Below the Belt(36)

“So Cook’s packing a hot body under those baggy training clothes, huh?” Higgs asked under his breath. “Did you know about those breasts?”

“Fuck off,” he answered easily, but he couldn’t blame the man for looking. Marianne was a compact, hot number, and today she wasn’t hiding it under a loose-fitting polo shirt and shapeless shorts or capris.

Her tank top showed no cleavage, and the straps were wide running over her shoulders. The back, as he saw when she angled to point something out to the coaches, was in a racerback style. But it was as tight as a second skin and stopped about two inches above her pants. Those, too, were tight, molding to her legs and stopping mid-calf. And she was wearing flip-flops instead of her usual white socks and running shoes. Her hair, which she normally wore pulled back into a stubby ponytail, was loose but for an elastic headband thingie that ran around her entire head.

“Interesting outfit for icing injuries and wrapping wrists,” Higgs said, tossing his bag over to the side with the growing pile. Brad did the same and they headed over to stretch with the rest of the group. Marianne’s eyes caught his, and she smiled a little, but didn’t acknowledge his presence otherwise. He followed her lead and gave a brief nod before sitting down to stretch out his hamstrings.

“So where’d you go last night?” Higgs asked, sitting beside Brad and pulling his right arm across his body. “You didn’t come home before I hit the rack, unless you were ninja-like about it.”

“You know me, always the ninja.” He debated a moment, then said, “Went out to eat with my group. What’d you guys do?”

Higgs could tell there was more to the story, but—thank God—he didn’t press. “We went out to a movie, gorged ourselves on popcorn—”

Brad rolled his eyes.

“—and then sat in Johnson’s pickup truck bed for an hour in the parking lot, bitching about whatever. Came home around ten, shocked to find my hermit roommate gone.”

“I’m not a hermit.” Why did everyone think he was a hermit?

“Fooled me,” Higgs said easily, then bent to touch his toes.

Sweeney plopped down beside them. “What’s up?”

Did he have a sign on his back saying, “Please come talk to me”? “Stretching.”

After waiting a beat, he looked to Higgs. “Forgot to drink his happy juice this morning?”

“Ignore Costa. He’s a regular bowl of sunshine, twenty-four-seven.” Higgs grinned. “What’d your group do last night?”

“Cookout at my place. I’ve got a big grill, which I bought before I realized it was pointless to have when I’m only ever cooking for one. So it was good to have an excuse to blow the dust off and use it. Steaks, burgers, corn, and one of my guys made this gooey chocolate dessert thing that cooked in some foil on the grill. It was amazing.” He nodded at them both. “You guys should come over sometime so I have another excuse to use the grill.”

“Does anyone around here stick to a reasonable diet?” Brad wondered out loud.

“Only you,” Higgs answered with a dead-serious look. Both he and Sweeney cracked up laughing, until Sweeney’s smile faded slowly.

“Who,” he asked, voice low, “the hell is that?”

Brad turned to see a woman walking in, a mat under one arm, a tote bag filled with who knew what slung over her other shoulder. Long auburn hair swished from her high ponytail as she walked. She wore an outfit similar to Marianne’s, only her top was shorter and bared much more of her stomach. Though that might have been because she was willow-slender and at least five foot ten.

She bounced the last few steps and straight into Marianne’s arms. They did the girl-hug thing and chattered at each other, though Brad couldn’t hear what they said. Then he watched as Marianne introduced the newcomer to the coaches.

“Cute,” was Higgs’ observation.

“I’ll have one of those” was Sweeney’s eye-glazed announcement.

“You’re both idiots” was Brad’s contribution.

“Marines, on your feet!” Coach Ace barked. They scrambled up and assumed parade rest right where they were on the large blue wrestling mat. “You’re going to do a two-lap warm-up, and then grab one of these . . .” He glanced at the new woman, who muttered something in his ear, and he finished, “. . . mats. Grab one of these rolled up mats and spread out.”

When they stared at him, not moving, he clapped his hands together and grinned. “It’s yoga time, boys.”





CHAPTER


11


Marianne struggled to remember the last time her stomach had hurt so much. Not from eating too much ice cream, or from cramps, but from holding in the laughter too long. Oh, God, they were hilarious, bless their sad, inflexible little souls.

They were all struggling through a downward dog—at least two of the Marine infants had snickered at the name—and now most were moaning at the fact that they couldn’t do the poses even halfway. Marianne, who had never been fantastic at yoga and only did the poses for the relaxation benefits, was suddenly feeling a thousand times more flexible by comparison.

“Don’t overdo it,” Kara warned from her mat in the front. She stood and walked around, repositioning men’s hands or nudging their feet apart for a better stance.