Page 58 of Keeping a Warrior

“Well...” Shane stood and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Thanks for listening.”

He reached down for a knuckle bump and then shuffled off toward the water, where he broke into a jog once he reached the hard-packed sand. Devon watched until he’d disappeared from sight, wishing she could help them and not sure how.

With a sigh, she headed for her room. After luxuriating in a long, hot shower, Devon was about to switch off her lamp when her phone buzzed with a text from Rhys.

This is me with a proper good-night. Ready? Night, Devon. How’d I do?

Devon grinned to herself.

Not bad. Although improper good-nights can be fun, too.

She hit Send and then froze. “Oh, shit,” she said aloud. “What the hell was that, Devon?”

Her phone buzzed.

Ah. My experience only consists of proper good-nights, sorry to say.

Without warning, the little devil whispering in her ear took control of her fingers, too. Well, then, you’ve missed out.

A pause. So tell me what I’ve missed.

Arousal washed over Devon in a surge of prickly heat. Her nipples tightened, the soft fabric of her T-shirt abrading the sensitive buds almost painfully.

Her thumbs flew over the keyboard.

My favorites are those times where you only think you’ve said good-night. When you start to walk away, but he doesn’t leave. He’s still there.

And then what?

Devon’s hands were trembling so bad she could barely type.

And then you beckon to him, and he walks real slow in your direction, hands in his pockets...

And then he kisses you?

Devon squeezed her thighs together to ease the ache between them.

Maybe. Or maybe we give each other one last hug. Maybe we sit outside and talk a little while longer because we simply aren’t ready to say good-night yet.

Another long pause.

Improper good-nights sound amazing.

They can be. But proper ones that turn improper are even better. Night, Rhys.

Night.

Devon tossed her phone down and turned on her side to hug the lumpy pillow close.

“He deserves to be somebody’s parking space,” she whispered into the dark, quiet room. “And you’re moving on.”

Chapter Eleven

“Knock it off, Shane.”

Devon tensed at Matt’s growl, but Shane laughed and bopped him on the head with the balloon again. “Make me.”

The other guys sprawled about the team room watched idly, smirks on their faces, while they waited for their commanding officer to come in and give them one final briefing. The past couple of days had been spent prepping gear—cleaning guns, replacing worn-out stuff with new, shopping, packing and repacking.