Below the Belt(71)

“Yadda yadda,” Brad muttered, but nudged Tressler with his elbow. “Close enough. It took someone else reminding me I joined a team, despite the individual way the sport plays out. So you needed a reminder, too. We all do, from time to time. Just don’t be a jackass about it.”

“Same goes,” the younger man quipped, then danced out of range when Brad took a half-joking swing at him. “Old man, you couldn’t catch me if you had a net and a head start.”

“Drive me home, punk. I forgot to take my nightly prune juice.”

The entire way home, he debated, he bargained, and he fought against the need to tell Marianne about his knee. But he saw exactly what she did for Tibbs in his very near future. If he could just get through tryouts and claim an official spot on the team . . . maybe then. Maybe. They wouldn’t be so inclined to turn and burn the Marines who were officially on the team. They’d let him practice with the brace, get through the All Military games, and then see about more intense therapies from there.

So he was still stuck with another week of subterfuge. There was a reason he wasn’t special ops . . . this secretive crap was over his head. He didn’t like it. It gave him pre-ulcers just thinking about it. Were pre-ulcers even a thing? Hell, he couldn’t even ask Marianne something stupid like that.

Forget the pre. Thinking about lying—by omission—to the woman he loved was going to give him real-deal ulcers.

He had to tell her. He couldn’t wait any longer. It was bullshit otherwise, to keep holding back.

“Hey, Grandpa. We’re here.” Tressler nudged him on the shoulder. “Did you fall asleep on the way back to the nursing home?”

Brad swatted at the badgering hand. “Stop that. I’m up, I’m going.” He raised up and watched as Tressler checked the clock on the dash. The first hints of watery dawn light were creeping in through the trees, over the BOQ roof line, in any stray crack it could find before it muscled its way into official daylight. “Thinking of going back to the hospital?”

“I, uh . . .” Tressler’s ears reddened, as if he realized he’d been caught caring about a teammate. A very non-loner thing to do. But he caught himself, scoffed and blew that off. “Nah. He can harass nurses all by himself. I’m more of a naughty teacher kinda guy, myself.”

“Uh-huh.” He climbed down from the Compensation-Mobile and started to close the door. Just before it shut, he added, “Tell Tibbs I’ll see him later today.”

“Roger.” Then Tressler scowled. “Damn you.”

“Go be with your teammate, Marine. Not an order, just a suggestion.” He closed the door, then watched the younger man peel out of the parking space and head out to the main road, slowing down enough for traffic laws. Brad grinned when he saw that Tressler turned left to head to the hospital, instead of right for the barracks.

Some guys were easier to read than others. If only women were so transparent.

He’d take one more day. One Sunday to be with her, absorb her and—hopefully—crawl just a little more permanently under her skin, so when he fessed up, she’d have a harder time pushing him away.

As plans went . . . it sucked.


*

THEY had developed quite the routine, Marianne mused as she rested her feet on a pillow in Brad’s lap. Her laptop, sitting on her lapboard, obstructed most of her view of him while he watched a UFC fight. He was only visible from the nose up. But even that small sliver of him gave her so much insight. He watched the fight with true intensity, not missing a single kick, a single punch. But she knew he was cataloguing every single move for future use.

He wore one of his olive green undershirts and a pair of red mesh workout shorts. And she, feeling comfortable enough to have given up caring, wore a pair of bikini bottoms with a flimsy tank top. She’d given about seven seconds of thought toward wearing a bra, then had decided against it.

It had been like this for most of their Sunday off. The last Sunday before the final team was announced. Despite the fact that she could feel the low-level vibration of stress and worry hum through him, he’d kept it light. Even knowing that if he didn’t make the cut, they’d be separated almost immediately by an entire country, he’d managed to wake her up in a good mood.

The reminder of exactly how he’d woken her up—from behind, with a gentle sliding into her—made her smile a little before resuming her work. There was something to be said for sleeping naked, like he preferred. It wasn’t her first choice, but it was definitely becoming a new favorite.

A long finger tapped on top of her screen. “What’s that secret smile about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just remembering something about waking up this morning.” She glanced up, and found heated eyes watching her carefully. “You know, when you played alarm clock and got me up way before I was ready.”

“I was already up.”

She chuckled at the sexual innuendo. “I know. That’s why I didn’t complain.” She poked him playfully in the ribs with a toe. “Watch your fight. I’m working here.”

“What pamphlet is it this time?”

“What makes you think it’s a pamphlet? I could be writing an email, or buying shoes.” She smiled wickedly. “Or sexy lingerie.”

He eyed her with an Is that a joke? face.

She grinned. He knew her too well. “Well, for your information, smarty-pants, it’s not a pamphlet.”