“You guys want to go back to my place, party in private?” Chris asked when they were taking a break from dancing. Pike was trying to press a water into Zack’s uncooperative hands, but it was Chris’s words that captivated him.
Zack wasn’t sure what a private party would entail, only that he wanted more of this. “Sure,” he said, but it came out all slurred.
Pike groaned and shoved Zack down onto the leather couch behind him. “You are so fucking wasted.”
“Yup,” Zack agreed happily.
“At least you’re a happy drunk.” Pike sighed and turned to Chris. “Sorry. He’s too drunk.”
“Am not,” Zack protested.
“Zack, are you going to be happy about this in the morning?” Pike crouched in front of him. “Or are you hoping to not remember a fucking thing?”
“Too wasted to remember.” The words tumbled out, but it was true. He was trashed enough for this to seem like a great idea, but fuck him if he wanted to stop and think about what he was doing, where he was, who he was with.
“Nope.” Pike straightened and turned back to Chris. “Sorry, man. Can’t do that to him.”
“Damn.” Chris rolled his eyes. Zack tried to join him and only succeeded in getting double vision. But he shared the sentiment. Pike was being too damn overprotective. “You need help rolling him into a cab?”
“Yeah. I don’t live far from here.” Pike offered Zack a hand, which he waved away. And promptly landed on his ass when he tried to stand.
“Fuck. He really is toasted,” Chris said, like Zack wasn’t even there as he and Pike hauled him to his feet. He stumbled along with the two of them, not missing the look of regret that passed between the two men.
“Y’all want to fuck, you should,” Zack babbled.
“Call me when your tourist is asleep,” Chris said to Pike.
Tourist? Did Chris mean him? Fuck. He didn’t even know anymore. He barely registered Pike and Chris pushing him into a cab.
“Wheee,” he said as the cab took off for an address Pike barked at the driver. “Hey. Wait. I’m supposed to stay at Ryan’s tonight.”
“Already texted him,” Pike said grimly. “No way am I subjecting them to you after their bad night. You can sleep it off on Landon’s bed.”
“You’re mean,” Zack said as Pike paid the driver and yanked him up the walk of a small apartment building.
“Sssh. Not so loud. And try not to break your neck.” Pike led him to a third-floor apartment.
“Imma SEAL. I can handle stairs,” he slurred right as he tripped and had to be helped up.
“Let’s find you a puke bowl,” Pike said as they entered a small cluttered living room with a battered leather couch, TV and two computer desks.
“Not gonna puke,” he assured Pike. “We should drink more.”
“Hell no.” Pike laughed.
“Or dance. We should dance more. Right here.” Zack rubbed up against Pike, who was warm with surprisingly hard muscles on his wiry frame. Muscles that he used to shove Zack toward a doorway.
“Oh no. I turned down a good time with Chris. You are not trying to start something with me now.”
“Is just dancing.” Zack tried to give him a pitiful look but only got pushed a few more feet for his efforts.
“It is not just dancing.” Pike sighed. “We dance here in private? Someone’s getting naked.”
“Think so?” Zack asked too quickly, trying to control his heart rate.
“I know so.” Pike handed him a large metal mixing bowl. “Now, do not puke in Landon’s bed.”
“You could at least kiss me good-night. Bet Chris woulda gotten a kiss...” He puckered up but found himself tumbled backward onto a bed.
Pike leaned in, kissed him on his forehead, which for some strange reason made Zack’s eyes well up. “Night, Zack.”
He’d forget this in the morning. He had to forget all of tonight, but for right now, he rubbed his forehead, trying to feel the lip prints, and moved his hips, trying to imprint the memory of Pike’s body against his own.
Chapter Three
Pike was pretty damn proud of himself for neither kissing Zack nor abandoning him to go start something with Chris. No, he was the good, responsible friend for once, tucking Zack into bed when he started to snore moments after begging for a kiss, taking off his boots and making sure the puke bowl was right next to him. Then he checked the fridge, making sure he had the makings of a hangover breakfast in there before he collapsed in his own bed. Alone.
