Wash Out

by L. A. Witt

  Casey didn’t say anything on the way into my apartment. He’d been pretty quiet all day, though. Hell, so had I. After last night, my focus had been on not passing out at my desk. I felt bad that he’d lost sleep too. Nights in bed with me weren’t for the faint of heart, unfortunately.

  Still silent, we went into the bedroom. I was tired enough that I wasn’t even sure I was in the mood for sex, but I knew me—once the clothes came off and the bodies started touching, I’d get in the groove quickly enough.

  Without a sound—without even looking at me—Casey stripped off his clothes. His movements were mechanical. Distracted. Like he was going through the motions while his mind was somewhere else, and not like somewhere else was what we were about to be doing in my bed.

  I stepped closer and touched his waist. He didn’t meet my eyes, but he didn’t pull away. Cautiously, I tipped up his chin. “You okay?”

  He held my gaze, but after a second, he smiled. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You just seem . . . I don’t know. Somewhere else?”

  Casey avoided my eyes and shrugged. Then he looked up at me again, this time with a brighter smile that still didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m good.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Long day, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” I pulled him close and kissed him.

  We inched toward the bed, and finally landed on the mattress, but I couldn’t say things were heating up. Every time he kissed me or touched me, it was painfully obvious his heart wasn’t in it. His hands weren’t as exploratory as they usually were. His mouth was half-hearted, and that was being generous. His dick was hard, but slightly less so than it usually was. Like he was one sigh away from losing his erection and rolling out of bed.

  I broke the kiss and pushed up on my arms. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  This time, he didn’t try to pretend everything was fine. He closed his eyes, and the resigned breath he released said I hadn’t been off the mark.

  Heart in my throat, I eased onto my side next to him. “Casey?”

  He wiped a hand over his face. After a moment, he rolled to face me. “I guess it’s just bothering me—what we talked about earlier. With your flashbacks and stuff.”

  “What about them?”

  “Well . . .” Casey shifted. “It’s that thing you said about being lucky I didn’t have to deal with it. I mean, I get that you wouldn’t wish this kind of thing on anyone. I get that going to war messed you up. It messes everyone up.” He met my eyes. “But don’t ask me to be happy about washing out of BUD/S.”

  My stomach flipped. “Oh. Shit. I . . . Christ, I hadn’t even thought of that.” I cautiously reached for his face, and when he didn’t recoil, I stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry. That . . . that wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I know. But that’s how it felt. I keep telling myself you didn’t mean it that way, but . . .”

  “I didn’t. I’m sorry, Casey.” It didn’t sound like nearly enough. Now that he’d pointed out what I’d said, I felt like an utter dick. “I know the trident meant a lot to you.” I squeezed his hand gently. “I . . . wasn’t thinking when I said what I did. I was tired, I was rattled, I . . . didn’t mean for it to come across that way. That I was saying you’re lucky your dream got yanked away from you. Just that I wouldn’t wish this”—I tapped my temple—“on anyone. That’s all.”

  Casey searched my eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. I get that. And . . . I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

  “Nah. If it bothered you, then it bothered you. It’s okay. I’m glad you said something.”

  “Well.” He laughed, sounding uncomfortable. “I guess I wasn’t letting you ignore it, yeah?”

  “I don’t want you to. Call me out on this stuff. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know,” he whispered, drawing me down to kiss him. “Now shut up and let’s fuck.”

  I laughed just before he claimed my mouth.

  With the air cleared, the tension was gone. Casey kissed me like he had the first time we’d tumbled into bed together, and I held on to him like that might somehow tell him in no uncertain terms that I was sorry and I didn’t ever want to hurt him. All I wanted was for him to feel good.

  “Tell me what you want,” I panted between kisses. “Anything you—”

  “Let me sit up,” he whispered. “Get a condom.”

