Below the Belt(43)
“And which one of you asked him for this workout tonight?”
“None of us. He just rounded us up and brought us out here. Made Tressler give up a date to come out.” That made him laugh, and when he finished, she was satisfied to hear his breathing sound normal. They rounded the last curve of the catwalk. “So he piled us in Tressler’s car, since he’s got the biggest one, and made him drive us out here.”
“That was . . . surprising,” she said, going for honesty. That he took the initiative shocked her.
“I think the group leaders are all fighting it out to see how many of their guys they’ve got left standing. Nobody likes to lose, especially a Marine.”
As they approached the first area of the catwalk, Armstrong looked up from the water bottle he was chugging from. “Marines don’t lose. We just give everyone else a chance for glory so they’ll stop whining about the odds.”
“Clever.” She left Tibbs to hydrate again and wandered over toward Brad. “Interesting evening. You know, most guys would ask a lady out to a movie, or maybe for a drive, if they wanted to spend time in their company.”
Brad brushed that off. “Old-school. I like to impress the ladies with my mad socialization skills. Look at me, volunteering my time with my fellow boxers.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “You’re my hero,” she said in a high pitched, cartoon-female voice.
“Damn right. Another half hour, and we’ll be done. You okay with that?”
He was speaking to her, but she saw his mind was already focused elsewhere. The “elsewhere” was with Tibbs, and his attempt at a footwork ladder taped to the floor.
“Go. Help. Do. Wake me when you’re done.” She returned to her sentry spot on the floor with her phone. But for the next thirty minutes, she couldn’t help but occasionally catch a glance at his cute butt while he worked with the guys.
Bad Marianne.
*
IT was the second time he was standing outside Marianne’s apartment in as many nights. He’d left his car at Tressler’s when the younger Marine had driven them all to the gym, but he was back to his own devices now. And instead of heading home for some much-needed R & R, he found himself driving toward where he wanted to be the most.
Marianne’s apartment.
He knocked, waited then knocked again.
Maybe she was asleep. She didn’t strike him as the type to turn in before the late shows started airing, but what the hell did he know? He gave it one more shot and nearly rapped her in the forehead when she yanked open the door.
“I started thinking you wouldn’t be coming by,” she said.
He blinked. “Were you expecting me?”
“Uh . . . yeah.” She gave him a “duh” face. Opening the door wide, she let him in before shutting it behind her. She’d changed, this time into an oversized shirt with some high school name on it. If she was wearing shorts, they were tiny enough that they didn’t show under the thigh-skimming hem of the shirt. The sight of it made his mouth water.
At least try to focus on something else for a few minutes before you jump her, Lieutenant Suave.
“Sorry. If I knew you were expecting me, I’d have texted.”
“No big.”
“Chalfant wanted one more pep talk. I’m not sure why he doesn’t just listen to motivational CDs or something. I’ve got nothing good to say. But he keeps asking, so whatever.” It made his neck burn to think of the way the kid had stared up at him with big eyes as Brad had explained resilience. Like a kid watching a superhero. Scared the piss out of him.
“It’s cute. He’s enamored with you.” She pointed to the couch. “Sit. Do you want something to drink?”
It mimicked their evening from the night before so much, he grinned. “Yeah. A beer this time. My own,” he clarified when she glanced back in surprise. “It’s my one night off where I’m not going to get up at the ass-crack of dawn for a run. I can live a little.”
“Two beers, coming up.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, and he sat and picked up her notepad. Again, the day’s date was written at the top, and her list of to-dos were all crossed off. It was a pretty simple list, including work and the post office, and a reminder to call some guy about supplies.
He picked up her pen and added one last item to her list just as she was coming out of the kitchen. Two bottles clanked between her fingers, and she handed one to him and sat at the opposite end of the couch.
Disappointment that she wouldn’t pull the feminine snuggle trick was short-lived as she poked at him with her toe. “You dragged me out of the apartment at ten at night. You can pay me back now.”
“How’s that?”
She plopped that foot in his lap and grinned. “Get to it.”
Her feet were small and cute, with frosty pink painted toenails. It was no hardship to take a sip of beer, set it on the coffee table and pick up her foot. His thumb pressed into the arch and she moaned in a way that made his cock harden. Then her eyes popped open. “Did you use a coaster?”
He looked at the beer, then around desperately for a coaster. “Uh . . .”
She burst into laughter. “I don’t have coasters. Are you kidding me?”
“Tricky witch,” he muttered, but kept rubbing, and she kept making sex noises. Eventually, he switched from her right to her left. She slumped back and settled the beer on her stomach.