God, he’d been so close to taking Chris up on the offer of partying back at his place. If Zack were just a little more sober, he totally would have gone for it, but Zack was a whole ream of paper to the wind, and kept looking at him like he trusted him to keep him safe. Guy should know better than to trust someone like him.
And God, when Zack had suggested dancing back here? All those muscles rubbing up against him with purpose? Big questioning eyes asking for a kiss? Fuck, Pike was ready for sainthood right now.
After hours of dancing, Pike was also horny as hell, brain drifting to thoughts of what a kiss with Zack could have been—fuck, did Zack ever have a kissable mouth with soft pink lips. But jerking off over Zack with him sleeping a thin wall away was a bit much, even for Pike. Instead, he punched his pillow and waited for the dulcet tones of Zack puking his guts out.
Said sounds came in the early morning hours, and Pike roused himself just to make sure the guy knew where the can was.
“Oh my God, I am never drinking again,” Zack said as Pike led him to the bathroom. Pike rinsed out the puke bowl—so gross—while Zack got sick in the toilet. He wet a washcloth with cold water and handed it to Zack for his face when he finished.
“Thanks. Sorry, man, I don’t usually drink like this.” Zack straightened, swiping at his face and neck with the rag. And just like that, all Zack’s shields appeared back in place. No more vulnerable guy asking for a kiss. No more hungry look. Just a hungover dude bro looking for the puke bowl.
“No problem.” Pike’s tone was too stiff. Jeez. Was he seriously going to be hurt that Zack was retreating?
“Oh there you are.” Zack’s voice went all warm and sweet as he dropped to one knee, coaxing Pike’s cat, Gizmo, into the small room. Turning to Pike, he said, “It slept with me. Helped with the bed spins.”
It might have been Pike’s imagination, but he swore there was a note of wistfulness in Zack’s voice, like he was sad at being alone in the bed, which was just—fuck it. Pike was not equipped to deal with confused straight boy who went from remote to sweet in an instant.
“Gizmo usually stays hidden,” Pike snapped, too harsh again, but damn it, the cat rarely slept with him and Pike fed the damn thing, gave him his meds, and kept his long hair as snarl free as the foul-tempered beast would let him. His other cat, Nectarine, was also the type to stay hidden when strangers were in the house—she was probably under Pike’s bed right now.
“Umm. Sorry?” Zack gave him a questioning look. “Animals usually dig me. Don’t know why.”
“It’s okay.” Pike hefted Gizmo into his arms. “Ready to sleep more before the next round of puke-o-rama? I’ll drop him on Landon’s bed for you.”
“Yeah...” Zack said slowly, giving him a look he couldn’t decipher. “Guess I could sleep. Thanks for everything, man.”
Pike brushed by him to drop off the cat, and there was a moment, an instant really, when their chests brushed and the memory of dancing together was so strong that Pike swore he could hear the thumping of club music.
Why do you have to be straight? Pike wanted to yell, especially since it was so damn clear that Zack really wasn’t. What Pike wanted to do was kiss him, tumble him back on Landon’s bed, take care of him until the vulnerability was gone from his eyes again. But he didn’t, inste
ad breaking eye contact and plopping the cat onto the bed.
“Get some rest,” he said gruffly before heading back to his own bed, which felt far bigger and emptier than usual. It took him a long time to drift off into a fitful sleep, but when he woke up, Landon’s bed was neatly made, the cats fed and Zack nowhere in sight.
Thanks for everything, said a note pinned to the fridge with Pike’s Han in Carbonite magnet.
Fuck. Not that Pike had wanted to make the guy breakfast... Okay, yes, yes, he had, for reasons he didn’t really want to examine. Something in him wanted to take care of Zack, and that was the sort of impulse that could only lead to hurt. It was just as well that he wouldn’t have to see Zack for a while.
* * *
Unwilling to do the walk of shame to his friends’ house, Zack headed down to San Diego, back to base. His head throbbed too much to turn on his music, which sucked because he usually used the hours between San Diego and LA to indulge in the sort of music he couldn’t confess to liking to his buddies. Without Little Big Town to keep him company, the long stretch of I-5 seemed to drag on forever.
