A/N: So this was going to be a simple, straightforward one-shot. It didn't turn out that way and has ended up needing to be published in two chapters. But having written it as one, all I have is a brief transition bit for the 2nd chap before I can post it, so hopefully it'll be up tomorrow... *fingers crossed* anyway. The next one is where it becomes decidedly 'M', so I'll do my best to get it you guys as soon as I ever possibly can ;) Hope you like the story as a whole! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1

Mac stripped his shirt off over his head, the warm breeze against his bare skin welcoming him home better than almost anything else could. He closed his eyes and let it flow down his shoulders and back, and wrap around his stomach. It eased away the residual aches of both newer and old injuries. He never quite came back intact. Although this time he'd been more fortunate than on previous occasions. No bullet holes or large pieces of burning shrapnel embedded in his chest, just a simple broken arm and cracked collar bone from a bad helicopter drop.

He felt a shove on his back and his eyes flew open.

"Hey Taylor, what are you doing? Meditating or some shit? Come on, we're waiting on you!"

xxx

"Hey is that the guy you telling me about the other night?" Megan asked, "The one who you were saying was really cute?"

Claire craned her neck over in the direction Megan was indicating, and the small group of guys next to them who were playing some version of beach soccer where apparently the entire ocean line was the goal.

"Which one?" she asked, pretending that she hadn't been eyeing the one Megan was referring to since he had walked on the beach.

"That one," Megan pointed, singling out the darker haired one in cargo shorts, who at that moment, jumped and caught the ball in both hands.

"HEY!" one of his friends protested, "You can't grab it!"

"The fuck I can," he stated in a somewhat peeved tone of voice.

"You can't decide to be goalie just whenever you want, Taylor… only the person who happens to be closest to the waterline, and Montgomery was behind you," his friend gestured over Taylor's shoulder, lying through his teeth.

Claire watched, highly amused, as the one who was obviously Montgomery sidled his way around so he was standing in the waterline.

Taylor whipped his head around. "I saw that!" he said.

"Saw what?" Montgomery asked, innocently.

"Penalty kick," the first one insisted, aloofly, "Come on."

Taylor glowered.

"Come on!"

Glaring daggers, Taylor set the ball down where his friend was exaggeratedly indicating. He backed up so his feet were just at the point where the waves finished coming in.

"You suck, Birchfield. You know that?" he said.

Birchfield grinned. "Yep," he said happily, and with a running start, kicked the ball. It sailed over Taylor's head.

He jumped, but it was impossibly high, and landed a good forty feet out in the water. As he saw it splash down, Taylor turned and flipped off his companion. "Fuck you, Birchfield. Fuck. you."

Birchfield and the rest burst out laughing as Taylor dove into the waves to retrieve the soccer ball.

"Yep," Claire said grinning, "That's the one."

"Damn, he is cute, and cut…!" Megan said in admiration of Taylor's naked upper body.

Claire watched as Taylor waded back out of the waves, wiping his face with his hand, water beading on his chest and back. His shorts, now entirely soaked and weighed down, had settled well below his very trim hips and the graduated tan line of where they normally slouched. And devoid of a peeking waistline of boxers or anything else, she realized that shorts were all he had on. She bit her lip, her mind going all sorts of directions it really probably shouldn't.

Megan popped a potato chip in her mouth and leaned over to Claire, "I dare you to get his number."

"What?" Claire said, flustered by the interruption in her chain of thought, "Right now?"

"Uh-huh," Megan said. She smiled slyly at Claire, "You totally want to do him."

"MEGAN!" Claire exclaimed. But she bit back a small grin without even thinking about it.

"ah-HA!" Megan said triumphantly, spotting it, "You so do!"

"Fine!" Claire sniffed, standing "I'll go get his number. But I do not want to 'do' him."

"mhmm, whatever," Megan said dismissively. "Like I'm buying that. Don't try to tell me you haven't already entirely undressed him in your mind. And something tells me he wouldn't mind getting laid either," she continued incorrigibly.

"You're horrible, Megan, you know that? Horrible!" Claire said. But she had to bite back another grin.

Megan just laughed and pulled another potato chip out of the bag. She flapped her hand in the direction of Taylor and his friends. "Well go on, get to it," she ordered.

Claire stuck out her tongue at Megan, squared her shoulders and tucked her hair behind her ears. She walked over to where Taylor and his friends were regrouping.

xxx

Mac, still decidedly peeved about the blatant cheating of his friends, wiped the water out of his face and leaned over to squeeze what he could from the bottom of his shorts.

"Excuse me," he heard a girl's voice say. He raised his head without standing up, and saw one of the girls who had been sitting near them, addressing Birchfield. "You cheated," she said, pointing at his friend.

"I'm sorry, what?" Birchfield said, turning, totally taken aback at the girl's sudden appearance and accusation.

"He," She continued, directing her finger at Montgomery, "Wasn't behind him," she pointed at Mac. She squinched threateningly at Montgomery, "I saw you move."

Mac slowly straightened up, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The girl stood, hands on her hips, waiting for his friends' response.

Montgomery opened and closed his mouth in faltering, silent protest. Birchfield likewise, seemed as equally flummoxed.

