Below the Belt

by Jeanette Murray

  “I’d have had something better, but it was sort of last-minute.” She had a gorgeous PowerPoint presentation—animated with GIFs, even—that she’d used in one of her final projects in college. But where the hell she was going to project that in the dim gym, she’d never know. So she’d resorted to scurrying over to the exchange, begging the Marine she’d recognized in the parking lot to help her purchase the boards and Sharpies since she didn’t have a military ID, and then hurrying back to scribble down the bullet points. Nikki, though, had been super helpful when she’d come in half an hour ago. The presentation wouldn’t have been complete without those little flower doodles in the corners.

  Nothing said Please take me seriously quite like flower vine doodles.

  “I just wanted to say,” Higgs started as he followed her into the room, “that Sweeney and I know about you and Costa. But we’re not saying anything. Your business is your business.”

  She froze, then turned to look at him. “You know . . . what?” How much did they know?

  “That you guys are . . .” He held up his hands, as if embarrassed that she was making him say it. “I don’t know . . . together. An item. A thing. Dating.”

  “He told you this?” That surprised her. For all that Brad was now more open and relaxed with her, he didn’t seem to have reached that same level with his teammates.

  “He told me nothing. But I figured it out. I’m a quick study.” He winked again, then turned and almost ran into a woman. “Whoa, sorry, ma’am.”

  “That’s okay.” She took a step back quickly out of his steadying grip and tugged on the jacket of her suit to straighten it. “No harm done.”

  “Later, Cook. Ma’am,” he said, hand to his forehead like he was pulling at a hat. Sarcastic cutie.

  She gave him a dry smile, and Marianne waved before sliding the poster boards behind a file cabinet to keep them out of the way, then went to start filling the jugs. Levi wasn’t coming in, and Nikki had jumped on the chance to help a few Marines stretch, so she was SOL on grunt work. But first, she had to deal with the suit.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Marianne Cook?”

  She stopped filling the jug with ice and glanced up. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Hi.” The woman’s smile warmed a little and she walked forward. Marianne wanted to warn her not to come closer in those kick-ass high heels. The laminate was often wet in patches and a serious hazard to anyone not wearing grip soles. But she was already across the room in three long-legged strides. “I’m Reagan Robilard. Team liaison for the duration. I wanted to introduce myself and talk about what happened here last week.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” She grabbed a towel, wiped her hands down and shook hands. “Sorry, Coach Ace warned me you’d be coming in and it totally slipped my mind. Rough day.”

  “Yes, I heard. I also heard the Marine was going to be fine, thanks to your quick work.”

  Marianne fought to blink back the tears once more. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never been this emotional about work before. “Honestly, I feel a little guilty about it. But that’s not why you’re here. What’s up?”

  She nodded, as if accepting that Marianne wasn’t ready to talk about it. Then she started wandering the room slowly. Marianne let her, but kept an eye on her. If she started touching things or moving stuff around, game over.

  “I’m here to see how you’ve coped with putting the room back to rights. But frankly, it looks like nothing ever happened. You’ve done well.”

  “Maintenance did the majority of the work. I just restocked. They deserve the credit. It was a bitch to clean.”

  She nodded absently, stopping to view a few motivational quotes Marianne had printed off on pretty stationery paper and taped to one wall. “Cute. I needed to know if you were capable, but from today’s events, I’d say yes. I’d also say you cared very much about this job, and about the guys you were tasked with watching over.”

  “I always care about doing my best work.” She scooped another load of ice into the bucket. If she didn’t get this done soon, it’d just be tepid water. “Is there anything specific I can answer?”

  “I’ll be honest. I didn’t mean to, but I overheard your conversation with the man who was just in here.”

  “Higgs,” Marianne said, as she scooped more ice in. “That was Higgs.”

  “Hmm. And he was referencing you dating someone else. Another Marine?”

  Marianne’s arm slowed for a few seconds, but she forced herself to keep scooping. “Bradley Costa. He’s a member of the team.”

  “Potential member.”

