Just Drive

by L. A. Witt

  Eventually, though, Paul sighed and glanced at his watch. “Damn it. I should probably get home.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Early meetings and shit tomorrow.”

  Disappointment tugged at my gut, but I nodded. It wasn’t like this was an evening that could last forever. I’d had hurried backseat quickies with strangers before—I knew this game.

  “Okay. And, uh, don’t let me leave without giving you my card.”

  He kissed me again. “I won’t. Believe me.”

  I drove Paul onto the base, and he directed me to the Navy Exchange. The shopping center parking lot was deserted, of course, so it seemed like an odd place for me to let him out, but it was where he wanted me to stop. Base housing was just on the other side of the building, so maybe he didn’t want his neighbors seeing us.

  Or his wife?

  I cringed. He’d split up with a boyfriend tonight, but that didn’t mean . . . did it?

  I shook myself. It was none of my business.

  Paul faced me in the bleached glow of headlights ricocheting off one of the concrete barriers lined up in front of the sidewalk. “I’m . . . not even sure what we’re supposed to say at this point. ‘Thanks for the ride’ seems a bit crass, but, uh, thanks for the ride.”

  I laughed. “Likewise.”

  Our eyes met. Then he cleared his throat and gestured at the meter. “So how much do I owe you?”

  “Um.” Right. This was a paid cab ride, wasn’t it? “Let me see . . .”

  I pulled up the total, and as promised, he paid twice what the meter showed. Technically, he was probably still coming out ahead since the meter hadn’t been on the whole time, but it was a good payout for me, so I called it even.

  “For the record,” he said as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket, “that’s for the drive and the time. Not . . . um . . .”

  I held up the bills he’d given me. “If you were paying me for that, there’d be at least a couple more twenties in here.”

  Paul stared at me incredulously, but when I grinned, he laughed. “Right. Right. Well, I . . .” His humor faded a bit. “I didn’t want you thinking I thought you were . . .”

  “A whore?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “It’s okay.” I waved a hand. “I prefer ‘slut.’”

  Paul laughed again, and I was pretty sure some red appeared in his cheeks. “Well, even if you were getting paid, you’d get a hell of a lot more than a couple of twenties for that.”

  “I don’t see why.” I winked. “You did as much of the work as I did.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” He put his hand on my thigh. “Anyway, thanks. Tonight was definitely what I needed.”

  Me too, but you don’t need to know that.

  He reached for the door. Hesitated. Drew his hand back. “I . . . meant to get one of your cards.”

  “Oh. Right.” I dug around in the change tray where I kept the stack and pulled one out. It wasn’t a good idea, giving him a way to contact me again. I had absolutely no business getting anywhere near him, but I could still feel the aftershocks of that orgasm too much to care.

  “Here.” I held it out to him. “Anytime you need a lift, give me a call.”

  He held my gaze and plucked the card from between my fingers. “I’ll do that.” He paused, and this time when he reached for the door, he opened it, and the change in air pressure was like a spell being broken. “Have a good night.”

  “Yeah. You too.”

  One last smile, and then he was gone.

  It had been days since I’d watched Sean’s taillights disappear out of the Navy Exchange parking lot. Tempting as it had been to have him drop me off at home, I’d resisted. One, I’d already taken him away from his job for too long. Two, I lived on Admiral’s Row, and really didn’t need to fuel the gossip mill by bringing a young, hot man to my house in the middle of the night.

  So, I’d gotten out at the Exchange and walked home, slept like the dead, and now I still couldn’t get him out of my mind.

  I’d had plenty of one-night stands in my life, and none of them had been as hard to forget as Sean. I couldn’t even put my finger on why. Because he hadn’t minded letting me vent after Jayson had kicked me out? Because he’d been nothing like Jayson and he’d been the nearest warm body and had therefore been the best possible person to distract me that night? Because he was that good with his mouth?

  I had no idea. All I knew was I needed to let him go. And now that it was Friday night, I was bound and determined to forget him and Jayson so I could get on with my life.