  I got up so he could move. His leg was still a little iffy for some positions, but ever since that night on the couch, we’d discovered sitting up worked perfectly. Hell, we’d probably keep fucking that way long after his leg healed.

  Assuming I don’t say something stupid and he doesn’t want—

  Stop. Just stop.

  I reached for the nightstand. Oblivious to my inner thoughts, Casey sat up on the edge of the bed. Once the condom was on and lubed up, I straddled him. The position was a little precarious. With anyone else, I wouldn’t have been sure about trusting him not to let me tumble backward, but the strong arm around my waist told me I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He teased me a little with lubed-up fingers, and after a few slick strokes, guided me down. He bit his lip as his dick pressed against my hole. A soft whimper escaped his throat, and it swelled to a groan as he eased inside me.

  My eyes watered. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d had sex sober in the last few years, and without the alcohol to numb and relax me, the burn was intense. And I loved it. Oh Jesus, he felt amazing. As we found a slow, steady rhythm, I thought I was going to pass out from the sheer pleasure of feeling every inch of him sliding in and out.

  “God, you’re so hot,” I breathed.

  “So are you.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Fuck, Logan . . .”

  I rode him a little harder, loving how he felt inside me, stretching me and hitting that perfect spot just right. He lay back across the mattress, and I leaned over him, holding myself up on my arms. The view was . . . oh God. He was stunning. I loved the way his muscles stood out when he was this tense, when he was thrusting up into me.

  Casey squeezed his eyes shut. Digging his fingers into my thigh, he growled, “I’m gonna come. Fuck, baby, I’m . . .”

  I didn’t hear the rest over my own strangled cry as I unloaded on his smooth abs. Casey’s nails bit into my skin, and he pulled me down hard onto his cock as he arched and swore and came.

  I slumped over him, and he jerked a few more times until he sighed and wrapped his arms around me.

  “Holy fuck,” he slurred.

  “Uh-huh.” I kissed his collarbone. “We can still do that position after your leg heals, right?”

  “Fuck yeah, we can.”

  “Good.” With some effort, I lifted myself off him and dropped onto the bed beside him. As the world slowed, reality crept back in, and our conversation from earlier prickled along my spine. I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry again.” I stroked his cheek. “For what I said.”

  “I know.” He kissed the heel of my hand and smiled at me. “We’re cool, okay?”

  I hesitated, worried he was letting me off too easily, but then he cupped the back of my head and kissed me softly.

  “If we weren’t cool,” he whispered, “we wouldn’t have just fucked. I promise.”

  I laughed, still a little uncertain, but slowly relaxed into his embrace. “Okay. But if we’re not, you’ll say so, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll say so. Now let me get rid of this condom, and maybe we can scare up some dinner.”

  As we both got up, I did feel better. Still uneasy, and I’d be watching every word that came out of my mouth for a while, but at least we’d made it back to this.

  Now if I could just keep from saying something stupid again, we’d be good.

  Diego frowned as he looked over the stacks of boxes in the conference room. “You’re sure you can wrap this up in time for the inspection?”

  “Definitely.”

  He turned to me, brow furrowed. “You can get all of this”—he gestured at the bo
xes—“done in two weeks?”

  I nodded. “Of course. Especially with Casey helping me after hours.”

  I left out the part where I probably would have been done a week ago if Casey and I hadn’t spent our evenings screwing, and if I hadn’t cut out early last Saturday because Casey and I had been shooting loaded glances over the cubicle wall. But I’d still finish the project. Yeah, we’d spent some time together that I should’ve spent reconciling records, but it was getting done and it would be finished in time.

  “Okay. Well.” Diego glanced at the boxes. “Say so if you need help, all right?”

  I gave him a playful salute, and he clapped my shoulder as he walked past me.

  Alone in the conference room, I scanned the stacks. We were getting down to the wire, and sparks of anxiety started crackling to life along my spine.

  I had this, right? I could do it?

