Retreat Hell! She Just Got Here by Heatlerh Long Page A

described in the brochure: plush. He spared the décor a glance, itemizing the location more on layout than on content. A square, oversized wraparound sofa took up much of the central part of the room. The smooth taupe tapered down to the cream-colored carpet with a splash of color reflected against the southwest style pillows. Beyond that sat a blonde oak dining table and four chairs, lamps, some side tables and a fifty-inch television screen.
    Zach’s gaze zeroed in on it. Dropping the bags next to the door of the suite’s single bedroom, he located the television remote and pressed the on button. They had time to catch the last quarter of the game.
    “I’m going to go ahead and order dinner up.” He found the room service menu waiting on the table. “Any preferences or should I just order one of everything?”
    “What I’d prefer is to head down for some blackjack.” Logan’s clipped words betrayed neither fatigue nor excitement. “Then you can make like bunnies with your project.”
    “Survey says, ehhhhh.” Kicking his feet up onto the polished table, Zach caught the score. The Cowboys were down by three. But they could still rally. “The date is for both of us and you agreed to it.”
    “Only because I thought you’d come to your senses. What the hell kind of woman agrees to a blind, one-night stand with two men she’s never met?” Logan didn’t bother to wait for a response. “The kind who is going to be less than thrilled when she finds out one is a cripple and here for a pity fuck.”
    Rubbing his right forefinger against his thumb, an old trick that helped him relax his nerves, nerves he didn’t have time for right then, Zach twisted to look at the stiff line of Logan’s back. He still stared down at the Strip. His brother missed the joke, poor one that it was. “Dude, you agreed. It’s both of us or neither of us. Just give it a shot.”
    “Why?” Logan swung around, revealing the harsh twist on the left side of his face, the corner of his mouth permanently turned in a grimace. Scar tissue puckered from his cheek to his throat would never again allow the easy grin. He’d been more relaxed before his injury—a reminder of the burning, twisted metal coffin that led to five surgeries, three pins, one in his knee, one in his hip and the last one in the shoulder. Months of physical and mental therapy later, Logan walked and talked, but he refused to live.
    After weeks in Germany, they’d relocated to Bethesda Naval Hospital until Logan took his first real steps twelve weeks ago. It took some cajoling—and no small amount of bullying on Zach’s part—to convince him to accept the offer from the recently opened Mike’s Place in Texas. Captain Luke Dexter—Marine and son of Colonel Dexter, Zach and Logan’s commanding officer who’d been killed in the same bombing that put Logan in the hospital—wanted to offer them the first berths in his new mental and physical health center.
    Zach didn’t need the mental or physical therapy, but he and Logan were a package deal. So, he’d taken a job working with the children’s sports teams, coaching the sons and daughters of the service families currently residing on property or using the facilities. Logan benefitted from the therapy and the work.
    “Because a deal’s a deal and we all signed up when the Captain did.” Dexter didn’t need the service anymore than Zach did, but they’d been in agreement. Some of the men, like Logan, wouldn’t even contemplate looking at another woman. Particularly after his bitch of a girlfriend, Rochelle, made a scene in front of the others, calling Logan’s impotence to light.
    It didn’t help that every doctor called the condition psychosomatic. Logan had convinced himself sex wasn’t going to happen. But they’d shared girls before, twice in high school and once on leave in Germany. Logan would’ve turned down this opportunity solo, so a threesome it would be.
    “Whatever. What’s the score?” He