by L. A. Witt
I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Good. Wouldn’t want any lasting trauma over my breakup.”
“Right?”
We both chuckled, and shot the shit for a while longer while we drank our coffee. When the clock started creeping up on three thirty, it became clear that I would accomplish precisely nothing today, so I reached for my keys. “All right, Wilson. Don’t you have some work to do?”
“Why? You kicking me out?”
“Yes. I am. I need to get my shit done so I can go finish getting over . . . whatever his name was.”
Travis laughed as he stood, which nearly masked the subtle wince. “That’s the spirit. All right, I’ll get back to work.”
As Travis headed back to his office, I tapped my nail on my coffee mug and stared at the chair he’d been occupying. It was weird to hold something back from him. We’d talked about anything and everything over the years, including commiserating over our long strings of broken relationships. A one-night stand wasn’t complete without spilling the sordid details to Travis the next day. We were dorks like that. So keeping something back from him felt . . . off.
On the other hand, he kept some of his cards close to the vest too. Like me, he’d been married twice, and he’d had a number of girlfriends over the years, but he’d never had a lasting relationship with a man that I knew of, and he never said why. For whatever reason, he liked sex with men and relationships with women. The one time he’d let himself get close to a man—he’d never admitted it, but I was pretty sure he’d been in love with him—the end had cut him to the bone. Ten years later, I couldn’t imagine he was over it. Maybe that was why he didn’t date men. If that was the case, though, he never talked about it. Not even to me.
But that still didn’t explain why I couldn’t bring myself to mention anything about Sean except generic comments about getting my rocks off. Why was I keeping Sean under wraps?
Oh. Right.
Because he’s half my age and this is probably just a fling for him.
Yeah, maybe I should keep this to myself.
Paul and I couldn’t see each other all the time, but we sure made use of the time we could spend together. Whatever his job was—undoubtedly something involving aircraft, since he was probably still in the same field even if he didn’t fly anymore—it sometimes involved long hours and the odd last-minute cancellation. Sometimes all we could manage was a late-night quickie in the backseat on some unmarked side road. Other times, we were luckier.
Tonight, I’d busted my ass to finish a paper for one of my classes so I’d be free when Paul left work. In the space of five minutes, I’d sent the paper to my instructor, and Paul had texted me to let me know he’d checked into a no-tell motel outside of town. Twenty minutes later, we’d been in bed.
It occurred to me more than once that we were spending a lot of money on places to fuck, and there might be a reason he wouldn’t take me back to his place. A wife, maybe? I didn’t bring it up, though. I wasn’t keen on explaining that we couldn’t go back to my place because I was embarrassed as fuck about still living with my father. And he didn’t like talking about work, unlike most military guys I’d known. That was fine by me. Apparently we’d instilled our own little Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy.
Whatever. He was getting some rebound sex, and I was getting some amazing sex, so to hell with it. If I went more than two or three days without some of that oh-my-God-addictive sex, I started getting twitchy.
Now, we were exactly where I’d wanted to be all fucking week—under the covers and kissing lazily. My hair was still damp from the shower we’d shared after we’d worked up a hell of a sweat. His was mostly dry because it was shorter than mine, but was still cool between my fingers.
After a while, Paul drew back a bit and tilted his head to one side, then the other, wincing subtly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, just an old injury.” He waved a hand. “Comes with age. And a military career.”
I grimaced. “Ouch.”
“Eh, it’s not bad. Was a bit stiff yesterday, but the chiropractor worked some magic on it, so it’s better now.” He grinned. “Couldn’t let it ruin tonight, could I?”
I laughed. “Well, yeah, that helps. But seriously, I really was hoping you felt better.”
“I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “And I do appreciate it. Unfortunately, this will probably be with me for the rest of my life. Sometimes it’s not so bad, sometimes, well . . .”
“Sounds . . . pleasant.” I was curious what had happened, but he seemed kind of evasive about the subject, so I didn’t touch it. “I never did ask you about some of your tattoos.” I ran my hand over the Super Hornet. “Besides this one, I mean.”
“They all have stories behind them. Ask away.”
“Well, what about the one between your shoulders? I swear I’ve seen that emblem before, but I can’t remember what it is.”
He glanced over his shoulder as if he could somehow bring the tattoo into his peripheral vision. “Oh, a bunch of us did that after we graduated from the Academy. We were full of ourselves and thought we were gods because we’d been through Annapolis.” He rolled his eyes. “So we had the Academy’s emblem tattooed on.”
“I guess I can see why. I mean, who wouldn’t have their Hogwarts—”
“Shut up.” He laughed, batting my hand away. “So what about you? Any tattoos in the future?”
I gestured at my unmarked skin. “Maybe when I have some money.”
“Just don’t do any on a bet. Trust me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He chuckled again and kissed my cheek.
“So do you still fly?” I asked.
A faint wince flicked across his face, and he shook his head. “No. Those days are, um . . . behind me.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I was admittedly curious about what it was like to fly, but the subject seemed a bit tender. Maybe that was why he didn’t talk about work much. I had no idea what he did now that he wasn’t flying, but he wasn’t in a hurry to volunteer that or what had grounded him, so I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “So, um . . . that club where I picked you up the other day. You go there a lot?”
