Divine and Dateless (31 page)

And ran.

And ran.

I ran until I didn’t think I could run anymore. And then I ran again until I puked up soggy rice cereal all over my shoes.

Funny thing was, nobody else had rigorous PT. Crow only had to do a few stretches and some light walking. No grudge there, considering he was disabled. Boner ran a few laps with me, but he was dismissed after an hour. Jack happily followed him to the house after Boner promised cookies. I occasionally spotted Basil frolicking in the forest with a fly swatter, but otherwise, I was left alone with my tormentor.

After we walked back to the house, Sarge sprayed the puke off my shoes and let me drink from the hose. I let him pour the water over my head, not caring if he soaked my clothes. Though the day felt mild, my internal temperature was soaring, and the cool water was wonderfully refreshing.

I had just started stretching the cramps out of my legs when Sarge blew the whistle I’d come to loathe. I’d already conjured up fantasies for that whistle, starting with flushing it down the toilet and culminating in shoving it up Sarge’s ass.

“All right, recruit. Warm up time is over. Time for demon combat training.”

Warm up time? That was a warm up? Wait! Demon training!

I arched a brow, looking at him as if he’d caught a case of Basil’s crazy virus. He couldn’t be serious. When he blew that damned whistle again and pointed at a spot in front of him, I hustled like a pathetic little puppy.

I gasped when he spun me around and twisted my arm behind my back, his other arm squeezing precariously close to the bottom swell of my breasts as he pulled my backside flush against his groin. For a moment, I thought I felt something hard pressing into my ass, but I had to be mistaken.

“A demon’s got hold of you,” he growled into my ear. “What do you do?”

It took me a few seconds to compute that this was a training exercise and not foreplay. His fault, not mine. His virile heat seeped into my drenched skin, causing my internal temperature to soar higher. If he kept holding me this way, my cervix would have a full-out nuclear meltdown.

“Let me go,” I whimpered, squirming against him.

“Wrong answer,” he hissed. “You’re demon bait. Hopefully, he’ll make you his bitch. That’s one step up from his slave, and the chains around your neck and ankles aren’t as heavy.”

“Help!” I kicked my legs. “Someone help! Stranger!”

His deep, dark chuckle shook me to my core. “Who’s going to help you, MacLeod? Your squad was smoked by creatures while you were busy fixing your hair.”

Whether by accident or design, he adjusted his grip on my ribs, his forearm grazing my breasts. At this point, alarm bells should have been ringing. This first rate-jerk had no business getting a free feel of my girlies. I should have been biting, pinching, and kicking, so why was I melting instead?

“Mmm.” A shudder coursed through me as my boobs perked up and my nipples pebbled to stone.

He cleared his throat before releasing me. “That’s enough, recruit.”

I spun around and kneed him in the groin. He fell to the ground, clutching his nuts and curling into a fetal ball.

I planted my fists on my hips, smiling down triumphantly. “Will that work?” I asked in a mocking tone.

He grumbled a response before rolling to his side and swiping my legs out from under me with that gleaming silver prosthetic.

Ouch!

I landed on my ass with a
thud.
Luckily, I had extra cushioning down there, but I’d still be sore tomorrow. Next thing I knew, a very pissed off sergeant was straddling my waist, scowling down at me with a look so thunderous, a chill wracked me. It also hardened my nipples even more, causing them to pebble right through my missile tit bra and wet T-shirt, as if the fabric was made of tissue paper.

Sarge must have stolen a peak at my traitorous tits, too, because I saw a smirk tug one corner of his full, sensual mouth before he leaned over me. “There are monsters down below that will make your brain seize with fright and your skin crawl.” The low, ominous rumble slid across my senses, only instead of causing my insides to melt, they solidified in fear. “There are dragon creatures that shoot flame so hot, it will burn your eyes out of their sockets, and serpents with venom so poisonous, it will rot your flesh and mind, turning you into a walking corpse. You think a little kick to the nuts is going to stop a demon?”

“Th-Then what do I do?” I stammered.

“You run. You run like the very maw of Hell is trying to suck you into its voracious belly, and you don’t look back.”

Well, shit.

According to the old rusty scale in the bathroom, I'd actually lost five pounds that week thanks to Sarge's back breaking PT. I figured, since he'd helped me shave some of the fat off my ass, that made him one tenth less of an asshole. I wasn't going to tell him that, though. With my luck, that would only make him push me harder.

To say PT was brutal would have been a major understatement. I couldn't believe it was already Friday. I'd survived the first four days of the Sergeant's torture, which was more intense than Zumba, Tae Bo, and Crossfit all rolled into one.

I was so sore each night, I hardly had the energy to take Jack outside. I usually just plopped on my balcony steps and waited for him to come back to me. After that, I'd fall into bed and pass out until Sarge's annoying whistle woke me up at the butt crack of freaking dawn. Then I'd roll out of bed, scarf down a bowl of rice cereal and about half a pot of coffee, and take a ride on the torture-go-round again.

I'd done so many pushups, sit-ups, and barf-ups, I'd lost count. I'd run more dizzying laps than a Nascar racer, scaled a few walls, and fallen face-first in the mud.

After that morning's marathon run, I'd pulled a muscle in my butt so hard, I was reduced to sobbing in the dirt like a baby. Jack had followed me through the course. While I dodged roots and fallen pine limbs, lost a shoe in a mud puddle, and scraped my knee on a slimy rock, he trotted along with enviable ease, his wagging tail in constant motion. I'd nearly reached the finish line when the cramp hit, and Jack had rushed to my side, applying his own special brand of healing licks and snuggles. If only a dog's love could have fixed all my problems, I'd never want for anything ever again.