  Which was why I’d taken a cab—one from a company Sean didn’t work for—down to Flatstick to check out the alleged abundance of thriving gay bars.

  I wasn’t disappointed by the number of places down here. On the outskirts of town where they wouldn’t offend the sensibilities of children, tourists, and upstanding citizens, there was a row of old warehouses and such that had been covertly transformed into bars and clubs. Most looked more or less unassuming from the outside, but a rainbow flag in a window or a suggestive name like Ok Lumberjack or Backdoor Bob gave them away. One place—a drag bar called LeeAnn’s—had given up all subtlety and had giant garish signs out front to let people know about the Tuesday and Thursday night drag shows.

  I wasn’t big on country-western bars, so Ok Lumberjack wasn’t really my style, and LeeAnn’s was crawling with what must’ve been bachelorette parties. I even thought I recognized some wives I’d met at officer functions, and although it was no secret I was gay, I didn’t really want to cross paths with people from the base in this kind of setting.

  Backdoor Bob seemed like a decent place, but it was pretty dead tonight. Everyone there seemed more interested in drinking than anything else, and my days of drinking myself senseless were long over. I wasn’t the hothead pilot who could drink half a paycheck in a weekend anymore. And for that matter, in those days I might’ve gotten away with being hauled back to the base by civilian cops for drunk and disorderly, but doing that now would not bode well for making admiral.

  I finally settled on the Four-Leaf, which was busy but not horrible. At the bar, I ordered a gin and tonic, and as I sipped it, surveyed the room. It amazed me there was even one gay nightclub out here, never mind several, and that they were as populated as they were. Small as this town was, I suspected most of the people here had come from Anchor Point or one of the other towns along this strip of the Oregon coast. Maybe even one of the inland cities like Salem or Eugene; they might have come here after tiring of Portland’s thriving gay scene. There couldn’t really be this many gay men in a town of fifty thousand, could there?

  Well, wherever they’d come from, they were here now. Some were already making eyes at each other or leaning in close to talk over the music. Others were heading toward the crowded dance floor. I’d seen at least two or three pairs slip out the back, either toward the men’s room or the alley behind the club. Maybe heading toward the nearby shore to live out a sex-on-the-beach fantasy. Hopefully they were wiser about it than I’d been that night in Hawaii ten or fifteen years ago. There were some places a man did not need to get sand.

  I shuddered at the memory and took another drink. No point in focusing on that experience. I was looking to have a newer—and less gritty—experience tonight. All I needed was a willing partner to share it with me.

  I fidgeted on my barstool, looking from one man to the next. Every so often, I scanned the crowd in search of familiar faces. It was no crime for me to be caught here, just like it was no crime for any of my subordinates to be here, but I was cautious nonetheless. Part of it was old habit. Scouring clubs under the looming shadow of DADT made a man wary as hell.

  But there’d also been some less than scrupulous Sailors who’d caught members of their command engaging in flat-out inappropriate public behavior in gay bars. Sometimes the activity itself was the problem, not the gender. I knew of at least one chief who’d been spotted by a group of E4s with his hands down a man’s p
ants at a club near Yokosuka. Both had been enthusiastically consenting adults, but word made it back up his chain of command, and he’d been encouraged to quickly and quietly retire unless he really wanted to face adultery charges. It didn’t matter that his wife not only knew about her husband’s activities, she encouraged them; he’d been busted in flagrante with someone not his wife, and his career was over.

  Of course, I was unmarried, so no one could throw the book at me for adultery. There were, however, some who believed a man could be nailed with conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman for picking up men in a gay bar. Never mind that I hadn’t ever heard of a single straight officer being court-martialed for picking up women, but such was the reality of the post-DADT Navy.

  I sipped my gin and tonic. I could not relax in this place.

  It wasn’t just that I couldn’t relax. Here I was, knee-deep in good booze and surrounded by hot men, and none of them did a damn thing for me.

