He never got that runner’s high everyone talked about, but there was certainly something therapeutic in long runs. He wasn’t necessarily the fastest during his SEAL days, but instead squarely in the middle. However, he could pace like nobody’s business. That meant he was always in the lead, and it drove the five-minute milers insane.

“Boy, you looking good!” He waved, a tad embarrassed, at the elderly woman who seemed to constantly be watering her flowers every time he raced by. He’d made the mistake once of stopping and talking to her. He was certain she would chat for hours if given the chance.

“Ryan, I got your mail again.” His next door neighbor, a guy whose name he could never remember, called out to him.

“Slide it under my door?” he asked. “I gotta hit the weights before I lose my motivation.”

“You? Lose motivation?” His neighbor chuckled and slapped his own mound of a belly. “I don’t think missing a day of weights is going to hurt you.”

He powered through leg day. So fucking stupid going on a run before this. He knew guys on his team who were hardcore into strength training. They lifted first thing in the morning, fasted, then pounded protein and waited thirty minutes before cardio. He admired their dedication—and research skills—but didn’t see how they bulked up any different than the other guys. For Ryan, working out was always intuitive. He just did what felt good.

As he bounded upstairs, legs already strained from the grueling morning, he saw his neighbor had indeed stuck a hefty pile of mail under his door. Bills, junk, overdue notices. He shut them away in a kitchen drawer before he turned on the shower. Out of sight, out of mind might not be the best approach, but right now it’s the only option.

Ryan stood under the pounding hot water and tried to guess what questions the US Marshals recruiter might ask. What about my knee? All the details were in his files, of course. Would they really invite me for an interview if they were going to reject me because of that?

It had been a long time since he was this nervous. Not since Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, probably.

He rehearsed potential answers as he maneuvered the motorcycle to the recruiter’s office. No, I’ve never taken medication for depression, anxiety, or any other mental condition. My best training was the wet and sandy. No, I’m not married and I don’t have a significant other.

The building was unassuming—what more could he expect from the agency that was in charge of the Witness Protection Program? He willed himself to stop shaking his leg nervously as he waited in the lobby in an uncomfortable plastic bucket seat.

“It’ll be just another minute,” the pretty receptionist told him for the third time. He tried to smile back, but it felt forced.

“Petty Officer Scott?” A gruff man appeared at the door beside the receptionist’s desk. “Right this way.”

As he followed the squat man through a narrow and dingy hallway, he couldn’t help but feel like he was in trouble at school and this was the principal who was about to punish him with detention.

“Thank you for coming down,” the man said. “I’m Lieutenant Stevens, and I’ll be conducting this session.” Interview. Is it a good thing he didn’t call it an interview? Or not?

“Thank you for seeing me,” Ryan said.

The man snorted. “I’ll get right down to it. Your records are impressive. Silver Star Medal, impeccable recommendations, three platoons—you’re certainly not lacking in your background and training.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ryan said. He sensed a ”but” coming.

“Here’s the thing. As you may or may not know, we’re in need of solid vets for the US Marshals. The incidents in recent years? The suicides that were all over the news? That’s done a number on our recruitment efforts.”

Suicides? That hadn’t come up in any of his research when he'd been trying to figure out his next move. “I can imagine. Sir.”

“Because of that, we’ve been extremely vigilant about vetting candidates, particularly with regards to their mental health.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see here that you had a patellar fracture. That what got you discharged?” The lieutenant’s steely eyes sized him up and down. Why is he asking me? Doesn’t he already know?

“Yes, sir.”

“Huh,” he said. “SEALs take every little thing serious, huh? Well, as long as you have the go-ahead from one of our doctors, that shouldn’t be a problem. Nothing else, though? You know, up here?” The lieutenant tapped his own head with a pencil.

“Uh, no, sir. No.” Shorter replies were always better.

“That’s good. That’s real good, son,” he said. The lieutenant leaned back in his chair.

Am I supposed to do something now? He kept quiet. If this was some kind of game or test, he didn’t know the rules.

“Nine months,” the lieutenant said.

“Pardon, sir?”

“The hiring process takes about nine months right now. Used to be up to twelve, but like I said…”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ll be waiting nine months for a decision?

“Hell no, son. That’s just how long the paperwork and all takes. And you applied through your local district. Smart, that’ll speed it up. You’ll have to go through the training academy within a hundred and sixty days of today, but that’s nearby, too. And should be a breeze for a SEAL like you.”

“I’d just like to clarify, sir. I’m in?”

“More or less,” he said. “You’ll enter at the GL-0082-07 level, just like all new recruits. After a year, you’ll be eligible for a promotion. Sorry about that, it’s the rules. Doesn’t matter if you’re a war hero or a nobody off the street. Well, I shouldn’t say that. We don’t really take nobodies.”

The numbers swam in Ryan’s head. He didn’t know what they meant, but what did it mean that the lieutenant was apologizing? That’s gotta be a bad sign.

“Thank you? Sir.” It was the only thing that came to mind.

“Check with Pauline at reception. She’ll have some paperwork for you, and can take it from there.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you, sir.” Lieutenant Stevens rose and shook his hand, but had already sat back down by the time Ryan made it to the door.