I had no idea why I'd stuck it out with Delta House this long. Sarge turned out to be the biggest asshole in the history of assholes, making me work twice as hard as everyone else because he said I was in such poor shape. Have I mentioned lately Sarge was an asshole? A big fat poop chute with an infected, oozing pimple on top?

The other ghosters in the house were starting to grow on me, though. Basil, for all of her weirdness, was super sweet. I'd caught her scratching Jack's tummy on numerous occasions. Anyone who loved dogs as much as I did was okay in my book. Boner and Crow were always giving me a hand when I had difficulty finishing a course.

But today they were nowhere in sight. This maze of torture had been designed especially for me and those extra few pounds on my rear, my very hurty rear. I was still sobbing when I saw that lone boot and its shining silver companion marching toward me. I cringed as I held onto my dog's neck, expecting another brutal reprimand.

"What happened?" Surprisingly, his tone was more tender than I'd expected.

"Butt cramp." I sobbed as I sat up. "Really bad butt cramp."

I was expecting him to tell me to get up and shake it off or maybe laugh and call me a wimp. I was not expecting him to pull a tube of sports cream out of his pocket, yank down the hem of my sweats, and rub the medicine into my ass.

I was not expecting him to do that at all, but as he wordlessly massaged the hurt away with deep strokes of his strong fingers, my tortured tush wasn't all that turned to mush. Those butterflies fluttering low in my belly just about went apeshit as I leaned my head against the crook of his arm, inhaling his masculine scent.

Damn, I needed to get laid.

Asshole or not, the guy knew how to make me go from hurt to horny in two-point-five seconds.

"Is that better?" He breathed against my ear.

"Uh-huh," I moaned.

"Good." His soft chuckle was like warm honey to my buttery cornbread. "Now get your ass in gear," he boomed before slapping my bare butt... hard. And when I said hard, I meant frigid-water-stinging-bare-nipples hard, horsewhip-slashing-wet-backside hard. In other words, really freaking hard!

"Ow!" I screamed as I rolled over and jerked my pants up. "What the hell was that for?"

"Sorry," he laughed. "I thought you'd like it," he added with a wink before strolling away, ignoring my dog, who'd shot to his feet and was growling protectively beside me.

I was so angry, flames were practically shooting out of my ears as I stomped toward the finish line. What gave him the right to play these mind-fuck games? As soon as I caught up to the arrogant jerk, I was determined to tell him off. But as the stinging slowly ebbed, it was replaced by a new pain. The throbbing of unfulfilled desire.

That's when I realized this soldier's strategy of torturing and teasing could very well culminate in a night of flirting and fucking. How could I have been so blind? From the moment we'd first met until to now, he's been purposely wearing me down just so he could get in my pants.

Well, I had some sad news for him. I might have been an easy lay, but I wasn't a stupid fuck. Hot bod or not, this man would not break through my defenses no matter how horny he made me.

I would have surmised, with all this rigorous PT I’d been doing, I wouldn’t have had time to miss Grim, but I did. I thought about him just about every waking moment of the day. Like when I fell face-first in the mud, I was reminded of the time he’d thrown Stan in the pool of sludge. When Sarge forced me to do hundreds of pushups in the rain, I thought of Grim draping his jacket over me, so I wouldn't get soaked on my first day at the Prayer Call Center. And whenever Sarge and I bumped shoulders or brushed hands, I thought of the magical evening I'd spent in Grim's arms.

Though I now realized Sarge had been trying to make me hot for him, all he did was make me miss my Grim. It's been six days since I'd last seen him. He hadn't so much as sent me a telegram (yes, they used those in Purgatory) or called me on that bulky telephone hanging on the wall in the downstairs kitchen.

Exhausted and depressed, I wasn't in the mood for human company that night, so I sat at the vanity in my bedroom and gorged on Chinese takeout, which had become my staple for the past week. Not that I was complaining. I practically inhaled a quart of egg drop soup, two cartons of fried rice noodles with jumbo shrimp and four vegetable spring rolls, plus a pitcher of green tea.

Torture could sure work up an appetite.

After Jack mopped up a platter of teriyaki pork, I fed him my cookie and read the fortune inside.

Love lost then found is the heart's greatest treasure.

Boy, didn't I wish. I thought I could have loved a man once, but he walked out on me. Correction, I’d let him walk out on me because I was too scared to go after him.

I'd been doing a lot of thinking about my fears. Yes, there was definitely a gap in our ages, but this was Purgatory. None of my friends were from my generation. Basil had died in the 60’s, Inés and Boner in the 80’s, and Crow probably around the same time as Grim.

Heck, even my grandma, who looked and acted twenty-five, was still in love with my grandpa, despite his saggy ass crack and old-man beer gut. I picked up the fortune I'd saved from yesterday's cookie, the one that had caused my heart to stop.

Love is not bound by time. Love is eternal.

I couldn't help but feel those messages were my own personal wake-up calls. Grim had saved me from an afterlife of misery, taken care of me when I was sick, and made love to me with more feeling and tenderness than I'd ever known. And how had I repaid him? I'd dismissed his worries and let him walk out my door.

What kind of an idiot was I?

The blare of sirens cut right through my fog of depression like a thousand rabid cats howling in my eardrums.

I jumped up from my chair, shut Jack in my room, and raced downstairs in record time to see I was the first one to the common room. I hadn't showered yet, so I was all ready to go in standard issue SIA sweats and boots. Even my shirt with the SIA logo, the dark silhouette of a body with a burst of light coming through the top of the head, was still tucked in.