But somehow, he’d grown close to not one, not two, but three of his fellow recruits. And, for some messed-up reason, those three put up with his bullshit and actually gave a damn about him.
“They’re late,” Dylan remarked, glancing up and down the deserted stretch of sand.
Seth shrugged. “McCoy probably couldn’t bear to drag himself out of Jen’s bed. Dude’s whipped, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, but he’s whipped by the sexiest woman on the planet. That’s not really much of a hardship.”
He couldn’t deny that Jen Scott, Cash’s girlfriend, was stunning, but Seth wasn’t into those perfect California-girl good looks. He was drawn to women with interesting faces rather than classically beautiful ones. Like Miranda, with her big hazel eyes, tilted at the corners to give her an exotic feel. The slightly crooked mouth, a tad too generous for her angular jaw. The unusual combination of olive skin and a sprinkle of freckles. To him, Miranda was more appealing than any cover model.
“Whipped is whipped,” he answered with a shrug.
Dylan grinned. “Cut McCoy a break. And you know what? I’m happy for him. He’s in luuuuuurve.”
“Poor bastard.”
“You know, one of these days you’ll fall just as hard, and I’ll be right there, laughing and pointing.”
Seth swallowed a laugh. Yeah, whatever. He didn’t do pansy-ass shit like love. He wasn’t a believer in love at first sight or the idea of “falling” in love, which implied not having a say in the matter. As far as he was concerned, love was a choice. You chose to open yourself up to it, you chose to feel something for the other person, chose to let those emotions develop and grow.
Well, he was choosing not to do any of that crap.
A loud whistle captured his and Dylan’s attention, and they turned around to see Cash and Jackson stalking across the sand.
“Sorry we’re late,” Cash apologized as he bumped fists with Seth, then Dylan. “I, uh, got delayed.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “I bet you did.”
Jackson spoke up in his Texan drawl. “With all the sexercise McCoy’s been gettin’, there’s really no reason for him to even be here.”
“I don’t know, he’s looking kinda flabby,” Dylan countered, his green eyes focusing on Cash’s bare chest. “Someone should send the CO an anonymous letter informing him that McCoy is slacking on his training.”
“Flabby? Uh-uh, I’m in peak physical condition.” Cash smirked. “And it’s okay to be jealous of my intensive sexercise regimen, boys. I won’t think less of you for it.”
That earned him incredulous looks from both Dylan and Jackson, who gave him the finger and proceeded to defend their sexual prowess by listing all the women they’d hooked up with over the past month. As an argument broke out about whether it was quality or quantity that mattered, Seth tuned the boys out. He couldn’t contribute much to the convo, anyway. He hadn’t gotten laid in eons, thanks to one very stubborn former showgirl.
It drove him f**king bonkers that she refused to give in to the attraction sizzling between them. So what if she had a pair of rugrats at home? It wasn’t like parenthood equaled mandatory celibacy. Surely she could set aside some time for a few rounds of hot, sweaty f**king.
And bad idea, thinking about hot, sweaty f**king while surrounded by three other men. As his c**k stiffened to half-mast, he pushed all thoughts of Miranda from his head and focused on the tail end of his friends’ dispute.
“After a certain amount of times, sex with the same person becomes that ratty shirt you’ve washed a hundred times,” Dylan was arguing. “Suddenly it’s not so colorful and it doesn’t fit the way it used to and you’re not sure you even like it anymore.”
“Whoa, that’s deep,” Cash said dryly.
“All I’m saying is, quantity eventually kills the quality. So be warned, a few more months and this super-duper sex you’re bragging about? It’ll be nothing but the old Metallica shirt you don’t wear anymore.”
“Jen will never become an old shirt.” Cash’s voice oozed with confidence. “I guarantee it.”
Seth kept his mouth shut, but he was totally with Dylan on this one. Regular sex with the same chick was bound to get dull. At least in his experience.
“Anyway, let’s do this thing.” Cash glanced up at the sky, wary. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
They’d trained on this beach for years, so the workout that ensued was one Seth could do in his sleep. The sky remained overcast during the four-mile run, but once they hit the water, a light rain began to fall and the water grew choppier. Although the waves were nothing to freak out about, when Cash called out and suggested they head back, nobody protested.
They were a mile out, making their way to shore when all hell broke loose. A crack of thunder exploded in the air. The sky grew darker and darker in a matter of seconds, an onslaught of rain blasting out of those black clouds like water from a broken dam.
Gritting his teeth, Seth concentrated on swimming in a straight line, a damn-near impossible feat when the wind was determined to blow his body right back into the middle of the ocean. He was gasping for air by the time he reached the shore, thoroughly exhausted as he staggered out of the water, Cash hot on his heels.
He heaved himself onto the sand, rain and seawater dripping down his bare chest. Squinting, he studied the angry waves, experiencing a spark of relief when he spotted Dylan’s blond head bobbing in the water, powerful arms slicing through the current.