The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Thirteen

Sex with Tenny, without the girls as intermediary, was a whole new kind of revelation. It left him feeling light; left him waking with a sense that he had a secret, one he wanted to guard fiercely. Everyone else saw Tenny's smirks and snarls, but Reese got to see him soft. Got see his doubt, and his hesitance; Reese got to know him, and that felt like something precious.

He'd awakened that morning more slowly than he ever had, already aware of the warm body pressed to his before his eyes opened; had known he was safe, that Tenny would have roused him if there was a threat, and so he'd been drowsy and in no hurry to spring out of bed and splash cold water on his face, like normal. He'd never been around anyone whose instincts and training matched his own, who he could trust – not until Tenny. He'd always had to sleep light; to be the watchdog; had trained to let himself run on as little rest as possible. But if Tenny was there, and awake, he didn't have to worry.

Tenny had been quiet, as they packed their things and checked out of the hotel, but it was a pensive sort of quiet, rather than the brooding one of last night, and so Reese didn't let himself fret about it.

The ride back was pleasant, the steady drone of their engines and the constant buffeting of the wind keeping the heat of late summer at bay.

Something was wrong with Eden; that much had been immediately apparent upon seeing her.

"Not dealing with that," Tenny had muttered, when they were back out in the driveway and buckling on their helmets. "That's Fox's business."

Reese had nodded in agreement – women were still the greatest of mysteries to him – and they'd ridden back to Dartmoor. Home, he supposed.

To be met by all the prospects, camped out at the picnic tables beneath the pavilion, eating a late lunch.

"Look," Deacon jeered as they headed for the door. "It's the special boys. Too good to even do their prospect year."

And just like that, Tenny's calm, unbothered energy shifted. Reese saw his shoulders lift, his arms tense. His face had been blank before – but a soft blank. A relaxed mouth, and eyes round and observant, rather than calculating. Reese could see all of that, even if no one else could – I know him, I know him, only me, he's mine – and so he could tell right away when Tenny dragged a mask down over his face, and it twisted into something derisive and haughty.

Reese knew a sudden urge to hit Deacon, and that surprised him. Violence had never been about want before, at least not until Tenny. When I hate you, I hate you, I hate you became something very different.

Reese waited for a cutting retort – but Tenny only shot the group a nasty sneer and kept walking.

"Hey, guys," Evan called, and there was a scramble of noise as he clambered up from the table and tried to follow them.

Tenny lengthened his stride and shoved the door open when they reached it.

Reese hung back, and turned to intercept Evan in the foyer.

"What is it?" he asked.

Evan was a good few inches taller, but still hapless; he reeled back the way he always did in the face of Reese's full attention. "Oh. Um. Well." He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, and fluffed his soft brown hair. "I haven't really seen you guys since the whole patching-in thing. I wanted to say congrats. You guys are both way, way ahead of the rest of us, as far as, you know, everything goes. Don't listen to Deacon. You deserve this."

A beat passed before Reese realized he'd just received a compliment. "Oh. Thank you."

"Yeah, man, totally." He brought his hands together and laced his fingers in an unmistakably nervous gesture. "Um. Actually, I wanted to ask you guys something. Or" – he skirted a look around Reese's shoulder, into the common room; Reese heard the thump of leather couch cushions and then the TV cut on – "maybe just you, and you can ask him for me? Sorry, man, but he still freaks me the hell out."

Reese blinked. Never before had anyone confessed to him of all people that someone else "freaked them out." First time for everything, he guessed. Also, were people learning to read him? Or, as Tenny had suggested when he ragged him about "making faces," was he giving more away than he used to?

"I was wondering," Evan continued, oblivious to Reese's small internal crisis, "if you – or you guys – would mind helping me with a little more sparring practice."

Sparring with Evan had, so far, been an exercise in futility. Despite his long reach, he threw only half-hearted punches, flinched easily, and got tangled up in his own feet so often it wasn't necessary to sweep his legs. The sessions always ended with Fox dryly insulting him while a red-faced, panting Evan tried to hide in a sweat towel, shoulders drooping in defeat.

"Really?" Reese asked.

"Yeah, I mean..." His expression turned sheepish. "I know I suck at it, but I want to be valuable around here, you know? And I can wash a mean bike, and pull a beer like a pro, but...I dunno. Boomer and Deacon just kinda sit back and let whatever happen. They do what Ghost tells them to, but they...shit, they don't wanna get better at anything, you know? And you guys are so valuable you got patched early. I know I can't ever get on that level. But." He shrugged. "I can try."

In another life, trying had never counted for Reese. Each try was met with a punishment – each success with an absence of such.

But. Well. It was just that: another life. In this one, he was special, apparently, and someone was seeking out his help.

"Okay," he said.

Evan grinned. "Okay? Really?"

"Yes."

"Uh, what about...?" He nodded toward the couch.

"I'll handle him." Because I know him, because he listens to me, because he's mine, mine, mine.

"Sweet! Okay, cool, um, tomorrow okay? I still gotta unload a buncha pallets down at the nursery."

"That's fine."

"Awesome! I'll text you, yeah?"

"Sure."

He bounded off like an excited child.

Reese turned around to find that the common room was empty save the two of them. This was the time of day when the girls ran errands, or went to work elsewhere. Now that Jasmine had stepped down as head Lean Bitch, Chanel had taken her place; the others, like Stephanie, cycled in for parties and the occasional request, but didn't hang around on a day-to-day basis.

After a long ride, Reese was glad of the quiet. The clubhouse was cool, and fresh-smelling from a recent mopping. Tenny had found a sitcom rerun to watch, the volume low, his posture relaxed now that they were away from the prospects.

Reese went to the kitchen, gathered two sodas, and went to sit beside him.

To his surprise, Tenny took the offered Coke, leaned forward to set in on the coffee table, and, when he sat back, slung his arm casually around Reese's shoulders and dragged him across the couch cushion and half into his lap.

This was new.

Tenny was surprisingly touchy during and right after sex. Reese had fallen asleep last night with Tenny heavy and sweat-damp on top of him. But they didn't touch out in the open like this, audience or no. They didn't sit entangled, arms around shoulders, hands resting on thighs.

Reese tensed a moment, shocked, and then relaxed, because touching Tenny was nice, even if it wasn't leading anywhere.

He settled against his side, opened his drink, and then let it rest on Tenny's knee as he leaned against him. Tenny's fingers fiddled with the sleeve of his t-shirt on the far side, his arm heavy and warm against the back of Reese's neck.

They watched TV in silence a moment, before Tenny sucked in a shallow breath and said, nonchalant, "I want to go to dinner tonight."

"Okay," Reese agreed. "Where?"

He could hear him swallow. "I don't know. I'll think of something." He sounded nervous, which was silly, because they ate dinner all the time. What was there to be nervous about?