Page 18 of Keeping a Warrior

Both men said they were game, so they headed to their rooms to change. Devon pulled on a sports bra and a pair of brief nylon shorts before slipping a lipstick-sized penknife in between her breasts. When she got back downstairs, Rhys was already in the parking lot, stretching, and Devon froze midstride.

Damn.

Like her, he’d dressed in deference to the heat, which meant he was wearing nothing but a pair of neon-green running shorts. Clothed, he appeared fit and muscular, to be sure, but bare-chested, the dude was chiseled out of stone.

When he put his arms over his head to twist from side to side, Devon could see a colorful tattoo hugging his ribs. The bottom dipped below the waistband of his shorts and the top of it lay between his shoulder blades in an intricate swirling work of art.

And wow, what a canvas. Lucky artist.

He glanced up as she approached, his gaze traveling briefly over her, too. Devon automatically tensed, but his eyes didn’t linger, didn’t give her that creepy vibe—it was the assessing look one athlete gave another as they decided how far they could push the limits.

She relaxed.

Matt jogged up. “Took the liberty of mapping us a seven-mile route,” he said. “Mile-and-a-half warmup, four miles fast-paced, mile-and-a-half cool down. You guys up for that?”

“Bring it.”

When Matt said fast, he didn’t play. The heat was smothering, the temperature pushing ninety even at one in the morning. Even so, he set a punishing pace, and he didn’t slack off when she started to flag at a little over three miles into their four.

Digging deep, Devon pushed herself on, determined not to hold them back. Sheer exhilaration made her laugh out loud.

Next to her, Rhys smiled. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” she panted. “Just feels good. I love running with you guys.”

I love the challenge. She eyed both of them in turn, appreciating the sight of their hard bodies slick with sweat.

At last Matt went into the cool down, an easy jog that felt like floating on air. When they finally slowed to a walk, Devon laced her fingers behind her head. “Better than a strip club.”

“Hell, yeah.” Matt chuckled. “And alcohol. Give me exercise and the outdoors any day.”

They walked on in a companionable silence, until Rhys cleared his throat. “Can I tell you guys something?”

Devon and Matt glanced at each other, then at Rhys. “Sure.”

“I’ve, uh, never been to a strip club before.” Rhys seemed to brace himself, as if expecting scorn to rain down on him. In truth, Devon was a bit surprised; SEAL teams on the road trained hard and partied even harder.

Shrugging, she said, “I’ve been to a few. Cold beer, hot ladies.” She grinned. “I’m a good tipper.”

“I’ve been to some, too,” Matt said. “Back in my wild and wooly drinking days.”

“Alcohol and women, the downfall of men everywhere.” Devon was mostly joking, but Rhys nodded.

“Exactly! It felt disloyal to my girlfriend.” He grimaced. “But I’m single now, and let me tell you, I have no idea how to do the single-guy thing. I’ve been with Lani almost my whole life.”

“Childhood sweethearts, huh?” Matt’s voice was sympathetic. “That’s rough. Well, I wouldn’t do what any of these idiots do, that’s for sure.”

“Seriously,” Devon said. “Didn’t you say your friend once got into a fight with cops?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Devon could’ve kicked herself. Not only did the memory seem to cause Matt pain, it was also a source of anguish for Rhys.

To her surprise, both of them let out an almost unison “Fuck, yeah!”

“That was an awesome night,” Matt said enthusiastically. “This cop was being a total douchebag, so Shane choked his ass out. Remember that, Rhys?”

Rhys gave a vigorous nod. “I do. It was epic!”

“Then the dude got a lucky punch in, busted Shane’s eyebrow open. There was blood everywhere, Jesus.”