  “Okay, yes. Potential member.” She tossed the scoop back in the plastic sleeve on the side for drainage and let the ice machine’s lid snap closed. “Is there a point?”

  “I assume you’ve disclosed this relationship?” The woman’s smile looked concerned, a little strained, like she was fighting to keep it in place.

  “I did, with my supervisor—who I assume is also your supervisor—and Costa has spoken to Coach Ace. We’ve addressed it, and have been assured by both sides that it was not a problem.”

  “I understand. And I don’t want there to be a problem, either.” Suddenly, the woman’s icy cold demeanor seemed to slide away, and she slumped in Marianne’s rolling desk chair. The chair skidded a foot away and she grabbed for the desk to steady herself. “I’m sorry. I’m doing a real shit job here.”

  Marianne snorted at that. The polish rubbed away, revealing a slightly frazzled young woman in a really killer outfit. Marianne hopped up onto the nearest table and let her legs swing. The heels of her running shoes bounced gently against the side. “First day on the job?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to start for another three weeks. I got called off vacation. This is my first time doing this and . . .” She scooped a stray brunette wisp of hair back behind her ear. “I’m lost. Can I say that to you?” She looked up with big brown eyes a little wild with confusion.

  Marianne laughed and nodded. “Yeah, you can. I’m a little lost too, on some things. Nice shoes, by the way.”

  Reagan held one foot out to study the black shoe with silver filigree swirled around the heel. “They hurt like hell, but I wanted to look good for my first day.” She grimaced and looked up at Marianne’s outfit. “I think I overdressed.”

  “I think you look nice. But . . .” She took one last look at the shoes, then the tidy, perfectly tailored suit. “Maybe. If you’re going to be around here, walking around the gym in those things is going to kill your feet. Should we discuss the effects of high heels on your arches? I have a pamphlet I could bring you.”

  “Let’s not and say we did. My world without high heels wouldn’t be worth living.” She sighed and settled back. “Sorry I came on so bitchy earlier. I’ve got nerves, and then resting bitch face added to it.”

  “Resting bitch face?” She couldn’t help but laugh, then hopped down and started filling the jug with water to go with the ice.

  “Yeah. You know, when your face just naturally rests in a scowl, but you’re not actually thinking negative thoughts? So people automatically think you’re making a pissed-off face, when you’re not doing anything but considering whether to have steak or seafood for dinner.” Reagan let her face smooth out, then her brows naturally drew down a little. “See?”

  Marianne snickered. “Sorry, but that’s sort of funny.”

  “Funny for you, maybe. Not funny for me, when everyone assumes I’m a bia!” She sighed. “Okay, so you’ve got everything under control here. Nothing odd to report, or any suspicions on who wrecked the training room?”

  “It was kids, I thought.” Not that she’d fully bought the theory, but it helped her sleep at night. She lugged the jug to the cart, faltered, then breathed a sigh of relief when Reagan reached the other side and helped her slide it on. “Thanks. And . . . that’s why you should probably pick a new outfit tomorrow.”

  Reagan glanced down to see a big water spot on the front
of her jacket. “It’ll dry. The MPs said it was kids when it was just a big mess in your training room. Now they’re thinking it might be tied to whoever left the nasty note upstairs.”

  Marianne raised a brow. Reagan shrugged. “I saw photos. My job is to keep things running smoothly and make sure none of this crap gets leaked to the press. It can get ugly quickly. People have a hair trigger when the more physical sports are mentioned to begin with. You add in the military, and protesters start rubbing their hands together, salivating.”

  Marianne understood that one. She’d lived in Jacksonville long enough to have seen her fair share of protests outside the front gate. Some had been small, barely worth mentioning in the local paper. Others had been national news.

  Levi walked in at that moment. Despite the fact that he wasn’t scheduled, Marianne gladly waved him over. “You’ve got mail.” She rolled the jug toward him, and he caught it easily. “Push that out there, would ya?”

  He grunted a reply, tossed his book bag down on a bench, grabbed a sleeve of cups on the way out and left.

