of here.”

With a sigh, he gathered up his wet, muddy clothes from the porch and stuffed them in a plastic bag. Despite everything, he was strangely reluctant to leave, so Matt took the opportunity to wander around the rest of the house and snoop a little. It really was a cute place. Shane’s proposed improvements would add a lot to its value someday, and with its prime location not far from the beach, it should end up being a nice investment for him.

He poked his head into Shane’s bedroom last. Wow. The other rooms were shabby and outdated…ugly floral wallpaper and shag carpet. Shane’s room had been redone and was painted a chocolate brown with cream accents. There were some nice throw rugs scattered on the wood laminate floor, and the centerpiece of the room was a fluffy king-sized bed covered with a brown and turquoise duvet.

“You did a good job in here, clown,” Matt said out loud. He had some experience himself with construction and electrical wiring from growing up on the farm, so maybe Shane’s renovations would be something they could do together—

Stop it, he scolded himself. They weren’t dating.

He sat on the bed, bouncing up and down a few times, the slight squeaking of the springs making the base of his spine tingle. A picture formed in his mind: Shane, behind him, hands gripping Matt’s hips as he drove into him with heavy thrusts that’d make the bed squeak just like this…

Groaning, Matt ran his fingers through his hair, eyes falling on Shane’s night table. He smirked, reaching for the top drawer. What kind of sex toys did the clown like to play with? Without even a modicum of shame, Matt wrenched the drawer open to peer inside.

No suction-cup dildos or nipple clamps greeted him, only a bottle of lotion, some tissues and a few gay porn mags. Boring. He was about to close the drawer when the corner of a picture frame stuck way in the back caught his eye. Pulling it out, he saw that it was a photo of what appeared to be a Navy boot camp graduation. In it a tall dark-haired man stood next to Alexis, his arm firmly around her waist. He was wearing a white Navy “crackerjack” uniform, complete with Dixie cup hat, and Alexis was radiant in a pretty yellow sundress.

Who was this? The hated boyfriend? Matt hadn’t realized he’d been in the Navy, too. Why wouldn’t Shane have mentioned that? He grimaced. Maybe because it was none of his fucking business.

He was about to put the photo back when a gleam of gold on the guy’s breast insignia caught his eye. Matt peered more closely at it and sucked in a breath. This was no boot camp graduation, because that was a Trident. The dude was a SEAL?

No fucking way.

Clutching the picture, Matt stormed out into the living room and aimed a furious kick at Shane’s chair. “Wake up,” he snapped.

Shane sat bolt upright, his eyes wild. “What the fuck?”

“Your sister’s boyfriend is a SEAL?” Matt brandished the picture. “Why didn’t you tell me? He’s on drugs now? What happened to him?”

Grabbing the picture from Matt’s hands, Shane snapped, “This is what happens when you snoop; you end up making stupid-as-fuck assumptions. For your information, this isn’t Derek, it’s Jon. Her fiancé and my best friend. He died two years ago in Afghanistan.”

“Jon?” Matt gaped at him as a memory suddenly surfaced. “Jon Robinson?”

It was Shane’s turn to gape, his face paling. “How—What—”

“My uncle, remember? I was with him when he heard about it.”

He told Shane about his uncle getting a flurry of texts one day when Matt was home from college on spring break.

“It’s always like that when a SEAL dies,” Matt whispered. “It’s such a tight-knit community.”

Uncle Rick had related what little he could, his eyes shining with tears for a fallen brother. Jon had died when his Humvee hit an IED during an op along the Afghanistan/Pakistan border. Three other guys were grievously wounded as well, but Jon had taken a direct blast and died minutes later.

“Rick went to his funeral.” Matt paused, his gut churning. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Shane. Don’t I feel like a total asshole.”

“You should.” Despite his words, Shane didn’t sound all that angry. “It’s just—Jon isn’t someone I talk about very often. His death was really painful for both me and Lex.”

Matt bowed his head, ashamed of his demands for answers, answers a few kisses and a handjob hadn’t given him a right to.

“When that chief was reaming me out the other day for being distracted and possibly missing an IED,” Shane went on, “all I could think about was Jon dying that way. I saw lots of guys die that way over there.” His eyes were stark as he stared down at the picture he held. “That’s what made me realize you were right, about us getting involved during BUD/S. I was thinking about you during that lecture, not hydro recon.”

His chest aching, Matt reached over to touch Shane’s knee. “We should probably try not to be alone together anymore, huh?”