by L. A. Witt
I laughed. Good thing we’d long ago established where the sexual harassment boundaries were. With as much time as we had to spend together, conversation was inevitable. If she couldn’t be comfortable talking about whatever with the guy who was tasked with being her shadow almost 24/7, then it would have been miserable for both of us.
Maybe it would’ve been different if either of us had been straight. I couldn’t say. But with absolutely no possibility of us being attracted to each other, it seemed like we could both let our hair down a bit more. Which in our cases, meant being just a bit more crass than we would’ve been with others.
“So, without any visuals,” she said. “How was he?”
“Quite good. Just, um, don’t walk as fast today. You know, so I can keep up.”
“Why wouldn’t you be— Oh for fuck’s sake, Jeremy.” She groaned. “Really?”
I snickered. “Seriously, though. My legs are killing me.”
“I’ll bet it’s just your legs,” she muttered.
“Okay, hips too.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“For your information, my ass is just fine.” I paused as I turned onto the main road. “His, on the other hand, might be—”
She burst out laughing. “Goddamn it, Jeremy.”
“You started it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway . . .” She patted my arm as I accelerated toward town. “Well done. So when are you going to see him again?”
“See him again?” I waved a hand. “No, no. This was a one-night stand.”
“I thought you said it was a first date.”
“For the sake of brevity, yes. I didn’t feel the need to spell out that we were getting drinks so we could figure out whose mattress was getting a workout.”
“Oh. I see.” She paused. “Well, obviously somebody’s mattress got a good workout.”
“His. And yes.” I shivered and couldn’t help grinning. “It got quite a workout.”
“You’re so adorable.” Anna laughed. “Are you sure it was just a one-night stand? Because you’re grinning like somebody who wants to go another round with him.”
“Yes, it was a one-night stand. I mean, yeah, it was awesome, so I’d love a rematch. But I—”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “If it’s fun, then why ignore it?”
“We’ve had this conversation.” I drummed my fingers rapidly on top of the wheel. “I’m not dating anyone.”
When I glanced at her, Anna tilted her head, and her lips pulled tight. I knew that look—she wasn’t playfully ribbing me anymore. “Jeremy, I know things aren’t good with Haley, and you getting involved with somebody could . . . complicate things. Believe me, I get it.” She touched my arm and squeezed gently. “But sooner or later, you’ve got to take care of yourself. She’ll adapt.”
“Just like she’s adapted to her father being gay?”
She sighed. “Look, take it from someone who knows.” She squeezed my arm again before withdrawing her hand. “Even while you’re trying to settle things with your family, don’t forget to be good to yourself, okay?”
I nodded, but said nothing and kept on driving.
Today promised to be a long one. Anna was codirecting an episode, and they were shooting a scene up in the mountains near Hurricane Ridge. God knew how they’d managed to procure permits from the national park, but apparently they had, and a long caravan of vehicles drove over to Port Angeles and followed the winding road into the thickly forested hills.
The scene called for semimelted snow, giving the impression of an early spring thaw after a brutal winter. Being January, Hurricane Ridge still had snow at the higher altitudes. The snow line was pretty high, but it was also perfect for what they needed—definite presence of snow, but patchy as if it were just beginning to melt.
And of course it was cold as balls up here. Everyone was sucking down coffee like it was going out of style—to stay warm and awake. Yeah, this was going to be a long day. Shit.
As I finished my seventy-eighth cup of coffee before lunch, my phone buzzed. Holy shit. I actually had signal up here?
I took my phone out of the pocket of my parka. Wow. I had full signal.
And a message from Scott.
Last night was awesome. Drinks tonight?
Oh . . . fuck.
Um.
Shit.
Yes, last night had been awesome. But I’d told him I didn’t date. And he’d said he wasn’t into cops for whatever reason. Meeting again wasn’t a good idea.
But, God, the sex. And the way he kissed! If we met up again, I was pretty damn sure that even if we never took off a scrap of clothing, if we just sat there and made out, I’d be perfectly satisfied.
Meet up again? Jeremy. Jeremy, think!
I shoved the phone in my pocket. No, we couldn’t do that again.
Hovering behind Anna, I put the text out of my mind and focused on scanning our surroundings for potential threats. It wasn’t likely. Whenever the crew was shooting outside of the secure studio property, precautions were taken to make sure we weren’t bothered. Locations were kept a secret, revealed only on a need-to-know basis, and even then it sometimes took some arm-twisting.
For this shoot, we were off the main highway, on a service road that was only accessible by park rangers. Hunters and hikers often went through these areas, so security personnel were fanned out in a perimeter to keep people from wandering into camera range. And, of course, to keep the psychos at bay.
Ostensibly, it wasn’t just to keep from ruining a shot—after all, an errant hunter could be removed in postproduction—but for the safety of the crew. Alfonse and I had often snarked that it was for the safety of the valuable assets like Anna and the actors. Protecting the crew only mattered inasmuch as the insurance company didn’t want to be held liable. Protecting bank account was more like it.
Whatever. As long as a bear didn’t wander through again. I was pretty sure they were all asleep this time of year anyway.
