Page 70 of Loving a Warrior

Heaving a sigh, Shane went to deal with the idiots.

* * *

In the kitchen, Matt tore open some chip bags with a little more force than necessary, dumping them into a variety of plastic bowls. His body still thrummed with need, and every time he looked at Shane, he could see the same frustration darkening his eyes. He braced his hands on the counter and breathed in deeply. It’d been stupid to start something here, with all the guys around, but hell, having Shane kneel at his feet and put his hands on him had sent all rational thought fleeing from his sex-starved brain.

Not sex-starved. Shane-starved.

Matt snatched up the bowls of chips and carried them out to the backyard, grimacing ruefully at the smashed glass Shane was currently trying to sweep up without much success. It wasn’t anything expensive, just a cheap table, but if it wasn’t for that fucking thing, he’d be milking Shane of everything he had to give right about now. He put the bowls down on a couple of chairs, and, hoping to purge thoughts of Shane coming down his throat, threw himself into a hybrid game of rugby/cornhole with enthusiasm.

Half an hour later, he was back in the kitchen holding an ice pack to a throbbing lump forming on his head. Outside, the yelling was reaching peak decibels, and it hit him, that he was now the only sober one in the group. He sagged against the counter, chuckling to himself. It was like college all over again, only on steroids.

Since that was the case, there was only one thing to do—wade into the fray like a worried den mother. He walked around confiscating car keys and ended up coaxing a set of power tools away from Aaron, who insisted he could “fix” Shane’s shattered table. He placated a police officer who came to the door in response to a neighbor’s complaint about the noise.

“SEALs, huh?” the grizzled cop asked as he stood in the doorway peering over Matt’s shoulder. “I can always tell. Well, keep it down as best you can, and do me a favor: Keep ’em from driving, okay?”

“Already took their keys,” Matt assured him, and with a clap to Matt’s shoulder, the cop thankfully left.

Matt sighed. For the most part he didn’t mind being the designated drunk-guy babysitter. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to, and being around grown men acting the fool only reinforced his belief that he was better off staying away from the stuff entirely.

Out back, Shane had scrounged up some Bluetooth speakers, and someone started blaring their playlist. Guys jumped around to “Viva Las Vegas” while singing at the top of their lungs. Matt leaned against a porch support and watched Shane in the middle of the group, punching his fist in the air as he shouted, “Viva! Las Vegas!”

When the song ended and men staggered for the coolers and more beer, Matt was horrified to hear Shane say to Aaron, his tone slurred, “Me ’n Soup’re goin’ to Vegas for Christmas. We’re gonna—”

“Whoa, whoa. Hey there, bud,” Matt called out desperately. “I think I heard your doorbell ring again. Better come answer it.” He grabbed Shane’s arm and dragged him away. Instead of heading toward the front door, though, he pushed Shane into the powder room right off the hallway and got in his face.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed. “What were you gonna say about Vegas?”

Shane peered at him. “I dunno. We were singin’ ’bout Vegas, and I remembered we were going.”

Dropping his forehead to Shane’s chest, Matt let out a sigh.

“We’re still going, right, baby?” Shane petted the back of Matt’s head anxiously.

Matt groaned again. He was starting to think the Vegas trip was a bad idea, since all it would do was make their inevitable goodbye even harder. A spasm of pain shot through him at the thought, and he wrapped his arms around Shane, hugging him fiercely.

“We don’t talk about Vegas,” he rasped. “We don’t talk about us. And we definitely don’t call each other ‘baby.’ That’s stupid.”

“Aww, baby, I’m sorry.” Shane kissed his cheek. “I’m really drunk.” He punctuated those words with a loud belch.

Waving away the fumes, Matt snapped, “What you are is ridiculous.” He pulled away from him and opened the bathroom door to peer cautiously up and down the hallway. Finding it empty, he shooed Shane out, then closed the door again and leaned back against it. Ugh. When Shane sobered up, they needed to have a serious talk.

Matt splashed cold water on his face and headed once again toward the backyard, grateful to find the rowdiness had abated a little. Guys were now sprawled out in chairs, on the ground, passing around a bottle of something. He glanced at it when Aaron handed it off to him. Drambuie. These dudes were gonna be some hurtin’ puppies in the morning.

Passing the bottle on, Matt shook his head. Time to go. He’d had enough drunken revelry for one night.

After making sure everyone’s keys were hidden in a safe place, Matt let himself out and wandered the half block up the sidewalk toward where his truck was parked at the curb. As he unlocked his door, faint sounds from the party drifted to his ears, and a sudden wave of loneliness swept over him. Here he was, about to head back to an empty barracks room early on a Friday night to do…what? On impulse he grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts, finding the newest one. He sent a quick text, grinning when his phone vibrated in his hand with an immediate acceptance.

He hit the freeway. Derek was waiting for him on the porch when Matt pulled into his driveway half an hour later. He hurried to the truck and climbed inside, waving to his dad who was watching from the window.

Matt followed Derek’s quiet directions toward a funky neighborhood coffeehouse he said was his favorite. They made small talk while they waited in line, at last settling down in some overstuffed chairs around a firepit on the patio.

“Thanks for inviting me out, Matt. Shane busy tonight?”

Matt told him about the barbecue. “Bunch of idiots drunk off their asses, Shane included.”

“Ugh.” Derek made a face. “It sucks to be the only sober one in the group, doesn’t it?”

“Nah, it usually doesn’t bother me, not anymore. But—” Matt took a sip of coffee, not sure how to explain it. “These guys, they’re not just your average dudes, you know?”