Just Drive

by L. A. Witt

Fine. I wasn’t looking for a piece of ass. I wasn’t even looking to get drunk. I just needed to spend some time in a place that didn’t remind me of Sean, assuming a place like that existed. I probably could go to the base chapel and still find a reason to think about him and feel guilty about it.

  The bar was dim, lit mostly by neon signs and the fake Tiffany lamps hanging over three pool tables. The air had probably been thick and gray before Oregon’s indoor-smoking ban. Even now it seemed weirdly hazy, like there’d been enough smokers through here to keep it smoky for years to come. I could almost taste the tobacco, though it was undoubtedly just my brain trying to trick me into caving to that subtle, persistent hankering.

  Not tonight. No sex. No smoking. Just a beer or twelve and some time away from the house.

  There were a few familiar faces hunched over beers or shooting pool. No surprise in a town this small. None of them approached me, though, and I didn’t approach them. Hopefully they didn’t think I thought I was above them or some bullshit like that—some of the enlisted guys, especially in the lower ranks, had been conditioned to be afraid of the top end of their chain of command. I had the utmost respect for them, and didn’t want a reputation as an officer who wouldn’t give his enlisted guys the time of day, so I hoped they’d forgive me for not being social tonight.

  I found a seat near the end of the bar, opened a tab, and ordered a beer. Before I was halfway through that one, I ordered another. Alternately fucking off on my phone and staring into space, I drank. Only the presence of some guys from the base kept me from pouring beer down my throat as fast as my system could take it. The last thing I needed to do was get fall-down, blackout drunk in front of people who answered to me. Especially since alcohol was one hell of a truth serum, and it wouldn’t look good to start rambling about how I’d found an awesome guy who was an amazing lay, only to realize he was the son of Senior Chief Wright.

  “Uh-huh, Senior Chief Wright’s kid. You know him? I sure do. In the Biblical sense. God, that guy is hot . . .”

  Yeah. No. Didn’t need to get that drunk.

  After a dozen rounds of some dumb game on my phone, I went to take a drink, but realized the bottle was empty. I pushed it away, and a moment later, the bartender materialized.

  She shot me a smile as she took my empty beer bottle. “Another one, sweetie?”

  “Um.” Hadn’t I already had quite a few? Shit. I had. In pretty rapid succession, I’d thrown back three. Not nearly enough to fuck me up, but if I wanted to drive myself home, I’d have to wait a couple of hours until I was out of the DUI danger zone.

  “No. Thanks.” I forced a smile.

  The bartender nodded and continued down the bar.

  Another beer was tempting, but not if I wanted to leave here anytime soon.

  And go where, Paul? Home to masturbate in the shower?

  I sighed, pressing my elbow onto the bar and rubbing my forehead. One more drink meant staying here longer. Skipping that drink meant I could get out of here sooner and go . . . where? Maybe down to Flatstick for a roll in the hay that already sounded like way too much effort for not a lot of payoff?

  Alternatively, I could find another way home.

  I took Sean’s card out of my wallet. Heart in my throat, I ran my thumb back and forth across his name and cell number.

  I’d deleted him from my phone, but still had this. There were a million reasons why I had no business even keeping it. And actually making the call? Meeting him somewhere? Doing something about all this frustration?

  Stupid.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  Career-damaging stupid.

  And so, so tempting. I was the kind of person who could convince myself there was a good reason to backslide and smoke a cigarette—that was why it had taken me so long to quit. Only the memory of the painful withdrawal kept me from going there again. Not the potential for lung cancer or any of the other illnesses. Not the cost, the smell, the yellow stain on everything. No, the single effective barrier was that hellish period after my last cigarette.

  In theory, the last couple of weeks should have had the same effect as that withdrawal. Hooking up with Sean again would only mean inevitably going through that pain again. So maybe that meant in another week or two, when the worst was over and I was moving on like I should’ve been doing now, it’d be easy. Well, easier.

  Or not. Especially since I also remembered all too well that nothing ever tasted as good as that first cigarette after an attempt at quitting. If a Marlboro could put me on the edge of ecstasy, I could only imagine what hooking up with Sean again would be like right now.