  Not when that cab driver’s face was still fresh in my mind. Or when I could convince myself I still tasted his kiss or his cum.

  I took a deep swallow, nearly finishing my gin and tonic. I gestured to the bartender for another, and held on to the glass for something cold.

  I had Sean’s number. His card was in my wallet, and all I had to do was call him or shoot him a text, and maybe there could be a rematch tonight.

  No. I was crazy. Clearly. Yeah, he’d been game for a blowjob in his backseat, but what kid wouldn’t take advantage of getting his dick sucked instead of working? I’d have done the same thing in my twenties. Hell, I had done the same thing. More than once. Didn’t mean I ever wanted to see their faces or cocks again.

  On the other hand, Sean had given me his card. Had it really been so he could get another fare out of me?

  I scanned the room again, searching for a promising glance or an attractive face. There were plenty—this club was definitely the jackpot compared to the others—but every single one of them was getting mentally stacked up against the black-and-blue-haired cab driver. It annoyed me, but somehow didn’t surprise me. I’d come all the way down here in the backseat of another cab when I really should’ve saved myself the fifty bucks and called him.

  The bartender handed me my drink, and when I took out the ten to pay him, the edge of Sean’s card caught my eye.

  Sometimes, I convinced myself my hothead young pilot days were over. I was no longer the guy who’d drink anything—in any quantity—if the stakes were high enough. I didn’t get tattoos on bets anymore. I no longer had to stand at attention and try not to smirk while being screamed at by a higher-up for some midair stunt that had totally been worth it.

  But that Maverick-wannabe idiot still existed somewhere in my mind. Fact was, the only thing separating me from him tonight was that ten-years-ago Paul would’ve had Sean’s dick down his throat by now. Present-day Paul was hesitating, still eyeballing that card and trying to talk himself out of it, but I was and always would be me—the guy who saw something, went for it, and worried about the consequences later.

  I pulled the card out of my wallet and my phone out of my pocket, and texted him.

  Down in Flatstick—could use a lift. You available?

  And then I sat there staring at my phone like an idiot. A minute passed. Then two. I put the phone on the bar and took another drink. Three minutes. Four. Awesome.

  After ten minutes, I hadn’t heard anything, so I sighed and put my phone in my pocket. Disappointing, but probably for the best. As I worked my way to the bottom of my gin and tonic, it occurred to me that there were a lot of reasons I really had no business getting in touch with him.

  I’d had a moment of panic at the gate when I’d realized he had base access. Was he a dependent of someone under my command? He’d produced one of the passes issued to cab drivers, and I’d let out my breath, but the fact I hadn’t even considered the possibility before then made me question my judgment.

  He was also way too young for me. Probably half my age, if that. He was in his twenties, I was coming down off a breakup. Getting involved with anyone right now was a bad idea.

  On the other hand, bad ideas were kind of the story of my life, and I had some scars and a couple of tattoos to prove it.

  Well, not that it mattered in this case. Sean had probably only wanted anything to do with me because I was there and horny. What twentysomething guy turned down readily available sex? And that was enough. A fling in the dark on a back road was one thing. I wasn’t so sure I wanted him to see me in the daylight, especially with clothes off. I took damn good care of myself, but I was not twenty-five anymore.

  So it was better that he hadn’t responded. There were other cabs who could get me back to Anchor Point tonight or, if I found someone to share a bed with, tomorrow morning. I didn’t need to wait for—

  My phone vibrated against my leg. I pulled it out of my pocket so quickly I damn near dropped it, and—Yes!—he’d responded.

  Sorry, was on a run. Can be there, but it’ll take a while. Still in A. Point.

  My pulse pounded in time with the bass. No problem. Not in a hurry.

  But, my brain added, the sooner you get here, the better.

  And whichever part of my brain wasn’t governed by my dick threw in, Uh, Paul? Hello? Younger dude? You aren’t quite the guy you were twenty years ago? Any of that ringing a bell?

