Below the Belt(63)

It occurred to him belatedly . . . “Should I have mentioned I’d be MIA for yoga? I told the coach, but—”

“It’s okay. I worked it out myself.”

She still wasn’t looking at him. “I left pretty fast after practice, too. Look, I’m sorry. It was a bad day for me and I just . . . didn’t handle it well.”

She glanced up then, no recrimination in her eyes. Somehow, that made it worse. “Okay.”

“So . . . we’re okay?”

“Mmm.” She picked her phone back up and kept typing. “Maybe something on steroids?”

“Probably not an issue. We get piss tested more than any other kind of athlete.”

“Good point. But it never hurts to have more information, just in case anyone gets any ideas.” She looked up and smiled. “Right?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Right.”

A noisy bang preceded Chalfant into the gym. He walked over to his bag and started rifling through it, pulling out another shirt.

“Why are you working with them so much?” she asked quietly. “You were so against it to start with.”

He took a deep breath, then let it back out. Felt good to cleanse the lungs. “Your little quote about doing something good for what I volunteered for? That was the start. But the more I work with these guys, the more I hate the thought of them failing. It’d be like me failing . . . only worse.”

“Worse, huh?” She grinned. “Sounds like you’ve grown just a little attached to your Bad News Bears. For a guy who wanted to go it alone, that’s a big step.”

“I’m attached all over the place.” He watched as her eyes softened and her grin changed into a sweet curve. He knew she’d taken his meaning the right way.


*

MARIANNE rolled onto her back after a heavy workout. “That,” she said, breathing intensely, “was insane.”

Brad leaned over her, his face split wide in a Cheshire cat smile. “That was nothing.”

“You’re insane.”

“It wasn’t insane.”

She tried to raise her head, then realized her neck wasn’t going to cooperate. “Nope. I’m done.”

He slid his hands up under her workout tank. She slapped his arm away before he reached the sweaty band of her sports bra. Now that would be horrifying. Hey, not only am I not nearly as in shape as I thought I was, but here, have some boob sweat.

“You asked me to show you a workout, and I did.”

“I didn’t think you actually would.” She raised her head an inch—all she could manage—to find Higgs and Sweeney walking into the gym. She kicked at Brad ineffectively with a noodle-limp leg. “I thought you said nobody was coming back here for lunch.”

“They weren’t.” He sat on his haunches as the two other Marines approached.

Higgs nudged her foot with his toe. “Problem, Cook?”

She pushed at the bangs that had flopped over her eyes in a sad imitation of hair. They were soaking wet, like she’d just showered. “No. No problem at all. I’ve just lost function in most of my extremities. I’m sure that’s normal.”

“I gave her a workout,” Brad explained.

“Dude, over-share,” Sweeney said with a wrinkled nose.

Brad lunged and tackled him around the knees. They both wrestled to the ground over the mats that covered their area of the catwalk.

Higgs sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around his knees to watch. “Children.”

“I’m sure you’re so much more mature,” she said dryly.

“Oh, yeah. Of course I am. Ouch,” he said with a wince as Sweeney landed a decent elbow to Brad’s kidney. “That’s gonna hurt.”

“Stop it, both of you!” she yelled to the ceiling.

They ignored her.

“Don’t make me come over there!”

They called the bluff, and she wasn’t prepared to stand yet.

“Either cut it out or I’ll have Higgs sit on you while I wrap you together with tape.”

That seemed to get their attention. They pulled apart, with Sweeney sitting back on his hands and Brad crawling over to flop on his stomach beside her.

“Don’t you get enough of a workout during, you know, your workouts?” she asked him.

“Ah, but haven’t you heard?” Sweeney grinned at her, his teeth a white flash against the swarthy skin of his face. She just bet he was the kind who could go outside for ten minutes and come back in with a gorgeous golden tan. Jerk. “Costa is our endurance man. In fact, we’ve been meaning to ask you—”

“No!” Brad yelled, facedown on the mat.

“How’s the training business treating ya?” Higgs added to change the subject.

Brad held up a hand tiredly. Higgs slapped it in a pathetic high five.

“You’re all children.” She struggled to roll over, accidentally kicking Brad in the shin in the process. She’d apologize later, when she could feel her lips again. With Herculean effort, she managed to get to her hands and knees, then stretched her back like a cat. “There’s a reason I’m a trainer and not an athlete. That . . . was a killer.”

“Now, give yourself a rest and do it again in an hour,” Higgs advised.