  I shivered, goose bumps prickling under my shirt.

  Who the hell was I kidding? I sucked at staying away from things I didn’t need to be anywhere near, and Sean was no exception. So why fight a losing battle? Sure, this might fuck up my career, but I couldn’t imagine it would do more damage than being a space case like I’d been lately.

  Feeling equal parts jittery, guilty, and excited as hell, I flagged down the bartender and ordered another beer.

  And while she popped the cap on the bottle, I texted Sean.

  Are you driving tonight?

  I stared at the message. I had just dropped off a passenger by the Navy Exchange, and not thirty seconds later, my phone had buzzed. I’d looked at it fully expecting another request for a pickup.

  It was a request for a pickup all right—didn’t take a genius to read between those lines—but I was pretty damn sure that wasn’t some random person. Even though I’d deleted his contact info, I still recognized Paul’s number.

  Fuck. Just reading that message was playing with fire. Responding to it? Bad idea. Bad. Idea.

  I looked around, hoping there was somebody trying to get my attention. There had to be somebody who wanted to go out partying tonight. Right?

  And I was kidding precisely no one if I said I didn’t want to burn rubber and get to wherever Paul was right now. My concentration had been shot since we’d parted ways for the last time.

  My toes curled in my shoes. We couldn’t go back to what we’d been doing before, but damn if it wasn’t tempting as hell.

  One more glance around the parking lot. Still nobody looking for a cab. Dispatch was silent. It had been a quiet night so far anyway, and aside from that unanswered text on my phone, nobody was asking me for a ride. I could either sit here all night, or . . .

  The screen on my phone had gone dark, so I tapped it and brought up the text again. A smart guy would’ve deleted the text, blocked the number, and gone downtown to see if anyone was stumbling out of a bar in search of a designated driver.

  Tonight, I didn’t feel like being a smart guy.

  Yeah, I wrote back. Need a lift?

  After the message was sent, and he’d seen it, I held my breath as I stared at the screen. I should’ve ignored him. I still could, I supposed. If he wrote back, I could insist that someone else had just gotten into my car and asked for a lift to Portland or Eugene or like New York or something. Sorry, maybe another night!

  Then his response came through, and every excuse I had evaporated:

  Need you.

  Oh. Jesus.

  I chewed my lip. My pounding heart and queasy stomach were trying to talk me out of picking him up. At the same time, the subtle ache in my elbow reminded me that it would be nice to let someone else get me off tonight. I’d been fantasizing about Paul every night and some mornings anyway. Might as well indulge in the real thing.

  Except it’s a bad idea because—

  My phone vibrated.

  Paul had texted me an address, and it was one I recognized. It was a bar close to the hotel where I’d picked him up the first time.

  Mouth dry and fingers unsteady, I wrote back, Be there soon.

  I couldn’t even say he’d caught me during a weak moment. Most of my good sense had gone out the window the night I’d met him, and I’d been running on fumes ever since, ready to give in and hurry back into bed with him
at the drop of a hat. And now that I had the opportunity . . .

  I shifted into drive and headed toward that address. All the way, my heart kept right on pounding. The wheel was slick in my sweaty hands, so I gripped it tighter. I focused on the road, the lines, the cars, the signs—I didn’t dare let my concentration wander, because I’d probably wind up in a ditch or crashing through a storefront. I’d been distracted for the last couple of weeks, but it’d be my luck that I’d wreck tonight while Paul was waiting for me with God only knew what dirty intentions.

  Somehow, I didn’t crash. As the seedy bar came into view, blood pounded in my ears. I made one last attempt to talk myself out of this, but that didn’t last long—Paul was waiting outside, watching me as I pulled up to the curb.

  There were a million questions on the tip of my tongue—mostly along the lines of “What changed your mind?” and “Are you insane?”—but one look at him erased every word in my vocabulary.

  As he got into the backseat like a normal customer, I somehow managed to choke out, “Any place in particular?”