Paul seemed to relax a bit, like he was relieved by the subject change. Settling back against the pillows, he absently ran a hand along my arm. “That was my first time there, actually. You?”
“I’ve only been there once.” I wrinkled my nose. “Wasn’t all that impressed.”
“Neither was I.” His eyes shifted toward me, and he grinned. “But then, I was kind of distracted.”
Goose bumps prickled my back, not to mention my forearm where his fingers were trailing back and forth.
“So which of the clubs do you like?” he asked. “Any of them?”
“Backdoor Bob is a good one.”
“Really?” His fingers stopped, and he eyed me. “That one seemed like kind of a dump.”
I shook my head. “It’s old and rundown, but it’s got a pretty good crowd after about ten.”
“I would not have guessed.”
“And fair warning—they do not water down the drinks.”
“Good to know.” He smirked. “Pretty sure they don’t pour them as strong as they do in some ports overseas.”
“I thought the ports watered them down.”
“Some. But not all. Definitely not all. When you order a Long Island Iced Tea, and it’s almost completely clear?” Paul laughed. “You better drink it slow or you will be fucked up.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.”
“Really?”
“Well.” My cheeks burned. “I don’t drink that heavily. But man, if I’m going to fork over twelve bucks for a drink, it better be strong.”
“I am completely with you on that.” He paused. “Hmm. Now you’ve got me curious about that club, though.”
Weirdly, a pang of jealousy caught me right in the chest. Why was I jealous? So we�
��d slept together a few (dozen) times?
Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “Except that seems like an awful long way to go just to get one drink and then call you.” He winked.
I shivered. “You could always save time and money by having me take you down there in the first place.”
“What’s the point of that?” He reached up and drew me down to him. “By the end of the night, I’m going to be begging you to fuck me whether we’re here or in Flatstick.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Might as well stay in Anchor Point, you know?”
“I am so not going to argue with that.” I kissed him, and suddenly clubs and drinks didn’t need to be discussed any further.
Then I remembered how he’d winced and stretched earlier, and I broke the kiss. “Wait. Your neck isn’t too—”
“Nope.” He slid an arm around my waist. “Absolutely not.”
“You sure? We can—”
Paul kissed me. He held me tighter, and I melted against him, blood pounding in my ears as my cock hardened against his thigh. If his neck bothered him at all, he didn’t let on.
Well, if he wasn’t too sore for another round, I sure as hell wasn’t saying no.
So I rolled him onto his back, and made sure neither of us could walk the next day.
Thanks to some obnoxious streetlights beyond our window, the motel room was brighter than I would have liked. Not that I was sleeping anyway.
Beside me, Sean had long since dozed off. It was nearly midnight, and we’d had sex twice since we’d checked in, so normally I wouldn’t have been far behind him, but there was one problem—my neck was killing me.
At home, I would’ve pulled a bag of peas from the freezer and leaned against that for a while, but since Sean and I were still meeting in motels instead of going back to his place or mine, that wasn’t an option. I had to do something, though, or sleep wasn’t going to happen. Between my neck, the rock-hard mattress, and the pillows stuffed with magazines or whatever, I was miserable.
Careful not to wake him, I got out of bed and slipped on my boxers. In the bathroom, I dug through my shaving kit to find the ever-present bottle of Motrin—good ol’ Vitamin M—and dry-swallowed two.
Then . . . ice.
There was an ice machine down the hall and a small bucket on the table. A bunch of ice cubes wrapped up in one of the thirty-grit towels wouldn’t be comfortable, but it might help.
I glanced toward the bed. Sean was still asleep, and he wasn’t a light sleeper by any means. Still, he might notice if I actually left the room and came back.
Damn. Maybe we needed to give up this motel nonsense and meet at my place. The bored housewives of Admiral’s Row would notice, and they’d talk, and the gossip would be swirling around the base until the end of time, but at least we’d be sleeping on a decent bed with easy access to ice packs. As much as my neck hurt tonight, fueling the rumor mill actually seemed like a reasonable trade off.
I sighed, kneading the rigid muscles on the left side of my neck. No, I didn’t like putting anyone on that radar unless something was serious. People could talk about me all they wanted—and apparently the sordid love life of the openly gay commanding officer was a hot topic—but I didn’t want Sean in the middle of that.
Well, whether I started taking him home or not, I was here now, with no frozen peas for my sore neck. If I could at least put something cold on it, though, it would help. I glanced around the bathroom, then took down one of the bath towels. I rolled it up, ran the faucet over it, wrung it out, and then wrapped it around the back of my neck. The cold drew a hiss out of me. As often as I iced my neck, I should’ve been used to something like this against—
“Paul?”
I spun around, which made my neck feel great.
Sean blinked a few times, shielding his eyes from the bathroom light. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Just, uh . . .” Now I probably looked like an idiot, standing here with a wet towel on my neck. “Didn’t hear you get up.”
He smiled sleepily. “Didn’t hear you get up either.”
