Below the Belt(30)

“No, but you’re also not an island. You joined the Marines. They were here long before you, and they’ll be here long after you. And you want to be a part of this team. So spend some time making a difference in something you volunteered for, huh?” She patted his chest. “It won’t kill you.”

He gripped her wrist for a split second, halting her retreat. But she gave an infinitesimal shake of her head, and he let her go.





CHAPTER


9


Brad let Tressler scoot into the booth before he slid in himself. The younger Marine scowled, but pushed to the end of the bench. The other three Marines slid in across from them, nice and cozy. It was like a group date from hell.

Their server handed out menus, took their drink orders—waters all around—and went off to give them time with the menus.

Chalfant spent approximately seven seconds reading his before he let it fall to the table. “Can you show me how you worked that second combo you used with Armstrong today? The one where you . . .” He threw out his arms and nailed Tibbs in the side of the head.

“Damn, man.” Tibbs, a guy who gave Coach Ace a run for his money on size, gave Chalfant a death stare. “Check yourself.”

Chalfant blushed, fire flaming under his freckles. “Sorry,” he mumbled. His head drooped and he stared at the napkin roll in front of him.

Brad sighed inwardly. “I’ll show you tomorrow. It’s not hard, you just have to use it sparingly or else it becomes expected.”

He glanced up, and Brad could swear he saw the terrifying hints of hero worship in the young man’s eyes.

Their server showed back up with a tray full of waters, then took their orders. She spent more time than necessary coaching Tressler through the finer points of which cut of steak he should get, but seemed amused at his attentions, not offended. Brad didn’t bother to stop him from making an idiot out of himself.

When Brad ordered last, and realized he was the only one to order anything remotely healthy, he glared at each of them. “Are you kidding me? Steak? A freaking cheeseburger, Tibbs? And you,” he added with disgust to Tressler. “You loaded your freaking french fries.”

“They’re better that way. Everyone loves bacon and cheese.” He shrugged. “I dip ’em in ranch and—”

“Nope. No, stop there.” Brad covered his ears with his hands. “I can’t listen to the mess you’re making of your arteries.”

Tressler just smiled dreamily, like he already had a stomach full of fatty goodness.

“So, Coach—”

“Whoa.” Brad was nipping that shit in the bud right now. “Armstrong, I’m not your coach. I’m not anyone’s coach. I’m a teammate.”

“Maybe,” Tressler added, and Tibbs made the dun dun dun sound of doom. The table cracked up . . . except for Brad.

“I’m just babysitting you until Coach Ace has everyone whittled down to a smaller number. I’m not coaching anyone.”

Armstrong hesitated only a second, then asked, “But you’ll still help me with my block tomorrow, right?”

Tibbs leaned forward, which pushed the table into Brad’s chest. “I need some speed, man. Help me out.”

Chalfant just watched him expectantly, like he wanted reaffirmation Brad would be working with him as he’d already promised.

Brad’s brows lowered, and he looked to his left at Tressler. “Well? What do you want?”

Tressler pretended to consider that for a moment, then pointed. “That. I want that. Can you make it happen?”

Brad turned to see their server bending over another table, bussing glasses. Her ass, covered in tight black pants, was on display for anyone lewd enough to watch.

“No.” Absolutely not. He could tolerate being mistaken for a coach, though he didn’t like it. But he drew the line at playing pimp. “Get your own ass on your own time. Since you act like an ass most of the time, it shouldn’t be too hard. Like attracts like, right?”

At that, all four men burst into loud hoots and laughs, Tressler included.

Brad cracked a smile, but held back from a full-blown grin. He didn’t want to encourage this bonding any more than necessary.

You want to be a part of this team. So spend some time making a difference in something you volunteered for, huh?

He didn’t have to paint their toenails or tuck them into bed with a story and a cup of juice. But it wouldn’t be that hard to keep an eye on them and make sure they didn’t walk straight into any problems. Or get cut based solely on stupidity.

That was enough. For now.


*

MARIANNE crossed the final items off her list, satisfied to see she’d managed to work through the entire thing before bed. That only happened once in a blue moon. She was notorious for taking on way more than she could handle in any given day.

Feet propped up on the coffee table, she took a sip of the tea Kara had sworn by for nighttime relaxation and grimaced. It tasted like crushed up dandelions and cinnamon mixed together in tepid milk.

Or, at least, what she assumed those things together would taste like.

So, this tea was not her thing. No big deal. She put the mug aside and closed her eyes. She’d just meditate—aka “daydream”—for a few minutes, then head to bed for a good night’s sleep.