With no real threats to speak of, boredom set in quickly. I kept my phone in my pocket, though. It hadn’t buzzed in a while, but I was worried Scott might’ve texted me again. Or that I might open it and see that message I still hadn’t addressed.
I cringed, nestling my face into my parka.
As I kept an eye on Anna and our benign surroundings, my mind kept wandering to Scott and his message. I couldn’t get him out of my head. It had been way too long since someone had touched me as if he wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
Still, the text stayed on my phone, read but unanswered.
Tempting as he was, I couldn’t get involved with him. Sex was one thing, but what if I wanted more? He didn’t want more with a cop. For my part, I’d sworn off dating for the foreseeable future, and I meant it. I couldn’t handle hiding a relationship from my kids, and they couldn’t handle knowing about one, so for the moment, it was best to just avoid that shit altogether.
Besides, if he was still single at this age, there was probably a reason for that. Maybe he wasn’t the same flavor of basket case that I was, but there had to be something going on there. Maybe something to do with his aversion to cops.
It wasn’t the sex, that was for sure.
I tried to ignore the goose bumps prickling beneath my jacket. Yeah, the sex was awesome, but meeting for drinks after a one-nighter had a tendency to lead to another night, and those could too easily turn into more than I wanted to deal with.
It was a one-night stand. That was all it needed to be. He’d said himself he’d just wanted to get laid, but I knew how that could pan out sometimes. One night was fun, so why not have a second one? Oh hell, why not go for broke—make it three nights! Then came the overnight stays, the toothbrush on the other guy’s counter, the weekend trips out of town . . .
None of that.
So the text stayed on my phone.
Read, but unanswered.
I didn’t answer Scott’s text. Not that day. Not the next one. Not the day after that. Every time I l
ooked at my phone, the guilt burrowed deeper, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. We’d had a one-night stand. Nothing more. Hopefully he’d get the message since I hadn’t sent any other messages.
I dreaded Anna and Leigh’s upcoming appointment like I’d dreaded my appointments with my then-wife and marriage counselor. Though it wouldn’t be as emotionally taxing, or feel like such an exercise in futility, things promised to get awkward as hell in the waiting room.
But it was inevitable, and a week after the night we spent together, I was there. Dr. Vincent called Anna and Leigh back. The third counselor in the office called another couple back. Now every chair was empty but mine, and right on cue, Scott walked into the room.
No one here but the receptionist, him and me, and some silence that hadn’t seemed so weird a minute ago.
Scott cleared his throat. “Do you mind coming back for a second?” He gestured with his thumb at the door that led back to the counselors’ various offices. “So we can talk privately?”
I hesitated. This was about as private as it could get, since there was no one here but us and the receptionist, who was on the phone. That could change in a second, though. If another patient came in, or if the UPS guy showed up.
I really shouldn’t leave the waiting room. Though I didn’t have to go back with Anna, I stayed out here as a first line of defense against anyone who might try to get to her. I should stay right here.
But goddamn it, things were uncomfortable between me and enough people. If Anna and Leigh were going to keep coming to this counselor, then I was going to keep crossing paths with Scott, and it was just going to keep getting weirder and weirder.
So I rose and followed him. His office was the first door on the left. Dr. Vincent’s was the last one on the right. In theory, if anyone tried to come back here, the receptionist would halt them, and I’d be able to hear the exchange from here.
As we stepped into Scott’s office, my spine prickled. I could’ve sworn I’d promised myself I’d never set foot in a marriage counselor’s office again. Under the circumstances, I decided an exception could be made.
His office wasn’t identical to my ex-counselor’s, but it was uncomfortably similar. Pastel wallpaper. A couple of framed watercolors. A desk covered in paperwork and a computer. A semicircle of armchairs with Kleenex boxes strategically placed so one was always within reach. I’d long ago begun to associate this type of environment with unpleasant conversations, so that boded well for how this would go.
As I shut the door, Scott faced me. “Listen, um, I think we might’ve misunderstood each other.”
I held his gaze, but didn’t speak.
He clasped his hands in front of him. “I’m getting the impression you think I want more than what we did the other night.”
“Well, I . . .” I studied him. “I mean, maybe we should cut to what you do want.”
“Fair enough. Or I guess, what I don’t want, and that’s a relationship. With anyone.”
“Oh.” That . . . kind of changed everything. “Really?”
“Yeah. I haven’t had one in years, and I’m not going to start now. You’re also, for all intents and purposes, a cop. And I . . .” He shook his head, and the way he shifted his weight may have been to mask a shudder. “I don’t date cops.”
I straightened. “Right. You mentioned that.”
“It’s nothing personal.” He showed his palms. “I . . . It’s . . .”
“So what do you want?”
Scott’s grin answered that succinctly enough. But just in case I didn’t get the message, he came closer. “Do I have to spell it out?”
I gulped, my heart speeding up. “Uh.” I glanced past him at the door. Anna and Leigh had just gone back. They still had at least forty-five minutes. So if we—
Scott was suddenly in my space, his faint cologne teasing my senses with reminders of how the other night had gone.