“Yeah, that was the idea.” I smiled back. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Much appreciated. But . . .” His brow pinched. “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Hurts a bit. I figured something cold would help, and this was the closest thing.”
He pointed at the door. “Isn’t there an ice machine out there?”
“Yeah, but . . . like I said, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Paul. If you’re hurting enough to be awake, go get some damn ice.” He paused. “Actually, stay here. I’ll go get some.”
Before I could respond, he disappeared. I took off the damp towel and dropped it in the sink, and when I stepped out into the room, he’d pulled on a pair of jeans.
“I’ll be back in a second.” He took the bucket and room key. “Should I fill it? How much do you need?”
“Eh, half the bucket’s probably fine.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
With that, he was gone.
I blew out a breath and leaned against the wall. I felt bad for waking him up, but God bless him. I’d been with one too many guys who would’ve either been annoyed at being woken up, or seen it as an opportunity for another orgasm. I should’ve known Sean was different.
Because he’s different in every way. He’s not like any guy I’ve ever known.
You can’t really want to be with an old guy whose blood is half Motrin. Can you?
As if on cue, the door opened, and Sean came in with the bucket of ice.
“Sorry it took longer than it should’ve.” He handed me the bucket. “The machine was out of order, so I had to go to the one on the other side of the building.”
“The—” I glanced at the ice. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t even realized he’d been gone very long, never mind long enough to go all the way around the building. “Thanks. You’re a godsend.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome. Do you need a hand with it?”
“No, no. I’ve got it.”
There was a plastic bag inside the bucket, so I kept the ice inside that, knotted it, and wrapped the whole thing in a thin, coarse towel. Then I laid it on my neck where the wet towel had been earlier. It was a lot more comfortable against my skin than something wet and cold. I really should have gone and gotten the ice myself. Idiot.
With the comforting chill against my sore muscles, I sighed heavily. “Oh. Much better.”
“Good.” He smiled faintly, but it faded. “Is that . . . is that why you don’t fly anymore?”
“Yeah. When I—” Flight deck. There. Gone. Too fast. Pull up! Too late. I shuddered. Almost ten years, and that memory could still fuck with me.
“Paul?” Sean tilted his head. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I adjusted the makeshift ice pack on my neck. “It’s from a bad landing. Could’ve been a lot worse, though.”
His lips parted. “Oh. Well, I’d offer to massage it for you, but . . .” He grimaced. “If there’s an actual injury, I don’t want to fuck it up more.”
“It’s okay. The ice helps.” I took his hand and squeezed gently. “Can’t promise much more excitement tonight, though.”
He ran his thumb along the side of my hand. “I’ll live. Glad you’re okay, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. It’s just an age-old injury and compounded by old age. Word to the wise—don’t get old.”
Sean laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He watched me for a moment as I pressed the pack of ice against the stiff muscles. “So, if you don’t mind me asking . . . what exactly happened when you . . .” He gestured at my neck. “I mean, you don’t have to. If it’s . . . you know . . .”
“It’s okay.” I took a deep breath. “The short version is I crashed when I was landing on an aircraft carrier.”
His whole body stiffened. “Whoa. Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
The ache in my neck intensified from the memory, and I dug the ice in a little harder. “We were doing carrier quals. Practicing takeoffs and landing. Which you have to do—a lot—because you’re aiming for something the size of a floating leaf that’s bouncing around and going thirty knots or so.”
“Jesus . . .”
“Yeah. So that day, the seas were horrendous. In theory, flight ops could’ve been canceled, and probably should’ve, but we need experience in rough seas. We can’t only fly when the seas are calm. Problem was, no one realized how much worse the weather was going to get that day until we were already in the air.”
“How much you wanna bet this landing’s gonna be shit?” my RIO had mused on our approach.
“Long as we don’t end up in the water, right?”
“No pressure, man.”
My mouth went dry, and I kneaded the ice pack to occupy my fingers. “So we were coming back in, and right before I came down, the deck pitched harder than I anticipated. We missed the arresting wire because it wasn’t there anymore because the damn deck had dropped out from under the tail hook, but my landing gear hit one side and not the other. Not just with the force of the plane coming down, but the deck coming up. Destroyed the landing gear, and then—”
My stomach turned, and not because I’d thrown back some Motrin without food. To this day, I could feel the spinning-falling-weightlessness of my bird losing control. I had been absolutely certain we were going to die, and I’d prayed it would be quick instead of slow and fiery.
“Anyway. It . . . Everything after that’s kind of a blur.” Everything except broken glass, and shouts, and pain, and the sight of my unconscious RIO with blood all over one side of his face . . . I cleared my throat as I adjusted the ice pack. “We both made it out, thank God, but that was the end of flying for both of us.”
“I can see why. That sounds terrifying.”
“You are not kidding.” I lowered the ice pack and rolled my shoulders. “It could have been so much worse, though. Even without killing us.” I stared at the motel room’s ugly carpet. “A good friend of mine hit the back of the ship during a night landing in rough seas. Thank God he was high enough that he didn’t actually smash into it, or he’d be dead.”
