by L. A. Witt
My heart fluttered as the blond’s shoulders sank. With a sheepish smile, he bowed out and backed off, but not before throwing me an expression that said my bad.
I gave him a nod and pretended my pulse wasn’t soaring. I knew it hadn’t actually meant anything. Diego had simply used the most efficient means of fending off the blond. Still, it made me hotter than the dancing had. It tripped that same sense of possessiveness I’d had when I’d smelled my familiar soap on him. It wasn’t a feeling like I’d throttle anyone who hit on him. More like a swell of pride.
Yeah, that’s right. He’s with me.
I suddenly needed to take him out of here. Back to the hotel. Out of his clothes.
He wanted to dance, though. He was having a good time, and anyway, I loved watching him in this light. I loved how the colors glittered in his dark eyes and across the sheen of sweat at his hairline, occasionally hitting just right to light up one of his more prominent scars. He was the sexiest man in this room by far, and who was I to tell him we were done dancing?
So after he’d come back to the table, and we’d caught our breath and cooled off with some water, I was the one who led him back out to the dance floor.
And we danced.
The cab driver dropped us at the B&B, and he didn’t make eye contact with me while I paid him. He’d avoided looking at us the entire ten-minute drive. I didn’t care, though. Most nights, the homophobia radiating off him would’ve made my teeth grind, but I’d been too busy teasing Mark with a hand on his leg to get worked up over an asshole cabbie.
While the cab drove off, Mark unlocked our room. I ignored the lace and flowers and so much pink, and went straight to kissing and groping him. Clothes kind of started to come off, but neither of us was in a hurry. After a long night of dancing with him, I had him all to myself for the rest of the night—why rush?
Mark rolled on top of me, playfully pinning me down, and we kissed in between laughing like a couple of teenagers. I hadn’t had that much to drink, and I’d eaten before we’d gone to the club. So why the hell did I feel this drunk?
Barely breaking the kiss, he murmured, “Think anyone noticed there were two old guys in the club?”
I snorted. “Hey. Speak for yourself.”
“Oh come on. You’re not that much younger than me.” He lifted his head and tapped the middle of my chest. “And you’re the one who pointed out we were the oldest guys there.”
“Yeah, but just because we’re older than the twenty-two-year-olds doesn’t make us old.” I grinned. “I’ve still got a few months before I turn forty. I’m not calling myself old until then.”
Mark groaned and rolled his eyes. “Okay, that’s fair. Especially since that’s the day everything starts going downhill.”
“Isn’t that why they call it being ‘over the hill’?”
“Well, yeah. They just don’t bother to tell you that you wake up that morning with cataracts and gray pubes.”
I laughed louder than I should have. “Come on. You don’t have that much gray down there.”
“What?” he yelped. “I really do have gray?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I usually have your dick down my throat, so it’s not like I really count them or anything.”
He chuckled, leaning in to kiss my neck. “If that keeps you distracted from my grays . . .”
“Are you kidding? It keeps me distracted from almost anything.”
He murmured something I didn’t understand, and before I could ask him to repeat it, his stubble scraped my collarbone and made me shiver hard enough to forget he’d spoken at all.
I pushed him onto his back and started to get on top, but as I did, pain shot through my knee. I gasped, glancing down like it might offer up some explanation for being a pendejo right now of all times, and the black brace seemed to glare back up at me.
Mark trailed a hand down my back. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I met his gaze. “Listen, uh, you don’t mind if I leave the brace on, do you?”
He blinked. “No, of course not. I just want everything else off.”
“This won’t get in the way?”
“Not unless you were planning on having me suck your knee or something.”
I burst out laughing. “No, that wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Mark grinned, moving in closer. “Well, I guess it won’t get in the way, will it?”
And then he kissed me, and neither of us mentioned my brace again.
As drunk as I’d felt when we’d come back to the room last night, my head barely throbbed in the morning. There was some subtle thumping around my temples, but it wasn’t bad. Made sense—I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink.
I’d taken off the knee brace sometime between screwing Mark and joining him in the shower. It had been too sweaty and gross to put back on, but I was paying for it now. Gritting my teeth, I massaged the sore joint and muscles. If that was the worst thing from last night, though, I was happy.
Aside from the nightmares, anyway.
Damn it, I’d been doing so well. That was one of the many shitty parts of PTSD—sometimes it reared its head for no apparent reason. Nothing in particular had triggered me. Nothing had brought back the memories of being in combat. My subconscious had apparently just decided I needed to spend the night in the desert.
I shuddered, hoping Mark didn’t notice. I hoped like hell he hadn’t noticed last night’s dreams, either. I didn’t think he had. The times I’d woken up, he’d been dead asleep. Lucky bastard.
Rolling my shoulders, I shook the lingering fear and jitteriness away. At least the nightmares were relatively rare—one of the few ways I’d lucked out with this whole postcombat thing.
I got up to grab another shower and brush my teeth. Mark wasn’t too far behind me, so of course we wound up tumbling back into bed together. Before long, we were sprawled on the pink bed, surrounded by rumpled pink sheets, and both grinning like idiots.