“All I want,” he said so quietly I barely heard him, “is exactly what we did the other night.” Before I could respond, his hand slid over the front of my pants, and when I swore, he laughed softly and kissed my neck. “I get the feeling you want the same thing.” He ran his thumb along the underside of my hardening cock. “But do tell me if I’m wrong.”
“N-no.” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. “No, you’re not wrong. At all.”
“Didn’t think so,” he whispered against my throat.
So much for a counselor’s office being an uncomfortable environment full of unpleasant conversations. If his lips kept doing what they were doing beneath my jaw, he was going to erase every negative association I had with offices like this.
I slid my hands over his shoulders. “I’m assuming this . . . isn’t an invitation to meet you later.”
“Oh, it is.” His other hand snaked around my waist. “But as long as you’re here . . .”
“Fuck . . .”
“By the way, these walls are ridiculously thin, so we’ll just have to be quiet.”
“That’s easier said than done, you know.”
“Mm-hmm.” He kissed beneath my jaw. “Should we stop?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Didn’t think so.” His lips met mine, and then his fingers were making quick work of my zipper, and before I even realized what he was doing or why we shouldn’t be doing this now, his long fingers were around my cock. I was well aware that this wasn’t the time or place, and that we shouldn’t, but between the way he stroked me and the way we kissed, I didn’t give a damn about anything rational. As long as he didn’t stop, everything was as it needed to be.
And then, right there in his office, Scott went to his knees on the pastel carpet, and I couldn’t breathe as he took my cock between his lips.
This is a dream, right?
I looked down. No, this was apparently real. Scott—in a shirt and tie, a respectable marriage counselor in the very office where he worked—was kneeling at my feet, brow furrowed with intense concentration as he stroked and sucked my dick.
Leaning against the door, I rested my hand on the back of his head and rocked my hips, and he opened his mouth wider. Testing the water, I moved faster, and he took me willingly, easily.
God knew what he was doing with his tongue, but it sent lightning right through me. And he knew just how to use his hand too—gripping me tightly, sliding up and down the shaft while his mouth focused on the head.
Scott’s lips around my cock became the center of my universe. Hell, they became the entire universe. Everything else faded away, and I just stared down at him, watching his head bobbing and wondering where the fuck he’d learned to do that with his tongue. Every time he ran it around the head of my cock, my sanity slipped a little farther out of my grasp.
Just like the other night, there was no point in trying to hold back, and I didn’t have a condom to dull the senses this time. I pressed my lips together, refusing to even breathe because if I did, then Anna, Leigh, and Dr. Vincent would know exactly what was happening over here. The way this was going, though, I was rapidly forgetting to care if they did hear us—Scott’s enthusiastic, talented mouth was unbelievable.
The hand I’d flattened against the door—when did I move my hand? Hell, no idea—wasn’t doing much to hold me up, so I took the other off the back of his head and grabbed the doorknob for support. “Gonna . . . Oh, fuck . . .”
Scott groaned around my dick.
And I didn’t make a sound because I couldn’t breathe at all. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t thrust, I couldn’t even moan—all I could do was stand there and enjoy the ride as he drew my orgasm out.
When Scott rocked back on his heels, I slumped against the door, which kept me upright, but just barely. Hands shaking, I fixed my clothes as he stood, and then we wrapped our arms around each other.
“I have a patient coming in soon,” he panted, pausing for a light kiss. “So we’ll have to wait to finish this.”
“Does that mean that invitation for later is st
ill on?”
“You’d better believe it.”
Scott wasn’t kidding about just wanting sex. Whenever we met up, the clothes came off the second we were alone. I was hooked. If it wasn’t too late, I would text Scott the instant I dropped Anna at her place at the end of the day, like a junkie hitting up his dealer, and within minutes, he’d meet me at his door.
And when it was over, we lingered between the sheets. Which I liked. I liked it a lot more than I thought I would. He wasn’t my first fuck buddy, but he was the first who wasn’t rushing for the door as soon as the condom was off, and I looked forward to lying there with him almost as much as I looked forward to the sex.
It was a shame the deck was stacked against us for a relationship. I had too much on my plate because of my kids, and Scott had his reasons for not dating guys in my line of work, so I didn’t let myself entertain the fantasy of a relationship with him.
But we had the next best thing—amazing sex followed by long conversations in bed.
“You know, if a man’s going to come out of a dry spell . . .” He dropped onto the mattress beside me one night. “He could do a lot worse than hook up with someone like you.”
I laughed, lifting myself up on shaky arms. “I can’t imagine you being in a dry spell.”
“It happens, believe me.” He slid his hand along my waist. “But hopefully that’s over for the time being.”
“Oh, I think so.”
He kissed me lightly. “I’m not looking to get involved with anybody, but this? This, I can handle.”
“You and me both.”
After we’d cooled down a bit, we pulled the sheets up over us and settled on the pillows. It seemed like hours went by, just lying there, talking about nothing and occasionally stopping to kiss for a little while.
“Definitely glad I saw you at the office,” he murmured. “I would’ve been kicking myself for a long time for not getting a rematch with you.”
I chuckled. “I’m glad you said something. I was thinking you were interested in more than this, and . . . I just . . .” I shook my head. “I’m not ready to go there, so I guess I balked and—”
