by L. A. Witt
“Okay. Well.” I coughed again and gestured down the hall. “I’m gonna go.”
He nodded, avoiding my eyes.
There was nothing left to say. I didn’t dare touch him—not a kiss, not a handshake—because then I’d want to touch him more.
So without another word, I left.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard the beep and click of the room door unlocking, and I looked over my shoulder in time to see Paul disappear inside. The door shut again, and I halted, just staring for a minute.
He was probably lying back on the bed we’d planned to share. He probably had his eyes closed and his dick in his hand, and I wondered if he was thinking of me, or anyone but me.
And if I went back now and knocked on the door, I wondered if he’d let me take over and finish the job for him.
With that thought, I turned on my heel and continued toward the parking lot. I walked so fast I damn near broke into a run, and my hand shook so much I could barely get the key into the ignition. It finally went in, though, and I started the engine, threw the car in reverse, and got the hell out of there.
All the way home, I tried to think of anyone but him.
Lying back on the hard motel bed, I stared up at the ceiling.
Hopefully Sean was on his way to a club in Flatstick, or looking through Grindr, or texting a reliable booty call. He deserved a night of stress-free sex with someone who didn’t alternate between reckless and indecisive.
I closed my eyes and pushed out a breath.
I didn’t even try to convince myself I would’ve come to my senses before we’d gone too far. We’d gone too far the moment we’d made contact again, and if Sean hadn’t put a stop to things, I damn sure wouldn’t have. Should’ve, yes. Would’ve? Not a chance. Didn’t matter how much was on the line or how fucking stupid it was for us to be anywhere near each other—one look at Sean, and all my rational thinking went out the window.
Well, at least one of us was levelheaded. Ironically, he was exactly the kind of person I needed—someone who balanced out my impulsiveness. Even if he was also exactly the kind of irresistible temptation that was my Achilles’ heel. He might have been levelheaded and rational, but he was also just . . . so . . . hot.
I stared up at the ceiling again. If he’d stayed, we’d probably be done by now. The first round, anyway. It was always fast and furious, especially if we’d been apart for more than a couple of days. So we’d probably be lying here, sweaty and out of breath, debating if we could stand long enough for a shower or if we should just wait until after we’d inevitably fucked again.
Goose bumps prickled my skin. That man. My God.
At least with the sex, I knew what I was missing by letting him go. What drove me out of my mind was the unknown. Even if we couldn’t sleep together, I wanted to get to know him more. What was he studying? What did he want to do after he graduated? Where had he been? Where did he want to go?
But we couldn’t. Period. It didn’t matter that I’d started to realize Sean was everything I wanted in a man. I had no business getting involved with him—staying involved with him—unless I really wanted to kiss admiral good-bye and go to court-martial instead.
My career was everything to me. I’d given the Navy over half my life, lost some of my best years, and had some scars of both the mental and physical variety to show for it. This career was not something I had ever taken lightly.
Yet one look at Sean . . .
I wiped my hand over my face and swore aloud. I was obsessed. That was all it was. I’d been dumped, and needed a rebound, and gotten myself in too deep. Fortunately, Sean had done the right thing.
In my mind, I replayed the moment Sean had backed off. Though he’d kept a pretty stoic face, even now I could see the tension in his features and the obvious struggle in his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to leave any more than I had—he just had the wherewithal to put a stop to things. I couldn’t imagine how he felt now. If he was kicking himself for leaving, or berating himself for even getting into that situation. He might’ve been pissed at me or—worse—hurt. One way or the other, he undoubtedly felt like shit. Because of me.
I sat up and exhaled. If I couldn’t get my shit together over my career, I could stop myself from putting him in that position again. The last thing I wanted was to hurt him or cause him stress like that.
Time to go home and move on, and maybe find someone my own age who wasn’t a military dependent. Or be single for a little while. At least that wouldn’t get me or anyone else into trouble.
So, determined to not be an idiot from here on out, I left the room. I dropped my key at the checkout desk, called a cab from another company, and headed home.
And silently wished Sean the best.
In the weeks after I’d walked away from Paul at the motel, I threw myself into work. Schoolwork when I had it, and hours behind the wheel the rest of the time. On the one hand, my grades were impeccable and my bank account was happy. On the other, I was still distracted as hell by the man who wasn’t texting me with motel room information anymore.
A few times, I thought I should bite the bullet and go get laid. There was that club down in Flatstick that had always been a winner. And of course some phone apps. But the thought of hooking up with someone else didn’t have much appeal right now. I couldn’t even jack off without thinking about Paul, and I had definitely tried.
With sex apparently off the table for now, I still needed to blow off steam, so I finally took my dad up on his constant nagging to come to the gym with him. It helped—couldn’t rub one out to thoughts of Paul when I couldn’t get it up or move my arm enough. After a week, I was more focused on my aching muscles than anything.
The next week, I wasn’t hurting as much, but my workouts gave me something to think about besides Paul. He sure as hell wasn’t far from my mind, but it was getting better. Little by little, it was getting better. I’d found something to focus on besides Paul.
