Wash Out

by L. A. Witt

  Sighing, I shook my head. “The doc said there’s no way I can jump out of a plane. The way the bones are pinned and the way they healed, it’s . . .” I waved a hand. “The punch line is my leg will heal well enough for active duty, but not for doing HALO jumps with a bunch of gear strapped to my back.”

  “Shit. Yeah. I mean, it’s good you won’t be jumping on it, but . . .” He paused. “I kind of get it, actually. Having to give up something you are or something you wanted to be.”

  I tilted my head. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Being a Marine wasn’t like a lifelong dream or anything, but once I enlisted, that was it. I was a Marine. All I wanted to be was a Marine.”

  I searched his dark eyes. “So why did you get out?”

  Logan swallowed. “Three combat tours in five years. My platoon was getting ready for a fourth when I was about to re-up, and I couldn’t do it. Physically, I was fine, but up here?” He tapped his temple. “No way.”

  My stomach lurched. Sometimes I hated being right about people. “Jesus. That bad?”

  Logan nodded, eyes losing focus. “There’s only so many times a man can handle picking up pieces of his friends and sending them home in flag-covered boxes.”

  The hair on my neck stood up. It wasn’t just the words—his hollow, haunted tone gave me chills. I’d heard a similar tone from Diego when he’d alluded to his combat experiences too. Same from other guys.

  “So yeah.” Logan cleared his throat and met my gaze again. “Pushing a desk is boring, but I think I’ll take it over another round of that shit.”

  I scowled. “Yeah, I hear that, but damn it, I didn’t join the military to teach classes and do paperwork. It’s okay for now, but fuck if I know what I’ll be doing after my leg heals.”

  “Just be glad you won’t be over there anytime soon.”

  I bristled, but tamped down the irritation. He meant well and we both knew it. “No, but I’ll probably be back on a boat before the end of the year. Not really looking forward to that.”

  Logan laughed quietly, which eased some of the tension. “I don’t blame you. But it could be worse—you could be on a sub.”

  “Oh God. No.” I grimaced as I reached for my soda. “I’m not claustrophobic or anything, but that shit? Nuh-uh.”

  “I’m right there with you. No way in hell am I going underwater in a nuclear-powered dildo.”

  I almost spat soda all over him. I clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes tearing up as Coke burned my sinuses, but I managed to not spray him, so that was a win.

  He smirked. “Having trouble swallowing?”

  I flipped him the bird, seriously considering spitting the Coke on him just for spite. As I recovered, I coughed a few times before muttering, “Asshole.”

  Logan laughed, and I couldn’t even be mad because the joke had been pretty funny, and the burn in my sinuses was worth it for the way his face lit up when he smiled. What the hell? I didn’t get swoony puppy-love crushes. Like ever.

  You sure about that?

  I watched him taking a sip from his own soda. Full lips around the straw. Cheeks hollowing just a little. Oh God.

  Damn it. Why do you have to be a coworker?

  Eventually, we cleared out of the food court, and I drove us back to the office. Neither of us said much in the car, but as I pulled into the parking lot, I couldn’t resist: “So can I ask you about something personal?”

  He watched me for a few seconds before he nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  I put the car in park and let the engine idle as I turned to him. “You and Commander Fraser? Really?”

  Logan blushed, and his laugh bordered on uncomfortable. He stared down at his hands. “Yeah, we . . . It didn’t last long.”

  “You’re friendly, though. That’s good, right?”

  He swallowed but managed to smile. “Yeah. Friendly enough that he hooked me up with the job, so you won’t hear me complaining.”

  I chuckled. “Except when you’re balls-deep in unfucking training records, right?”

  Logan laughed for real. “Nah, it’s not bad. I’m getting really, really familiar with the system and training records, so it’ll do me good in the long run. Just tedious is all.”

  “Tedious?” I wrinkled my nose. “I get twitchy when I have to update records for one class.”

  “Eh.” He waved a hand. “It’s a paycheck. I can’t complain.”