“I knew this was a good idea,” he slurred.
“Uh-huh.” I licked my lips. “Really good idea.”
“So, would it be too soon to suggest doing it again?”
“Um.” I cleared my throat. “Depends. Do you mean dancing? Or going out of town?” And spending money . . . and getting closer to each other . . .
He shifted onto his side, and as I mirrored him, he said, “I don’t know. I’m, uh, kind of new to the dating scene, but you said you’re not into military guys.” With a shrug and an uneasy smile, he added, “Can’t blame a man for wanting more of what we’ve been doing, including last night, right?”
“That’s true. I guess I can’t.” Especially since I wanted it too. I didn’t want to want it, but I did.
He absently played with the edge of the pink comforter like he just needed to do something with his hands. “Look, I have no idea what we’re doing, but I think I should be upfront about a few things.”
Something tightened in the pit of my stomach, and I didn’t know if it was dread over what he was about to tell me or the fact that we were having the where is this going? conversation. Was this the part where he tactfully—maybe—told me he was in the closet, and that we had to be discreet when we were in town because he couldn’t risk people knowing he was fucking a man? Never mind a bartender with an accent that said I stole an American job to people?
Wonder what he’d think if he knew I didn’t have a green card.
But I tamped down that comment and all the bitterness that went with it. As neutrally as I could, I said, “Okay?”
Mark took a deep breath. “If we’re just fucking, that’s okay. I’m . . . I’m totally okay with that.” He paused, and when he spoke again, he looked at me across the narrow stretch of painfully pink sheets. “But if we decide to do more than that, now’s probably a good time to let you know I am terrible at relationships.”
A laugh jumped out of me before I could stop it. He eyed me as if that was the last reaction he’d expected. Which was fair. And how
the hell did I explain I was relieved that that had been his deep dark secret?
I shook my head. “I guess I thought you were going to drop some kind of bomb.”
He looked almost offended. “It kind of is, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” When his expression didn’t change, I put a hand over his. “We obviously both suck at relationships, or we wouldn’t be single, right?”
His lips quirked, and he shrugged. “Okay, maybe. But I just came out of a very long and very fucked-up marriage, and I’m not feeling all that confident about whatever comes next. Sex? Got it. The rest?” He wobbled his hand in the air. “Not so much.”
I fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably. There shouldn’t have been anything beyond this. A couple of nights of sex, some coffee, and gone. The fact that we were still doing this—that he wanted to have this conversation, and that we were doing it in a bed and breakfast room—all that should’ve had klaxons blaring and me running out the door. But it didn’t.
“I don’t know what we’re doing. Or if there’s even any point in talking about it right now. I just don’t want to stop what we’re doing, you know? So I guess . . . I guess I’m saying I’m open to seeing what happens.”
I chewed on the words for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Even if I’m military?”
My whole body tried to tense up, and my stomach clenched around the bitterness I really needed to learn to let go of before I lost another man to the Navy.
“It’s your call,” he said. “If you want to keep it to sex, then we can. If you want more, I’m game. Just tell me what you need. I’m perfectly happy with not talking about work anyway, and I won’t ask you to come to any functions with me.” He shrugged. “Whatever you need.”
Stop being so fucking amazing.
“Okay, I can . . . That works. But I also, um . . .” My face burned. “Look, I know how the pay scales work. I know you make a fuck-load more money than I do. But I mean, I really don’t have much. I’m just barely making it. So—”
“So you think it’s going to bother me?”
“I think you might get tired of not doing much outside the bedroom because I can’t afford it.” I paused and sharply added, “And having you pay for me isn’t an option.”
“I’m not going to get tired of staying in.” He cupped my face and kissed me tenderly, letting it go on for a few long seconds. Then he whispered, “I just want to be with you.”
I chewed my lip. “Okay. I just don’t want to spend your money, and I can’t spend mine.”
Mark nodded. “I’m good with that. And there’s plenty we can do without spending anything.” A cautious smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Unless you’re one of those people who doesn’t like long walks on the beach.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe when the weather warms up.”
“Deal.” He kissed me again.
“When the weather warms up”? That’s . . . months from now.
The thought of us still doing this a few months from now was surprisingly not panic inducing. In fact, I liked the idea. I really did. Probably a lot more than I should have.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Nothing except a hell of a lot of heartbreak, if my past was any indication.
Taking this beyond a one-night stand to most of a weekend had been pushing it. Hooking up the second, third, twelfth times had been playing with fire, and I’d known it. Taking off for a weekend and cuddling under the covers in a room that had clearly been intended for honeymooners? Probably not smart.
But we’d done it. We were here. And I had a gut feeling that if I kept letting myself be this close to him, I’d get close to him. Not necessarily fall for him, but I could see myself wanting more than his dick. Hell, maybe I was just feeling echoes of the way things had been when I’d hooked up with Dalton. When we’d thrown ourselves in headfirst and let things go further than I could handle. The time I’d spent with Mark was enough to know I liked sleeping with him. In fact, I liked doing things that I wasn’t supposed to want as long as he was on active duty.