  “No.”

  “So . . .” I swallowed, meeting his eyes in the rearview. “Just drive?”

  Paul nodded.

  The night we’d met, the request had annoyed me. Tonight, it had an effect I couldn’t quite define. Made me nervous? Excited? Fuck. I didn’t know.

  But what I did do was drive.

  Stomach fluttering, palms sweatier than they’d been on the way here, I left the bar’s parking lot.

  With Paul.

  Right there.

  In my car.

  What the hell were we doing? And if we’d met up for the reasons I thought we had, why were we just driving around instead of finding some condoms and a flat surface?

  We were near the north edge of town, and it wasn’t long before we were outside of Anchor Point proper. Much farther than this, and we’d be on that highway that didn’t have any places to pull over or turn around for miles at a stretch.

  So I found an empty side road, turned, and pulled over. I shifted into park, but left the engine idling. “All right. We need to talk.” I twisted around so I could look Paul in the eye. “What are we doing?”

  “I’m not sure. I just needed to see you.”

  “See me?” I asked. “Or—”

  The click of his seat belt shut me up. Eyes locked on mine, he slid closer, probably to the edge of the backseat. God, he was almost close enough to touch. Then he leaned a little farther forward, and all my good sense went out the window when he whispered, “I know we shouldn’t.” He touched my arm, sending electricity all the way down to my toes. “I can’t help it.”

  “Neither can I.” I reached for his face. “Or I wouldn’t have picked you up.”

  Paul swallowed. Then he came all the way forward and kissed me over the back of the seats.

  Relief and arousal and a million other feelings rushed through me. I grabbed the back of his neck. His fingers raked through my hair. If the seats hadn’t been in the way, and I hadn’t been twisted around like I was, we’d have been wrapped up in each other and losing our minds by now. Still, this was better than the last two weeks of nothing at all. This might’ve been a huge mistake, but it didn’t feel like one right then, so I ignored good sense and let his kiss turn me inside out.

  When he broke away, his forehead was feverish against mine. “Christ . . .”

  Breathing hard, I pulled back enough to meet his gaze. “I guess I’m not driving anywhere tonight?”

  “You’ve been driving me crazy for two weeks.”

  I groaned. “Did you spend the whole time thinking of that line?”

  “Had to do something.” He drew me back in. “Otherwise, all I’ve been good for is—”

  I kissed him because it had already been too long, and I knew exactly what he was talking about anyway. I’d barely been able to drive, sleep, study—all I’d wanted the past couple of weeks was this. Him.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” I murmured between kisses. “But I have a feeling we’re going to do it anyway.”

  “I know. And I should be the responsible one and say we can’t . . .”

  “I’m as responsible for it as you are. I’m young, but I’m no kid.”

  “No, but you’re not going to hurt your career.”

  “I might hurt your career and my dad’s.”

  “Fair.” He pulled back a little. “We keep doing this here, though, you’re going to fuck up your neck.”

  The muscles were getting kind of stiff. I surreptitiously stretched, tilting my head to one side, then the other. “Maybe I should get in the backseat with you.”

  “I have a better idea.” He gestured at the dark, empty road behind us. “Let’s get a room.”

  I blinked a few times. That idea was insane. Get a room? With a bed? That was completely insane and the worst idea ever and . . . and . . .

  Exactly what I needed.

  “Okay. A room.” I swallowed. “Good idea.”

  He grinned, and the lust gleamed even hotter in his eyes. He leaned across the seats again and kissed me once more, and then we both returned to our places. I made a U-turn, burning rubber on the unmarked pavement, and hit the gas. Heart still going ninety miles an hour, stomach still queasy and fluttery at the same time, I drove like a bat out of hell.

  In minutes, we were back in Anchor Point, and I pulled into the parking lot of the first shady-looking place with Vacancy in the window.

  “I’ll go check us in.” His seat belt clicked before I’d even come to a stop. As soon as the car halted, he was out and headed for the office, and I gripped the wheel and took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. If I was going to bail and get the hell out of here, now was the time, but I barely entertained those thoughts. This was happening and that was final. After tonight? We’d figure that out later. Tonight? I was coming in Paul.