  “How about your interns? How are they?”

  “Your average college students. Little bit of focus, lots of daydreaming and—for Nikki—ogling. Pretty standard.”

  “I was a college student until like a month ago,” Reagan said dryly.

  Whoops. “Sorry, you look older.”

  “Six-year plan, and then some. Not the point.” She tapped her toe on the ground for a moment. “Guess I’m off to the races to figure out where to go from here. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”

  “Have fun,” Marianne said with a wave. “Resting bitch face,” she said to herself with a laugh and went to create a new pamphlet about the effects of alcohol on an athlete’s body.

  * * *

  “FAVORITE color.”

  Brad didn’t hesitate. “Green. You?”

  “Tied between blue and turquoise.”

  Brad’s spoon halted halfway to the bowl of ice cream they were sharing. And in this case, “sharing” meant Marianne was eating most of it and pushing his spoon out of the way for the good chunks with the cookie dough in them. It was cute. “That’s the same color.”

  “No it’s not.” She knocked his stationary spoon aside and dug out another bite with chocolate chip cookie dough in it. “They’re completely separate things. Check a crayon box sometime.”

  “Your leading argument is based on a three-year-old’s craft supply? Weak.” He snagged a good bite for himself and ignored her pout. “You were the one who didn’t want to get your own bowl. Suck it up and share like a big girl.”

  “You’re in training. Why are you even eating ice cream?” She took up a spoonful too big for her own mouth, and pointed it at him. “I offered to split a bowl because that’s what girls do. We offer to share food because it makes us feel more delicate and dainty. Then you were graciously supposed to say no, you couldn’t, but go ahead and have some anyway, please. And then I would have my bowl to myself and not worry about feeling fat. Everybody knows that. But you ruined it by agreeing to share. Then I was stuck sharing. You locked me in and broke the rule.”

  “Who the hell made up that stupid rule?”

  “God.”

  “Jesus H.,” he muttered, then took another bite, even though he was full. Just because. “Don’t offer if you don’t want to share.”

  “Have none of your other girlfriends trained you yet?” She took the bowl from where it sat between them on the couch and held it in her lap, conveniently out of reach from his own spoon.

  “I’ve never had a long-term girlfriend.”

  She looked horrified at that. “Did I pop your girlfriend cherry?”

  He laughed so hard at that his stomach cramped.

  “Wasn’t meant to be funny. I don’t have time to housebreak you, you know. Nobody told me I’d be starting from scratch with you.” She stared at the wall in wonder. “Seriously, a relationship virgin? Why am I being punished?”

  “I’ll do my best to keep up to your standards,” he managed to gasp. God, she cracked him up. “Brothers or sisters?”

  “None.” She looked sad for a moment. “I wanted them. Not sure why my parents didn’t have any more. But it’s not my business to ask, so . . .” She shrugged. “You?”

  “I’ve got a younger brother and a younger half sister. Brother in college, sister—because the half never really mattered—in high school.” He held out a hand for the bowl; she studiously ignored him. “You can take them both, if you want. I’d love to be an only child for a while.”

  “Grass is greener,” she sang and took another spoonful. “I’m sorry, did you want to share this?”

  “We already established—”

  “That you aren’t housebroken yet, I know.” She patted his leg gently with a sad look. “We’ll work on it.”

  “No, honey, you go ahead. I don’t need to share your ice cream,” he said robotically. She rewarded him with a tiny spoonful.

  “Perfect.” She ate the last bite, then placed the bowl on the coffee table and reorganized herself so her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, hands resting comfortably on her stomach. “We could watch a movie.”

  “It’s getting late. I won’t last through an entire movie.”

  “It’s barely nine,” she said, then sighed. “Forgot. Sorry. Early conditioning.”

  He rubbed a circle over her stomach, his hand grazing the tops of her thighs, then lightly running over her groin until he squeezed. “You could always tuck me in.”

  “I could do that.” She sat up. “I think I’ve got a CD with some lullabies somewhere in one of my boxes.”