Except what if I missed out on something good?
What if he was onto something, just being open to seeing what happened?
Christ. What do I do?
I knew damn well I was hesitating because calling things off with Dalton had hurt so bad. He’d been exactly the kind of guy I could have been with for the long haul, but I couldn’t get over the Navy. I just couldn’t. Not when I lived every day of my life with the damage it had done. At the same time, though, breaking up with him had been like handing the Navy another victory. Another piece of my life that wasn’t mine anymore. I didn’t want to do that again.
But then Dalton had nearly been killed during a patrol boat accident, and his chain of command had almost fucked him out of his career in the name of saving someone else’s good name. It had been like salt in the wound, watching someone I loved getting treated that way by the same Navy that had chewed me up and spat me out. If I’d had any doubts at all about my ability to coexist with the military, they’d gone up in smoke the moment those assholes had started putting Dalton through that wringer.
After all of that, I still couldn’t make myself pull away from Mark. Even now, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
I shouldn’t have been open to it. He was military.
But as it always did, that memory surfaced of Dalton leaving for the last time.
So do I give it a shot? Or do I let the Navy win again?
I looked in Mark’s eyes. He was Navy. Career fucking Navy. And I just kept on coming back.
Why can’t I say no to you?
When he smiled, the warmth spreading through me was almost enough to negate the twisting in my stomach.
Fuck. I know why I can’t say no to you.
Because I don’t want to.
Mark trailed his fingertips down the middle of my chest. “We should go get breakfast. It’s supposed to be really good here.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” I craned my neck to look at the old alarm clock beside the bed. “We have time to eat before we go home for the game?”
“Kickoff isn’t until one.” He pressed his lips to the base of my neck. “We’ve got time.”
“For breakfast and the drive?”
“And then some.” From the way his hand was drifting lower, breakfast could wait.
I didn’t protest at all. I was pretty sure we’d make it home in time for kickoff.
Barely.
As it turned out, we made it home in plenty of time.
Diego had put on a faded Eagles jersey. I had my well-worn Cardinals jersey. As we wrangled snacks in the kitchen and waited for our pizza, we eyed each other, but we both chuckled. I had no doubt there’d be some serious trash-talking by the end of the day, especially after the Cardinals stomped all over the Eagles.
While we were getting situated in the living room, Diego pulled some ibuprofen out of his pocket and washed it down with his beer.
“Knee?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It happens. Especially after four nights in a row at the bar and one at a dance club.”
I grimaced.
“I’m fine.” He put his hand on my thigh and kissed me lightly. “I mean, I am going to be sitting on my ass for a few hours.”
“Fair enough.” I tugged him closer by the front of his jersey. “After your boys lose, I’ll make sure you forget how much it hurts.”
Leaning in for a kiss, Diego murmured, “Why do I get the feeling you’d just rub it in?”
I laughed even as I lifted my chin for that kiss. Then we exchanged grins, clinked our beer bottles together, and settled in for kickoff.
The game turned out to be one of those that tested a man’s cardiovascular health. Halfway through the first quarter, we were both literally on the edge of our seats, cursing and shouting as our teams battled it out. Both sides were playing really well and really badly, with mind-blowing play
s and jaw-dropping fuckups coming from all directions. By the end of the half, the score was tied and we were out of breath and sweating.
“Jesus.” I flopped back against the couch as the teams dispersed for halftime. “What the fuck?”
“You know,” Diego mused into his beer bottle, “if your boys hadn’t fucked up that fourth down, you’d be ahead.”
I shot him a glare. “Yeah? And what about that fumble right before the two-minute warning?”
He wrinkled his nose, muttered something, and took a deep swallow.
“That’s what I thought.”
He rolled his eyes and flipped me the bird.
Still laughing, I got up to get another bag of Doritos. On my way back to the couch, I paused to stare at Diego as he lounged, one leg propped on the coffee table and the other canted to the side. He caught me and furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shrugged as I continued toward him. “Just thinking how perfect you’d look like that if it weren’t for . . .” I wrinkled my nose and gestured at his shirt with one of the beer bottles. “That.”
Diego rolled his eyes again and snatched the bag of chips from my hand.
Something must’ve happened in the locker room during halftime, because the Cardinals had their shit together now. By the start of the fourth quarter, my boys were up by ten.
Beside me, Diego swore into his beer bottle as the spectators roared their approval of a field goal. Shortly after that, they were well on their way to another touchdown.
“Come on! Come on!” I shouted at the screen. “Yeah, first down!”
Diego didn’t say a word. Instead, he took my beer from my hand, leaned forward, and set it on the coffee table. Then he came back and started kissing my neck.
I laughed, running my palm up his back. “You’re not going to distract me.” Still, I tilted my head to give him more access even as I kept an eye on the screen. I wasn’t made of stone, damn it.
“You sure I can’t distract you?” Oh fuck—his voice was a low purr, as he dragged his fingers up my inner thigh and added, “I’ll bet I can.”