  “Better you than me.” I paused. “But man, you’re lucky. Fraser is . . .” I whistled.

  Logan nodded, and that discomfort crept back into his posture. “Yeah. His husband is a lucky man, definitely.”

  He obviously didn’t like this line of conversation, so even though I’d been planning to let that lead into some other things I was curious about, I dropped it. “Well.” I gestured at the building. “Guess I should let you get back to work. Those records won’t fix themselves.”

  Nodding, Logan unbuckled his seat belt, but didn’t exactly go charging out the door. He rested his hand on the handle and met my gaze over the console. “Thanks again. It was a nice break.”

  “Anytime.”

  He didn’t move. I didn’t break eye contact. Something about the way he looked at me had electricity skittering under my skin. The fact that I knew he was gay wasn’t helping at all. And he knew I was gay too. Of course that didn’t mean we were automatically into each other, but knowing we both liked dudes while we were sitting in tense silence having a staring contest? That was tough to brush off as a couple of possibly straight guys being socially awkward.

  Abruptly, though, we both cleared our throats and looked away. He opened the door, and the change in air pressure seemed to break what was left of the spell. I tried not to sound relieved as I exhaled.

  “So, um.” Logan cleared his throat again. “I’ll see you Monday?”

  That long? We have to wait until—

  “Yeah. Monday.” I smiled, wondering when my mouth had gone dry. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

  He flashed a smile that made my whole body weak. “I won’t. Have a good weekend.”

  “Will do.”

  We locked eyes for maybe two seconds, and then he stepped back and shut the car door.

  Watching him walk back into the building, I blew out another breath. When he glanced back and waved, I returned it, and didn’t even bother feeling sheepish that I’d been staring at him.

  He disappeared inside, and I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back against the seat.

  I wanted him.

  There was no way around it.

  I fucking wanted him.

  The semi-hard-on made it impossible to concentrate.

  I’d been back at my desk for almost an hour, and I hadn’t gotten a damn thing done. I still had the same training record spread out in front of me that I’d been starting when Casey had walked in. Nothing was happening because my mind was still firmly planted in the passenger seat of Casey’s car.

  I shifted in my chair, grunting a few curses. Why had I gone to lunch with him when I could’ve just ordered pizza and eaten in peace? Because now I had a mind full of all the things I’d been trying to ignore, and then some.

  Licking my lips, I adjusted the front of my pants. I swore there’d been a moment right before I’d gotten out of Casey’s car where I’d thought he might kiss me. Or hell, I might kiss him. Everything Clint had warned me about had gone up in smoke when I’d caught myself staring into Casey’s eyes, especially since Casey had been staring right back.

  Thank God one of us—I still wasn’t sure who—had come to his senses. He’d left, I’d come up to the office, and any minute now, I’d pull my head out of my ass and get some work done.

  I closed my eyes as I adjusted myself again. Why had I worn jeans this tight today? Oh. Right. Because I hadn’t expected to see Casey, never mind spend time in close quarters with him.

  Now I was horny. As if I hadn’t been horny as fuck lately anyway, especially since the moment Casey had hobbled into the office
on my first day. All the mental gymnastics I’d deployed to keep my mind off him and what he did to my libido? Out the window. One long look in the car, and I was climbing the walls.

  Maybe I needed to go out and get laid tonight. I didn’t dare go near a bar—not while I was still fighting the craving for alcohol-induced numbness—but there were apps. I had three of them on my phone. Wouldn’t take much to find a guy and get some ass.

  Except the possibility of having my dick down someone’s throat tonight didn’t do me any good right now.

  I pushed out a breath, staring plaintively up at the ceiling. I’d been doing so good. I hadn’t let myself fantasize about Casey while I was jerking off. My mind sometimes wandered away with all kinds of pornographic thoughts about the two of us, but I never let that happen while I had my dick in my hand. I just couldn’t cross that line and make it that much harder—er, make it that much more difficult to keep my mind off the things I would do to that man’s powerful, sexy body.