  “Smart-ass.” He blinked. “You’ve still got boxes? I thought you were done unpacking.”

  “I always think I am, then I find another one. I’ve just stuffed a lot of them in the second bedroom closet, or in random nooks and crannies. I don’t know how long I’ll be here anyway, so . . .” She shook her head to end the thought. “Come back. Let’s get in bed.”

  Now there was an idea he couldn’t dismiss. He stood and followed her back. As she walked, she loosened the string to her pajama bottoms and walked out of them, leaving them in a pool on the hallway floor. Her panties followed, then her shirt, until she was totally naked in her bedroom. “You forgot to strip down, too,” she chided as she pushed his shirt over his head.

  Her breasts pillowed against his chest, hard nipples poking into him. He kissed her, running his fingers up her neck and into her hair. He loved how light it felt, like feathers in his hands. He loved the way she tasted. The way her body responded automatically to his, softening for him.

  He felt the softness as his hands parted her thighs, then her sex, and dipped two fingers in. She was ready for him. Marianne moaned into his mouth, her hips jutting against his hand to make him go faster. He didn’t; he just kept a slow and steady pace. His forearms were sore from the bag workout earlier, but the burn as she moaned and clenched around his fingers was only more erotic.

  He walked her backward to the bed, pressing her down and resting on top of her. So far, she had taken charge in their sexual exploits, and he’d let her. Mostly because he loved watching her on top, exerting her control and doing whatever the hell pleased her the most in that moment. Watching her ice-blue eyes haze with climax was one of the sexiest things he’d ever witnessed.

  But tonight, he needed to be in charge.

  He removed his shorts and boxers, coughing to cover a hiss of pain when he twisted his knee in the wrong direction. She didn’t notice and instead kept doing that wonderful thing where she smoothed her hands over his back, scratching every so often. He grabbed a condom from her bedside drawer, put it on and plunged in. His arms burned from holding him up; his knee screamed from the constant motion. But there was no switching now. No way in hell.

  She arched into him, rolled left and right between his arms. Her breasts press into his forearms before she raised her hands up to cup them and
toy with her own nipples.

  “Aw, Jesus H.,” he muttered. That was the end of his plan for endurance. In the sack with Marianne, apparently, he was doomed to endurance failure. The woman turned him inside out.

  “I’m coming,” she warned with a whisper, then fisted around him until she cried out.

  He followed her into his own climax, nothing but grateful for having her reach her peak seconds before him. Pure luck.

  The second he was finished, he half collapsed on top of her. His arms were jelly.

  “Brad!” she shrieked when he blew a raspberry against her neck. “How the hell do you get so sweaty after ten minutes?”

  “You light me on fire, baby.”

  She groaned at the horrible line, and he smiled against her skin. “Just call me a furnace. Can’t help it. I’d sweat sitting in a walk-in freezer.”

  “Well, Furnace, your ass is still in the air. Toss the condom and let’s snuggle.”

  “Can’t. Arms are immobile. Speed bag did me in tonight.”

  She huffed. “You can’t stay here forever. I’m rolling you over.”

  He grunted. “I’ve got it. Damn, woman, give a man a minute to recover from mind-blowing sex, why don’t ya?”

  “Mind-blowing, or arm-blowing?” She grinned up at him as he struggled to his hands again. He watched her for a moment, smiling up at him, her cool blonde hair bed-rumpled behind her, ice-blue eyes shining, and fell headfirst in love.

  Unable to say anything past the lump in his throat, he kissed her nose. Later. When he didn’t have a spent condom to deal with.

  He went to straighten his legs and hop off the bed when his right knee locked completely. Having already distributed his weight to step down, but unable to fully straighten his leg to put his foot on the floor, he collapsed off the side of the bed.

  Jesus H.

  “Brad?” Marianne’s voice was questioning, and maybe a little amused. “Are your legs jelly, too?”

  “Apparently,” he muttered, trying to straighten his right leg. It only worked about ninety percent. The last ten wouldn’t budge. It was as if there were a roadblock in front of his kneecap preventing him from straightening completely.