  Yes. Yes, of course I did. The department was counting on me, and my job depended on it, and under no fucking circumstances was I botching this thing.

  I just . . . maybe needed to curtail my time with Casey a little bit until this was over. It was only a couple of weeks, after all. Well, a couple of weeks plus the weeklong inspection. After that, we were good to go and could make up for some lost time in bed.

  I’ve got this. I’ve totally got this.

  I grabbed another box off the nearest stack, hoisted it onto my shoulder, and headed back to the office.

  “The CIA trained you to do this, didn’t they?” I squeezed my eyes shut, not even caring that a hot tear slid free. I didn’t bother wiping it away. My hands were too busy gripping the edge of the table.

  “We’ve talked about this,” Janet deadpanned. “They have the best physical therapy training in the world. Come on—two more.”

  I glared up at her, then held my breath as I obediently bent my leg again. “Son of a . . .”

  “It’ll get better the more you strengthen the muscles,” she said. “It hurts because it’s all atrophied from lack of use.”

  “Tell that to the doc who wouldn’t let me use them,” I muttered.

  She laughed softly. “You’d be hurting a lot more if you had.”

  I was about to grumble something, but as she and I straightened my leg, the ache in my muscles shut me up. “Is it supposed to hurt more than when the bones were broken?”

  “Soft tissue will do that,” she said sympathetically. “We’re moving muscles and ligaments that haven’t moved in a long time. Just be patient.”

  “Patient. She says be patient.” I hissed as I bent my knee again. “Fuuuck.”

  My torture session ended twenty minutes later. Thank God I didn’t have to wear the plaster cast anymore—it was a lot easier to take a shower without that little fucker. After that session, I needed a shower too. Sex didn’t make me sweat that much, for fuck’s sake.

  With some more swearing and cursing Janet’s name, I changed out of my PT gear and into my uniform. On the way to the car, I regretted not bringing my crutches with me. They were going to have to come to my next few appointments, I decided. I was just too sore to walk without support. I’d need them for my classes today too. Good thing they were still in my cubicle. Now I just had to get to my cubicle.

  At the admin building, I swore up a storm as I got out of the car to head inside. Every time I moved, the pain was worse. It was like a gradient—my lower back and my hip were sort of painful, my thigh hurt like a motherfucker, my knee was on fire, and everything below that was being chewed by rabid demons. I promised myself right then and there, while I waited for the elevator to take me to the third floor, that once I was back to full mobility, I would never skimp on leg day again. There would never be another atrophied muscle in my body. Not if this was what it felt like afterward.

  The elevator let me out, and I didn’t even try not to limp down the hall.

  As I walked into the office, Sarah took one look at me and grimaced. “Sore?”

  “Just a bit, yeah.” I dropped into my chair and sighed with relief. “Physical therapy sucks.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I just got done with that shit after my car accident a few months back.” Another grimace, this time while she shook her head. “If I never have to do that again, it’ll be too soon.”

  I grunted in agreement as I jammed my ID card into the keyboard.

  “What classes do you have this afternoon?” Sarah asked.

  I glared at my calendar. “One on basic first aid. One on arrest procedures for the MAs.”

  Sarah and Logan exchanged looks.

  “I can take the basic first aid,” he said. “The PowerPoint is pretty straightforward, isn’t it?”

  I chewed my lip. “Yeah, it’s . . . it’s basically all there.”

  “So read what’s on the screen?” He smiled. “I’ve got this. Just send me the document, and I’ll figure it out.”

  “Well, if you’re sure . . .” I emailed him the PowerPoint, then pulled out the stack of handouts and took them around to his desk. “This is everything you need. And make sure everybody signs the muster sheet. They’re fucking terrible about it.”

  Logan nodded, thumbing through the handouts. “Okay.”

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “You haven’t had a chance to shadow any of us or—”

  “It’s fine.” He gave my arm a squeeze. “It’s basic GMT. And I have been reading the PowerPoints on this stuff.”

