Free Dead of Eve by Pam Godwin

Steve and Joel at the end of the dock. They were down to their briefs. Droplets of sweat glimmered on their backs. I stripped off my vest and weapons at the edge. Then I plunged into the water. Damn, it felt good.
    A shampoo bottle and a bar of soap sat on the dock’s edge. We bathed there. We hauled drinking water from there. I tried not to think about that.
    Under the murky water, I stripped off my clothes and tossed them next to my boots and weapons.
    Joel sprawled on a life vest and floated over to me. “I’ve been thinking.”
    My fingers shot to his temples and I massaged with feigned concern. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
    He grunted. “You’re not as cute as you think you are.”
    A wiry hair curled away from his sideburns, begging to be yanked. I obliged.
    “Ow.” He slapped a hand over the hurt. “Listen, witch.” The water rippled as he heaved me flush against him. “I need you to clear your calendar for the next few weeks.”
    “Hmm. That’ll be tough. Who’s gonna reorganize the sock drawers and buff the handguns to award-winning shine?”
    “My point. We need to keep busy. So we’re going to start training again.”
    I widened my eyes. “Really? Just like old times?”
    He flashed me one of his glad-you-approve grins. “We’ll start with a refresher on knife throwing since you seem so intent on cleaving bugs. Then we’ll brush up on your hand-to-hand techniques. And once I’m satisfied”—his grin widened—“I’ll drill you on swat scenarios until you hate me.”
    I looped my arms around his neck. “Oh, Mr. Delina, I could never hate you.” I brushed my lips along his whiskered cheek. “But why the renewed interest? If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of already kicking ass.”
    His hands circled my waist, letting the life vest float out from under him. “Yeah, and good thing it’s not getting to your head.” He palmed my backside, dipping into the cleavage. “But practice will make you better. And after watching you dance with those bugs, it’s like you…”
    I held him with tapered eyes and he said in his Mr. Miyagi voice, “Lesson not just karate. Lesson for whole life.”
    Good God, he was backpedaling behind a 1980’s movie impression.
    He bit his lip, but a smile broke through anyway.
    I returned the smile. I didn’t want to hear about my alleged super-human speed or some sermon about everything having purpose. “Fine. But I’m not waxing—”
    Strong lips claimed mine. His fingers stretched under my rear and spread between my thighs while his other hand paddled. I clung to his chest and ground my pelvis against his. A groan erupted from his throat.
    The water behind us sloshed as Eugene and Steve treaded, watching.
    His lips moved over mine. “Can you fellows give us some privacy?”
    When splashing sounded their exit, I relaxed my shoulders and kissed him back. I let my enthusiasm about the training build in that kiss, drowning him in licks and nibbles while he kicked his legs to keep us afloat.

    Over the weeks that followed, our aphid infestation grew. We blew through at least one magazine a day to keep them at bay. With our ammunition dwindling, Eugene and Steve volunteered to gather more.
    When they left, I knew they’d be gone awhile, traveling far to make the venture profitable. I also knew they might not return. I couldn’t think about the latter. Instead, I imagined the myriad of ways Joel and I could enjoy that time alone.
    But he kept us on a regimen. Knife throwing for two hours. Jujitsu or Muay Thai until lunch. Kung Fu or Eskrima between lunch and dinner. My joints creaked, my muscles hurt to touch and Joel was inexorable.
    Two weeks later—Eugene and Steve still gone—I lay on my back on the basement floor, massaging a sore calf. Joel stood over me, laughing and beating me with Aristotle. “We cannot learn without pain.”
    He raised an ankle to his muscled ass, stretching his quadriceps. A taunting reminder of the kick I just absorbed. My knee