For a while.
At ass-thirty on a Wednesday morning, I mustered superhuman effort to get myself to the gym. I was still sore from a brutal set of dead lifts the day before, and was one hundred percent not motivated . . . but I dragged myself out of bed, across town, and onto the base anyway because I didn’t want to listen to my dad later if I didn’t show up. That was part of our deal: either of us flaked out, the other got to give him shit until the following day. Amnesty was only granted for true sickness or work-related delays. Hangovers? Laziness? Up too late masturbating to thoughts about someone’s boss? No excuses.
Not only did I make it to the gym, though, I beat my dad. So there was that. On the way in from the parking lot, I texted him to make sure he was still coming, and then continued inside.
As I shuffled across the locker room in search of a bay that wasn’t occupied by other guys, I got a text back from Dad.
On my way in.
Cool. I was thumbing a response when someone stepped out in front of me. We nearly collided, but I stopped in my tracks.
And so did Paul.
For a couple of seconds, we stared at each other.
I shouldn’t have been shocked. Of course he worked out at the base gym. He was obviously fit, and God knew the place was convenient as hell since he worked on base. If anything, I was surprised we hadn’t seen each other here before. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and here we were.
“Um . . .” I said.
Dad’s text message flashed through my mind. Shit!
I cleared my throat. So did Paul. Then, without a word, we both kept walking in opposite directions. I didn’t dare look back, not even as I stepped into an empty bay of lockers.
The locker room door squeaked on its hinges.
“Morning, sir,” Dad said.
“Morning, Senior Chief,” Paul replied. Footsteps continued. The door banged shut.
A second later, Dad appeared, gym bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey. What do you think—leg day?”
My entire lower body ach
ed in protest. I shook my head. “Back and shoulders. My knee’s still pissed off about that run the other day.”
Dad shrugged. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you out there.” He went to another bay of lockers while I stood there with an uncomfortable ball of lead forming in the pit of my stomach. As much as work, school, and exercise had pulled my focus away from pining after Paul, all it had taken was one brief encounter to remind me how hard it had been to let him go. And hearing that quick exchange between him and my dad had been salt in the wound. Like the universe had said, Here’s the man you wish you had, and here’s a reminder of why you can’t have him.
Fuck my life.
I sat on the bench to put on my shoes. As I slipped them on, I glanced at the door Paul had gone through.
Suddenly I felt conspicuous in the locker room. As if seeing him had tipped my hand. And as if running into each other once somehow meant that now he’d be here every time I came to work out.
And so what if he was? I’d long ago mastered the art of being around naked, half-naked, and on-the-way-to-naked men without giving away that I found men attractive. I never ogled anyway because it was obnoxious, and I pretty much kept my eyes down out of fear that if I let my guard down and made eye contact with someone, it would be one of those gigantic meatheads who was also a raging homophobe.
Now I had yet another thing to avoid—the guy I wished I was still fucking. There were a lot of nooks and crannies in this locker room. If Paul and I ever came in here late at night, and temptation got the best of us, we could always—
Baseball. Think of baseball.
I adjusted the front of my shorts and leaned down—uncomfortably—to tie my shoes.
Today’s workout was going to be one long . . .
It was going to be one hard . . .
Fuck it. This workout was going to suck.
It wasn’t as terrible as I’d anticipated. I didn’t see much of Paul. A glance now and then, but he was mostly on the cardio side while Dad and I were lifting at the other end of the gym. Good thing that despite being a small base, NAS Adams had a decent sized gym—at some of the other bases, we’d have been tripping over each other.
Still, it was a hell of a relief when my workout was over and Dad and I retreated to the locker room. Dad went to take a shower while I dropped onto the bench by my locker. Tired and sweaty, I toed off my shoes. I’d grab a shower at home before I went to class—much less chance of accidentally looking at someone the wrong way.
I took my bag out of my locker and put my shoes in it. Right as I was about to peel off my shirt, my neck prickled.
I turned around.
And for the second time today, there we were in the locker room together. At least neither of us had been in the middle of undressing or something. Not that it was much better when he was sweaty and flushed because hello, I loved the way he looked like that. Reminded me so much of—
Things I couldn’t have. And desperately wanted. And would have sold my soul to drag into the shower and fuck.
“Hey.” I smiled nervously. “Good workout?”
“Yeah.” His smile was equally nervous, and like me, he glanced around as if to make sure no one saw us talking. “You?”
“Mm-hmm.” I had no idea what to say. We’d always been able to talk until we were blue in the face when we were alone, but now? Surrounded by guys who answered to him? With my damn dad nearby? Shit.
Paul took a swig from his water bottle. “Well, um. I should get back to work.”
“Yeah. I need to get to class.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Our eyes locked. He couldn’t possible have imagined how badly I wanted to say something benign like Text you later, but I didn’t dare. We couldn’t text each other or hook up or anything, and I knew it, but standing with him, it still seemed so casual and normal to act like things hadn’t changed.