  “You have?”

  “Uh, yeah. I wanted to be ready when you guys threw me to the wolves.”

  I laughed quietly. Softer, so only he could hear, I added, “We’re going to have to take it easy tonight.”

  “No shit.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Pizza and a movie. We’re good.”

  I smiled down at him. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

  “Dude. Don’t worry about it, okay? You’ve been helping me out too, remember?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve also been distracting you and keeping you from those.” I gestured at the banker’s box next to his desk. “You’re not getting behind because of me, are you?”

  “I’ll be all right. Relax.”

  I glanced at the box again. “Still, you want me to pick up some of that while you’re teaching?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “No, but I don’t have anything else on my agenda for the day, and I kind of owe you.”

  Logan shrugged. “I’m not going to say no if you really want to dig into that mess.”

  “Seems like the least I can do at this point.”

  With his back to Sarah and his body blocking her view of me, we exchanged smiles.

  I’ll make it up to you, I mouthed.

  He winked, and something in his expression said, I know you will.

  After Logan left the office, I went back to my desk, dropped into my chair, and exhaled. That was two hours this afternoon that I wouldn’t have to spend on my feet. Logan was instantly eligible for sainthood in my eyes. He—

  “I don’t know if I’ve said this,” Sarah mused without looking up from a folder in her hand, “but you two really make a sweet couple.”

  My face was instantly hot and probably a hundred shades of red. “What?” I’d known she knew, but still.

  She smothered a laugh. “Don’t even try to deny it, sweetie. I’ve seen the two of you swooning over each other.”

  “What?” I scoffed. “I do not swoon.”

  She snorted. Except I realized a second later it hadn’t been her.

  I rolled my eyes. “Shut up, Diego.”

  He laughed. “Then quit spewing bullshit out there.”

  “Hey! Whose side are you on?”

  “The side of truth, my friend.”

  I stared incredulously at his cubicle wall. When I looked at Sarah, she was so gloating. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Let’s not broadcast it all over the building, though, all right?”

  “Fine by me,” she said with a shrug.

  “My silence
isn’t free,” Diego called out.

  I rolled my eyes, grabbed a staple remover off my desk, and chucked it at the wall behind his desk. It ricocheted, and Diego gave a satisfying yelp, followed by some grumbled swearing.

  “So, about that silence?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “Pendejo . . .”

  I chuckled and shifted my attention to getting some work done. It wasn’t easy—just sitting at my desk was excruciating. All those atrophied muscles coming to life were not happy about it, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to Logan for taking one of my classes for me. I’d be useless as an instructor right now. I was useless as just about anything.

  Logan and I would have a low-key night tonight, but when my body felt like itself again? Oh, he’d know the meaning of the word gratitude.

  “How did the class go?” I asked as Logan sat beside me on his sofa. I’d had another appointment this afternoon, and hadn’t been at the office when he’d come back.

  “Not bad.” He handed me a soda. “I threatened two people with detention and told another I’d send a note home to his mom, so—”

  I choked on the soda. “You didn’t.”

  “Hey.” He put his hands up. “Fucker was being a smart-ass.”

  I tilted my head. “Did it work?”

  “Kinda, yeah. I mean, there were only fifteen minutes of class left at that point, but it was fifteen minutes of him not being a shithead.”

  “Wow.” I chuckled. “I might have to remember that technique.”

  He just laughed and took a sip from his soda. After a moment, he said, “I actually kind of like teaching. I think I could get into it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Once I get the hang of the material, I could see myself doing it for a while.”

  “Good.” I rested my hand on his leg. “I can take it or leave it, but they definitely need some instructors who actually like doing it.”

  He turned to me, head cocked a little. “I guess teaching is kind of . . . boring after what you’re used to.”

  “Yeah.” I stared at my soda can, swallowing hard. Supposedly there would come a day when this wasn’t painful to think about, but that day wasn’t today.