  I shivered. Goose bumps prickled my skin, and I kneaded my thighs just to keep my hands from straying to my crotch.

  Oh, screw it. This hard-on wasn’t going away until I did something about it, and I doubted I’d be any good for driving with the front of my jeans stretched this tight.

  Without another thought, I got up and left the office. On the way to the men’s room, I looked over my shoulder half a dozen times. I didn’t know why I bothered. The construction workers were all on the second floor, and it had been dead silent down there for so long they might have gone home. There was no one else on my floor. Not unless they were ninjas or something.

  Or SEALs. Stealthy . . . dangerous . . . hot . . . SEALs.

  I shook that thought away as I slipped into the men’s room. Could I get fired for this? Yeah, probably. But there was no one else around and I was a hell of a lot more likely to get fired for something I’d do while I was too turned on to concentrate than for rubbing one out in a bathroom stall.

  As soon as the stall door was latched behind me, I unzipped my pants, and . . . Oh yeah. Yeah. There was no way I could wait until tonight for this. The first stroke had my head spinning, and I had to brace a hand against the cold tile wall to keep my balance.

  I gave in. Completely. I’d been fighting to get him out of my head ever since my first day in the department, but now I didn’t bother. I let all the fantasies come crashing in at once. Blowing him right there at his desk. Kissing him in his car. Bending him over something, or letting him bend me over, and fucking until neither of us could move.

  Eyes squeezed shut, I let go of a groan. I was too far gone to be self-conscious, especially as my mind’s eye showed me Casey sucking grease off his finger, and that was just . . . Christ, it should not have been that hot.

  I grunted softly and pumped my dick harder as those images flashed through my mind. I didn’t care anymore if him licking grease off his finger should have been hot, or if there should have been anything remotely erotic about him absently sucking on a pen, or if . . . God, everything he did was sexy, and it didn’t matter why.

  “Fuck, Casey,” I murmured, and the sound of his name tumbling off my lips, my own voice all strained and needy like Casey was really here, sent me over the edge. I grunted into the silence, coming hard like I almost never did when I took care of it myself, and a split second of wondering how much better it would be if I were with Casey made the shudders even stronger.

  As the aftershocks rippled through me, I pressed my forehead against my arm and gulped in air.

  My mind was as sluggish as my body, but the mental porno hadn’t gone away. As the dust settled and my knees stopped shaking, Casey still peppered my mind’s eye—naked, partly dressed, hungry, hard, coming on me, coming in me.

  I pushed out a ragged breath.

  Well, I didn’t feel the need to go hook up with someone tonight.

  But I hadn’t even begun to take the edge off how much I wanted Casey.

  After Saturday, it was a hell of a lot harder to concentrate around Logan. I was pretty sure those loaded stares and tense moments had been all in my mind, and the more the week wore on, the more I convinced myself I’d imagined them.

  Tried to, anyway. It was a challenge when I kept catching Logan’s eye. When we kept meeting—and holding—each other’s gazes over our low cubicle wall. When all he had to do was walk past my desk and I’d forget whatever I’d been saying into the phone or typing into an email. God, I’d never envied Diego for the high walls around his desk, but I sure as hell did now. If I had any hope of being productive ever again, I needed some sort of buffer between me and Logan.

  Then one morning, a glance at the calendar brought me up short.

  June sixteenth.

  Graduation day. The day I was supposed to put BUD/S behind me and move on to the real training. I was supposed to be one step closer to being a SEAL, but instead I was lucky if I could take a few steps to the copier without pain.

  My lust for Logan evaporated. I still couldn’t focus on my job, but it wasn’t my sexy coworker screwing with my head now. Every time I saw that damn date, I felt worse. My whole body felt ten times heavier than usual. Like instead of a plastic walking cast on one leg, I had concrete blocks around both. I had a to-do list twelve miles long, but all I wanted to do was find some dark corner, curl into a fetal position, and cry. I was out of fucks to give for how manly it wasn’t to have a breakdown. I wanted to cry, damn it.