“I see you applied to serve locally, too,” Pauline said. “That’s good! We could use some more like you around here.” Her dark cocoa eyes looked hungry.

“Like me?”

“Like you.” Her eyes never once broke his gaze.

He didn’t want to go home yet—if you could call it that. It had been easy as a SEAL. Show up, and everything was already as it was required to be. It had been years since he’d actually had to put some effort into setting up an apartment. Instead, he swerved into a local smoothie shop where he knew they carried his favorite whey protein powder.

When he ordered, the skinny teenager who rang him up eyed Ryan’s forearms. They were bronzed and taut, a surprise that jutted from the rolled-up sleeves of his formal dress shirt. “That protein powder really works then, huh?” the kid asked.

“It helps,” Ryan said.

“Oh my God. Ryan? Ryan, is that you?” The voice behind him was oddly familiar. As he looked behind him, it took him a moment to place her.

“Sarah! Hey, how are you?” he asked as she went in for an awkward hug.

“I’m fine.” He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. “How are you? Poppy didn’t tell me you were back. She’s super busy, though.”

“Good, good,” he said. “It’s been awhile. You look good.”

“Thanks,” she said, and glanced down at her tight skirt. “Work clothes, you know,” she said with a laugh.

It was true, she did look good. In fact, that tight little black skirt looked even better than the floral dress she had been wearing in his dream. Now she was wearing a tailored little black jacket and some kind of pink silk camisole. And what was she wearing underneath her clothes?

“We should get together and catch up sometime,” he said. He couldn’t help the stirring in his trousers as he compared this Sarah to the one in his dream.

“Yes, for sure!” she said. “I have weird hours, but I’m free this Thursday night.”

“Cool. How about dinner, then? Nine o’clock?”

“Sounds good,” she said. “Do you have my number?”

“Yeah, from when I picked Poppy up at your place.”

“That’s right.”

“I only have my bike, though. You okay with motorcycles, or should I get a cab for the night?”

“That’s so sweet that you’d do that! But actually, yeah, I’m good with a bike. It sounds hot. What is it they say? Something about having so much power between your legs.” She gave him a wink. “But I guess, like, this wouldn’t be appropriate,” she laughed and tugged at her skirt.

“Hey, whatever you’re comfortable in,” he said. “I wouldn’t be one to complain.”

“I bet not!” she said. “I’m sure I have some hot biker-friendly gear in my closet somewhere.”

“Your protein shake’s ready,” the kid said in a small voice. Ryan turned to take it, and the cashier held onto the drink to force Ryan to lean in. “Dude,” he said, and nodded slightly to Sarah.

Ryan just smiled and shrugged. “See you Thursday,” he said to Sarah as he left.

“I’ll text you my address in a minute,” she said. He smiled and watched as the cashier ogled her openly. He couldn’t blame him. Every inch of Sarah screamed of nothing but sex. Surely she’d be wild in bed.

Yeah, she was hot. Worth overlooking her annoying voice for awhile, at least. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the whole thing would be as beguiling as his dream without Poppy there.

Why the hell are you thinking that? He could feel Sarah’s eyes on him as he climbed on the bike. He didn’t care what anyone said—there was something about a man on a motorcycle that women couldn’t resist. It wasn’t why he’d bought the hog of course, but it was a lesson he'd learned quickly. He felt like Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones. Even when he’d bought it, the sales clerk had told him, “Better be careful! They’re gonna be all over you now.”

At the time he’d just laughed, but he'd had his first taste of what the man had meant when he stopped for gas a few miles later. “Ain’t nothing hotter than a man and his bike,” the gas station attendant had said. It didn’t matter that she was twice his age and covered in faded tattoos. He knew right then this bike was going to get him in trouble if he let it.

He tucked the drink into his satchel and revved up the engine. Ryan had planned to enjoy his drink there, but didn’t want to stick around for awkward pre-date talk with Sarah.

He ran over the Sarah and Poppy fantasy in his head. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Sarah was just kind of there as a teaser. The trailer before the real deal. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. He’d been known to be impulsive before, sometimes with devastating consequences—like the time he ended up dating a girl who full-on stalked him for a year afterward.

He frowned as he headed home and shook his head. Images of Poppy with her legs spread open on his lap refused to budge from his brain. Even in his dream, which he’d always heard meant you couldn’t focus on details, every inch of her had been in high def. He could even see the damp spot on his jeans where her wetness had overflowed.

If asked, he could deliver a manifesto on the shape of her areolas and describe in perfect detail their exact shade of pink. If someone asked him right now if he could have anything in the world, without hesitation he’d say he'd want to have Poppy’s nipples in his mouth. He wanted to make her squirm against him, beg him to be inside her.

Ryan pulled up to his apartment with his erection raging against his jeans. He raced up the stairs, forgot his drink on the bike, and leaned against the couch as he brought himself to orgasm. The only things he saw when he came were Poppy’s nipples and wide open pinkness from his fantasy.

His phone chirped, and he pulled it from his jeans pocket. It was Sarah with a text of her address.

What are you thinking about Poppy for?