Angry sex at a cheap inn was not something Ace remembered having in his repertoire of entertaining things to do on a Friday night, but he was unable to deny that it was better than nothing at all where ornery Marine officers were concerned. If he left with a grin, it was worth it despite the nasty bruise blossoming over his jaw where Smoker's fist had connected with his face. That barstool he'd broken over the bastard's head in return certainly must have left a mark before their fight had migrated up the stairs and inevitably dissolved into the possessiveness Ace refused comprehend.
In the wee hours of the morning after, Ace considered sticking around to see how Smoker would deal with the remains of the rented room and the impending bill. But no, he never stuck around. That small courtesy would be too close to acknowledging this strange, infrequent affair as being more than a drunken Friday night diversion.