  I cringed. Shit.

  The phone vibrated again: Am I coming as a cab driver or something else?

  Well wasn’t that a complicated question? And I had no way to know if he was asking it while weighing whether or not to slip a few condoms in his pocket, or while balking at the door and thinking twice about getting in the car.

  I gnawed my lip. Regardless of why he was asking, there it was—my opportunity to man up and back out before I did something really, really stupid. Except that part of my brain was uncharacteristically silent, while the other part obeyed my dick and typed out, Happy to see you either way.

  I’d put the ball in his court. I wasn’t sure if I had done it because I was a coward, or if I was giving him an out if he wanted one. Probably both.

  Whatever the case, he responded with, See you in forty-five, and so much for not doing something really stupid tonight.

  I set my phone on the bar, wondering when my palms had gotten so damp. Idly wiping them on my jeans, I read and reread his message, wondering which option he’d decided on. Was he putting the ball back in my court? Was he undecided?

  Guess I’ll find out when he gets here.

  Not quite forty-five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

  Outside.

  One word had me on my feet and halfway to the door. As soon as I stepped out, sure enough, I saw Sean’s car idling on the curb.

  As I approached, I hesitated, not sure if I was supposed to ride in the front or the back. I gestured back and forth between the two options, eyebrows up.

  The passenger-side window came down.

  “Depends,” Sean said. “Am I here to drive you? Or do you want a ride?”

  I gulped.

  He grinned.

  And I got in the front seat.

  As he pulled away from the club, he tapped his thumbs on the wheel and glanced at me. “So where are we going?”

  “Anywhere we can be alone.”

  He met my gaze. Held it. Swallowed.

  “I mean . . .” I cleared my throat. “Unless you don’t—”

  “No, I do. I definitely do.” He faced the road again. “And I think I know a place.”

  My pulse shot upward. That settled that, didn’t it?

  He made a few turns, taking us closer to the seashore via progressively darker and less paved roads. Then he pulled into a gravel parking lot. I caught a glimpse of a hand-painted sign—something about a beach and a boat launch—before the headlights focused on trees and a small fence.

  “I think this’ll work,” he said as gravel crunched beneath the tires.

  I unbuckled my seat belt. “Yo
u seem to know a lot of places to park without someone finding you.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He threw the car in park and shut off the engine. “I do.” Sean leaned across the console and grabbed my shirt. “Good thing one of us does, right?”

  And sweet Mother of God, I finally had him in my arms again. Despite the obnoxious console keeping our hips apart, we kissed each other, groped each other, dragged fingers through hair and grabbed handfuls of clothes—obviously we were very much on the same page tonight. A very pornographic page.

  “So glad you texted,” he said. “Been thinking . . . since the other . . .”

  “Me too.”

  He ran a hand up my leg and cupped my erection, murmuring something I didn’t understand.

  “Went out looking to get fucked tonight,” I slurred between kisses, “and get my mind off my ex, but all I could think of was you.”

  Sean met my gaze in the dashboard glow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Especially since I know what you’re packing.”

  He groaned softly. “What do you want to do with it?”

  “Do I have to spell it out?” I fished a condom out of my pocket and held it up. “Or are you going to—”

  “Get out of the car.”

  Panic shot through me. “What?”

  “C’mon.” He pulled away and opened his own door. “Out.”

  The panic vanished when I realized he was getting out too, and I fumbled with the handle before getting my own door open.

  We scrambled out and onto our feet, and met around the back of the car. Suddenly we had room that we’d never had before. I could kiss him and run my hands all over him at the same time. God, he was so responsive too. When I curved my hand over his ass, he moaned into my kiss as he arched against me.

  He took advantage of all the space too. He pushed me up against the back of the car and held me there with his hips. He explored my neck and jaw with his mouth, pausing now and then to nip my earlobe and send me out of my fucking mind.

  “Like that?” he murmured.

  “Very much.”