  My dick was already getting hard. My skin itched with goose bumps, and I could barely sit still. It was like my heart was pumping liquid restlessness through my veins, and How the fuck long does it take to get a goddamn motel room?

  As if on cue, he stepped out of the office, card key in hand.

  Fuck. Yes.

  He climbed into the passenger seat. “Entrance is around the side of the building.”

  “First floor?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Thank God for that. I wasn’t going up any stairs—not very quickly, anyway—until one of us did something about this hard-on.

  I drove around to the side of the small building and took a spot close to the door. Neither of us said a word as we got out, but halfway down the hall to the room, I hesitated.

  He raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

  You and I both know what’s wrong and why we shouldn’t be here.

  I gulped. “Did you bring . . . um . . .”

  He patted his jacket pocket. “Swung into the convenience store while I was waiting for you.”

  “Oh.” Well, then. No reason at all to hesitate now. We had everything we needed. One swipe of that key card, and we’d have a bed, towels, and privacy.

  He inclined his head. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah.” I continued toward the door. “Just, uh . . . making sure . . .”

  At the door, he touched my shoulder, and when I met his gaze, his expression was completely serious. Brow pinched, lips pressed together—a look of nothing but genuine concern in his eyes. His gorgeous blue eyes. “It’s not too late, you know. If you don’t want to do this, say so.”

  “It’s not a matter of if I want to.”

  His posture straightened a little. The silence was taut between us.

  After a few long seconds, he cleared his throat. “So, should we?”

  My heart slammed into my ribs. I knew the answer to that question. So did he. And once he put the key in the reader and unlocked the door, we’d have a clear path to a bed and nakedness and the sex I’d been missing since—

  “No.”


  The word came out so quietly, I didn’t even know if he’d heard it, but when I met his gaze . . .

  Yeah. He’d heard me. His eyebrows jumped. Then his shoulders sank a little.

  “No,” I repeated, and rocked back on my heels to add a tiny sliver of space between us. “I want to, but . . .”

  He broke eye contact and sighed, staring down at the key card in his hand. Part of me wanted him to argue. I wanted him to ask if I was sure, or maybe give me a nudge. Right then, the tiniest bit of persuasion would have been enough. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad I was standing there with a relentless hard-on and a brain full of fantasies that needed to be lived out. My resolve to do the right thing—or at least not do the wrong thing—would’ve held up like a spiderweb would’ve stopped a fighter jet.

  “You’re right.” He rubbed the back of his neck and slumped against the unopened door. Absently turning the key over and over in his free hand, he swore under his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. “This was a terrible idea.”

  Disappointment and relief butted heads inside my brain, and almost canceled each other out. My body had apparently gotten the message, and the tightness in the front of my jeans eased as my dick softened.

  “I’m sorry.” Paul moistened his lips, then looked at me. “We can’t do this. I know. I shouldn’t have texted you. I—”

  “I know,” I whispered. “I’ve thought about getting in touch a few times too. We can’t, but I won’t say it isn’t tempting.”

  He nodded.

  The silence was excruciating, and that temptation hadn’t exactly faded. The longer we stood there, the more uncomfortable it would be, and the more tantalizing the alternative would get.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh, gonna go.” I paused. “Except I’m your ride, I guess.” Beat. “Your taxi, I mean. Your cab ride.”

  Paul laughed dryly. “I know what you meant. Actually, I think I might . . .” He glanced at the door. “I’ve already got the room. Might watch a movie or something until I’ve sobered up.”

  He didn’t even seem that drunk to me. A little buzzed, maybe? And for that matter, I was about to remind him he didn’t need to be sober to call a cab—a different cab—but I wondered if he planned to do more than watch a movie. Probably the same thing I had every intention of doing as soon as I got home. Not that jacking off would make this situation any less frustrating, but why the hell not? And in this case, it saved us from the painful awkwardness of spending time in the car. Coming back to shore on his boat had been brutal enough.