Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls) - By Killian McRae Page 0,20
to stick with you. Or, in Riona’s case, stick on you.”
A grunt and a groan accompanied the shift of iron in Marc’s hands. Three days of doing the early-morning workout thing hadn’t helped much in the sleep department, but it still occupied his time better than lying on his bed with his eyes open, trying not to think about how great it would be to roll over and see the sleeping, red-headed female curled up next to him. “Do you think… forty-six… we should go over and check on her?”
“No, Marc, I think Riona’s a big girl and she’ll be just fine. She’d let us know if she needed anything. Been awhile between Keystones. You’ve forgotten how the separation builds up your anxiety.”
The corner of Marc’s mouth pulled tight. “Why do you deal with that so much better than I do? Even with Nicolai, that one time he took off to Minsk for a week, I was sweating bullets and you were cool as a cucumber.”
Dee’s shoulders did the wave. “I expel a lot of my nerves with a great amount of sexual activity. It helps. All these workouts should be doing the same for you. I wonder…” He glanced back at his magazine, before adding rhetorically, “It’s like you’re addicted to her.”
Marc hoped that the workout reddened his face enough to conceal the blush he’d otherwise have to explain. Quickly, he moved to finish the set. “Forty-seven…. Forty-eight…. Forty–ugh-nine… Fifty!”
Slam.
Marc looked to Dee, waiting to be congratulated and declared an exemplar of iron-packing prodigies, as the weight-laden barbell kissed the ground. With the rate he was hitting up the equipment, a Mr. World prize wasn’t too absurd a goal, though the priest was sure the Vatican would disapprove if he showed up to the competition in nothing but a collar and a pair of Speedos.
What he got from the demigod, however, was a whole bunch of You’re expecting something from me? and an eye roll. “Half the soccer moms and forty-three percent of the old grannies who come in here can do twice the reps at that weight. Did you want a participation medal or something?”
Toweling off his sweat-glistened brow, out of breath, and feeling the San Andreas fault running the length of his biceps, Marc plopped on the bench next to his friend.
He glanced at the glossy spread. “Better Homes & Gardens?”
“Yeah, so?”
An eyebrow quirked in surprise as the priest just sat there, waiting for Dee to explain. Or to come out of the closet. Come to think of it, considering his flagrant womanizing….
“Look, just because I’m built like Schwarzenegger, run a gym, and get more tail than a lobster fisherman doesn’t mean a guy like me doesn’t eventually want to settle down and plant a tulip garden someday.”
“You’ll forgive my confusion, Dee, but you do a really good impression of someone who is perfectly happy with his relationships being … well, kinda brief.”
“I’ve lived a long, varied, and fruitful life, Marc. You haven’t known me all that long.”
Marc chuckled. “Four years isn’t long?”
“Relatively speaking? No.” The magazine closed as Dee took a very sincere posture. “Just how old do you think I am?”
From tip to toe, Dee was the embodiment of mature, yet youthful rock-hard muscle. Not a wrinkle or a grey hair breached his exterior. He could drink like an Irishman and pop up as fresh and sober as a Japanese executive the next morning.
“Thirty-five?”
The demigod was clearly amused. “Sixty-eight.”
“No, really…” Marc’s voice dissolved into a dismissive cackle. When Dee didn’t join him or let him in on the joke, he realized he was being sincere. “Holy shit, Dee. How the hell is that possible?”
“Good genes. Godly, even.”
“So you … You’re what, immortal?” Sure, he knew his demigod friend had some great genetics going on, but since Dee didn’t like to talk about his Greek relations and everything their existence culminated in, the topic had never come up.
Dee folded the magazine and put it under his arm. “Hell, no. Ain’t no such thing. Even the members of my divine family tree will die eventually. Some of them I kind of wish would sooner rather than later. But me? I just age slower. About twice as slow, actually. Side effect of the half-god thing. Why the hell do you think Sophia Loren looked so damned good well into her senior years?”
Marc was more than a little jealous. “Awesome.”
“Like hell!” The folded magazine dropped to the floor as Dee rose to his feet. “You try getting a date