With a couple of subtle nods and a grunted “Later,” he kept walking and I focused on getting my stuff together.
I quickly changed clothes and hurried out of that locker room like it was a house on fire. As soon as I stepped from the stuffy, sweaty room into the air-conditioned, sweaty hallway, I released a breath. There was no rational reason it should make any difference that I was out here, but it did. It felt safer with a door between us.
Except I hadn’t done anything unsafe. Paul and I had been perfectly civil and polite like two normal guys in a locker room. Nothing to see here. Nothing going on between us.
My shoulders sank and so did my stomach. I missed him. No two ways about it. I missed being able to text randomly with him. I missed talking to him. I missed his playful smile and subtly smoky laugh.
And I can’t have him, so I need to get over him.
This was stupid. I needed to go out and get laid and forget him. Of course, the last time I’d hooked up with someone on the fly, I’d wound up in this situation.
Fuck. Why was I so hung up on him? Probably because I missed getting laid on a regular basis. Maybe it was time to go find another bored, horny dude for a night.
Well, I haven’t been to Backdoor Bob in a while . . .
Sean was right about Backdoor Bob—they mixed the drinks good and strong.
Apparently not strong enough, though, because two rum and Cokes into the night, I was still thinking about Sean. Exactly the opposite of what I’d come here to do. Leaning against the bar, I pressed the ice-cold glass to my forehead and cursed. I’d been doing so well, too! Okay, maybe not great, but better. Enough I’d started to convince myself I could move on . . . right up until we’d crossed paths at the gym.
After our brief encounter this afternoon, there’d been no doubt in my mind that it was past time to use my tried-and-true method of getting over breakups. Sean had gotten my mind off Jayson, after all. I clearly needed to hook up with someone else to get my mind off Sean.
I’d considered the internet, and swiped around on Grindr, but it all felt too businesslike.
Hello, Bear71. You look reasonably attractive. I’ll meet you at this address at 7 p.m. for sex in a variety of positions. Please bring personal lubricant and prophylactics.
No.
So I’d opted for Backdoor Bob. If I didn’t find anyone promising, at least I wouldn’t have to spend too much on drinks to console myself because goddamn—my head was already light.
I sipped my drink as I scanned the room. No one I recognized from the base, and no one sporting a high-and-tight haircut, so that was promising. Though on second glance, I was pretty sure the bald guy sipping a longneck over by the other bar was a civilian contractor who worked down on the flight line. He didn’t seem to recognize me, so I ignored him.
There was definitely a good mix of men. A couple of gray-bearded guys who looked like truckers or lumberjacks. Some hipsters in ball-suffocating pants who’d probably made the trip from Portland or something. And . . . Oh what have we here?
The man was jaw-droppingly sexy. Clean cut, dark-haired, a hint of a tan that might or might not have been a trick of the club’s dim lighting. He had shoulders for days, and something about him made me think he might’ve been a cop or a firefighter. He had that look about him, though I couldn’t put my finger on why.
Well, there was only one way to find out if my hunch was accurate. I took a quick sip of my rum and Coke for a little bit of liquid courage, and started to step away from the bar. I searched for the best route through the crowd, and—
My drink nearly slipped out of my hand.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
No fucking way.
Sean?
Of all the clubs—
Of course he’d come to this one. He’d recommended the damn place to me.
The firefighter-cop-whatever was suddenly gone. All my thoughts and senses zoomed in on the man I’d come here to forget.
He looked good tonight. Really good. Like a man on the prowl. The black shirt was snug in all the right places, and the club’s lighting was just right to pick out tho
se trademark blue highlights in his hair. He was talking to someone, and when he laughed . . .
I had to pull my gaze away to collect my thoughts. Fuck. I’d come here to get him out of my head, not ogle him while he was dressed to kill.
I cautiously looked his way again.
He was gone.
My stomach knotted. I searched the crowd for him, nervous now that I couldn’t find him. It was like seeing a tiger in the jungle, and then not seeing it. It was still there somewhere, but without a visual lock, I couldn’t be sure I was keeping enough space between myself and the threat. Sean wasn’t dangerous, but the temptation sure as hell was. As long as we kept a crowd of dancing drunk dudes between us, we couldn’t touch.
But where the hell was he?
A second later, I found him. He was still talking to the other guy, but they’d moved toward one of the chest-high tables along the wall.
I gulped, my mouth suddenly dry. I was about to turn back to the bar when Sean shifted his position and looked right at me.
He froze. So did I. His lips parted, and I begged the ground under my feet to do the same and swallow me up. It didn’t, of course, so I searched for the next best thing—an escape route.
Naturally, Sean was between me and the exit, and I knew damn well if I headed in that direction, I wouldn’t make it to the door.
Instead, I turned around and hurried toward the men’s room. I just needed some space. Some doors between us. A breather while I worked out a game plan.
The men’s room was empty, thank God. Or close to it. Some heavy breathing and moaning came from behind a closed stall door, but I ignored it. I’d made out—and more—in my fair share of bathroom stalls.