  But not here. Not now.

  Just hold it together for a few more hours. You’ve got this.

  Yeah, right.

  At least the office was quiet today. Sarah was running classes down at the security building. Diego was up in Washington doing some training at Lewis–McChord. It was just me and Logan.

  And didn’t that drive it home how out of sorts I was today? It was me and Logan. Alone in the office. And I . . . felt nothing. I didn’t want to flirt. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t fantasize about him. I just kept trying to work while the date pounded itself into my skull every time I had to sign or stamp something.

  June sixteenth, and I’m here. In Oregon. Behind a desk. With a boot on my leg.

  Twice I went to the men’s room under the pretense of needing to take a piss, but I really just needed a second to collect myself.

  I alternated between numb and wanting to puke or cry. Sometimes it was a weird combination of all three. Like I couldn’t feel anything, but I hurt like hell at the same time. It didn’t seem possible, but there it was. I needed a fucking drink. I needed—

  “Hey, Casey?” Logan’s voice startled me, but I tried to hide it as I turned around. How long had I been standing here at the copier, staring into nothing?

  Eyebrows up, I said, “Yeah?”

  He tilted his head. “You okay today?”

  I dropped my gaze.

  His chair squeaked. A second later, he was at the doorway to his cubicle. “Casey? You all right?” His soft tone damn near broke me. I was so brittle today, and I wanted—needed—to break, and his genuine-sounding concern might as well have screamed permission to do it.

  Not here, though. Not in my goddamned office.

  Leaning against the copier, I took a deep breath to pull myself together. “I was supposed to graduate today. From BUD/S.” I ran my fingers over the bare spot on my blouse where that coveted gold trident would never be. “It’s . . . just kind of hard to deal with today, I guess.”

  On some irrational level, I expected Logan to roll his eyes and say That’s it? That’s why you’ve been a wreck all day?

  He didn’t, of course. His expression softened even more. “Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” My shoulders sagged. “I mean . . . I guess it’s really over. For real.” Of course it had been since the second those bones had snapped, but today added some finality that I couldn’t quite swallow.

  My throat was getting achy, and of course my coffee cup was on the other side of the office. And, when I got to it, it was empty. Damn i
t. I picked it up in a shaking hand and nodded toward the coffeepot. Neither of us said a word while I went over and poured and polluted some coffee, and I tried not to let the trembling show while I took a sip.

  Standing across from me in the narrow aisle between cubes, Logan gently broke the silence. “I don’t know what to say, but I think you’ve got every right to feel like this. I can’t imagine anyone who went through all that would be in a good mood today.”

  The words were more comforting than I’d expected them to be. I put my coffee cup down and sighed. “Yeah, I know. And it’s not just today. I mean, it’s worse because today was supposed to be . . .” I rubbed my eyes. “The thing is, ever since I broke my leg, all I’ve been focusing on is recovering. But now that it’s getting better, I’m . . .” I sighed. “I’m fucking lost, man. I don’t know what to do now. All my life, I just knew that was what I would do—becoming a SEAL—and now that it’s gone . . .” I don’t even know who I am anymore. Wincing, I shook my head. “God, that sounds pathetic.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  I was about to say something, but then Logan put a hand on my arm. I froze. The warm weight of his touch jarred my foundation.

  Please don’t take it away.

  For a second, I thought he might speak since I’d forgotten how. Instead, he pulled me into a hug. It caught me by surprise, but not in a bad way. Squeezing my eyes shut, I put my arms around him and tried to force back the ache in my throat. How he’d known this was exactly what I needed, I had no idea, because I sure as hell hadn’t realized it until I was wrapped up in his embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  I swallowed, trying not to let go of the tears that had been threatening all damn day, and managed a quiet “Thanks.”

  He held on a moment longer, solid and warm and perfect against me. Then he loosened his embrace and slowly started to draw back. I couldn’t resist turning toward him a little, stealing a breath of his scent because why the fuck not, and our cheeks brushed.