"And to what do I owe this defense?" Mac finally spoke up, amused. It was rare that Montgomery and Birchfield were left speechless, but then again, they didn't usually get accosted and accused by strangers on the beach. A very pretty stranger too, Mac thought, glancing her up and down and fully appreciating her long legs, form-fitting shorts, and pink floral bikini top.

At his question, Claire turned to look at Taylor. He was standing, soccer ball tucked under one arm, his other hand resting lightly on his hip. His head was slightly tilted to one side and he squinted against the sun, short dark hair glistening. A single bead of water traced down the middle of his chest to his navel, paused before continuing down the 'V' of his flat abs and defined hip line, and disappeared into the waistline, the very low waistline, of his shorts. His shorts, which definitely had no waistband of anything underneath them. Claire mentally gulped and forced her eyes back up. She met his, which had been waiting for her. They sparkled wickedly with an inviting, warm humour.

"Because I think you're hot, and I want your number," she said, cheeks flushing.

Behind her, his friends whistled, and there were sounds of, "oooooh Taylor…! Get it, Taylor!"

Mac looked down briefly in shuffled embarrassment before raising his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You sure my number is all you want?" he asked, eyes dancing.

Claire now blushed furiously. He had noticed her noticing (well it was HIS fault anyway, she thought), and it was her turn to be momentarily searching for a response.

"For now," she said, trying to be aloof, "I haven't decided yet whether I like you enough for anything else. Besides, I could have totally made that block."

There were more choruses from his friends.

"Oh you could…?" he said with a disbelieving arch of his eyebrows.

"Yep," said Claire, "No problem. Easy."

She could hear his friends continue snickering. He nodded, taking a couple steps towards her.

"Alright," he said, "How about this? Dinner with me tonight says you can't make that block."

Claire tossed her hair out of her face, "And if I win?"

He took a couple more steps closer, close enough so she could smell the salt water on him, and notice that his eyes, which never broke contact with hers, were very green.

"You get whatever you want," he said, those eyes dancing outrageously.

Claire blushed even more furiously if that were possible.

He tossed her the ball with a wink.

xxx

"You could have told me you play college," Taylor said, wading back out of the water for the second time. Except this time he didn't seem to mind.

Claire turned from where his friends were high-fiving her for beating him. "You never asked," she said loftily, crossing her arms.

He smiled warmly. "Very true," he said, squeezing the water out of the bottom of his shorts again.

The muscles in his back rippled over each other as he leaned over and wrung the last drops of water from his shorts, and her heart ka-thumped again as he squinted up at her. But with a horrible, stomach dropping jolt, the mention of her playing soccer for University of San Diego acted as a trigger, and Claire suddenly looked at her watch. "Shit," she said, pivoting back towards where Megan was still sitting and watching the whole thing with the most smug grin on her face. "I gotta run. Hey Megan?" she called.

Her friend craned her neck towards them, clearly not happy with the prospect of an abrupt end to an afternoon of sun-bathing.

"Burger joint," Claire said, turning back to him where he still stood, clueless as to what was going on, "Two blocks from my apartment."

"Wait, what?" Mac said.

"I'll call you with directions," Claire said.

"But I haven't even…" Mac started, taking a few steps towards where she was trying to prod the other girl she was with, into packing up.

"Here," Claire whipped around, thrusting a crumpled piece of notebook paper and a pen at him. "Write your number on this." His hands brushed hers as he took the small scrap, and pen, and her heart did more than just ka-thump at the touch of his fingers which lingered ever so slightly longer than they had to. She felt her cheeks flush with heat that was not from embarrassment.

Megan peered over her shoulder as he started writing, and broke the momentary spell.

"Hey, can you write down any of your friends' numbers if they're single?" she asked Mac.

Mac raised his eyes in baffled suspicious disbelief as he still fought to catch up to the swift turn of events.

"MEGAN!" Claire said, horrified.

Megan just continued grinning over her shoulder.

"Don't mind her, she's impossible," Claire told Mac as he handed the piece of paper with his name and number on it back to her. She glanced it over before shoving the scrap in her pocket.

"Is it just his number?" Megan asked.

"For god's sake, yes it's just his number!" Claire told her friend, exasperatedly, "Now hurry up."

Mac choked back laughter.

"Alright, alright," Megan said huffily, "But you still haven't told me what the big rush is for though."

"Our exam…?"

"Yeeeeah…"

"The one that got rescheduled…?"

"uh-huh…"

"Yeah, it's in an hour and a half."

Megan's eyes grew big as she in turn scrambled to pick up her flip-flops, beach towel and one of the coolers they had brought. "Oh shit," she said, echoing Claire's earlier statement of revelation.

"You need a hand with that?" Mac asked.

Claire stood up her arms full. "Nah, I got it," she said. "Thanks though."

"He was asking me, thank you very much," Megan informed her friend.

"She has it too," Claire told Mac firmly. "I think you can manage one cooler and a beach towel," she said scathingly to Megan.

Mac's shoulders shook as he fought not burst out laughing as Megan mocked the girl who now had his number, in silent pantomime behind her back.

"Hey," he called after her, with a sudden thought, "You never told me your name."

"Claire. Claire Conrad," she replied, turning as she continued walking backwards. "I'll call you later. Bye!" She turned back around and disappeared around the corner that led to the parking lot.

Mac glanced over his shoulder in the direction she had gone, a smile filling his whole body. Well, that had been completely unexpected, he thought.