Coward. The label seemed to dog him louder with each passing mile. He hadn’t even been able to face Pike that morning. The censure from his two cats staring him down as he woke up the second time was bad enough. He’d gotten way too drunk, but not quite drunk enough to forget the dancing. What did I do?
Thank God, he probably wouldn’t have to face Pike again for quite a while. If ever. Yeah, never again seeing that quiet concern in Pike’s eyes that was dangerously close to pity sounded pretty damn good right then.
He had to stop in Irvine for gas, and he finally got brave enough to check his phone messages. There were a couple from Ryan, including one that morning.
I told you not to do shots. He drank you under the table, am I right? Come on over after you sober up. Bring the bad influence with you.
Zack typed a fast reply, trying to outrun the guilt that made his gut clench. Heading back to Coronado. Got stuff I need to take care of there. Sorry.
“Bad influence.” Was that all Pike was? A bad influence. Like maybe Zack hadn’t really wanted to do that stuff. He’d just been caught up in Pike and the moment. Yeah, that was it. Mood lifting, he continued through the rest of his messages while drinking a bitter gas station coffee.
Harper wanted to go out drinking tonight if he was back on base. Oh hell no. Zack’s stomach roiled. It would be a while before he could touch booze. And it was entirely possible he wouldn’t be able to taste Fireball again without thinking of Pike and the way his neck muscles moved when he swallowed and...
No. Bad influence, remember? Don’t go getting all sentimental. He moved on to the next message, one from his mom.
Saw the Snodgrasses last night. Leslie says hi. Thinking about you, as always, and praying for you daily. So proud of you. Call when you can.
Fuck. Talk about a guilt sandwich. In less than 120 characters, his mother had managed to pack quite the wallop. First, there was Leslie from church, a pretty enough sweet thing who always followed him around when he was home and who Zack couldn’t work up feelings for, despite how happy it would make their collective sets of parents. Then there was the not-so-subtle reminder of the religion that underpinned his parents’ lives, and the heavy mantle of being the good son, the one who got all their pride and prayers and support. Undoubtedly Danny had fucked up again, and that was why she was hoping he’d call. Oh and the pinch of the reminder that he’d been avoiding calling home the past few months.
He typed a fast I’ll call you soon message and hit the road, stomach churning around the cheap coffee because he knew it was Saturday morning back home, knew he could have caught her at home before she ran her errands easily, but he simply couldn’t cope.
The farther he got from their tiny Little Rock suburb, the less he felt connected to that life. Not that he loved his parents any less, more like he simply couldn’t work up a lather over Danny’s latest screwup or the horror of the church getting a new minister. And all his parents’ dire predictions of the “West Coast lifestyle” seemed a bit silly the more he got to know people. His social circle had surfers, vegans, drinkers, and yeah, gay people, and no lightning bolts had hit him yet.
And none found him on the rest of the drive back, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting his family down, wasn’t worth all their pride and prayers and hope. The sick sweat of wasted regrets made his T-shirt stick to him, and he’d needed a shower hours ago. He could have showered at Pike’s place, but somehow that felt too...intimate.
He stopped in his room at the barracks barely long enough to grab a change of clothes and a towel before heading to the shower room. His single might be tinier than his parents’ walk-in closet back home, but at least he didn’t have to share. He shuddered at the thought of sharing with someone like Cobb.
He scrubbed his skin hard as he finished up the shower. The water like always was barely tepid with sucky pressure, but he managed to get clean. He emerged from his stall only to find Cobb waiting for him, lounging against one of the tile walls. Fuck. Had he conjured him up just by thinking about him? Zack blinked but nope, the bastard was still there, sly smile on his face. Given the weird Saturday midmorning hour, they were the only two in there. Danger. Danger. Zack tried to step around the bigger man to get his clothes, but Cobb blocked his path.
“Thought you were back.” Cobb’s voice was heavy on the deep South drawl. He was from somewhere in rural Georgia, a place that grew giant men along with peaches. Cobb was easily half a foot taller than Zack, something he never failed to exploit by looming over him, wide shoulders blocking out the sun.
“So?” Zack pulled his towel a bit tighter around his waist, one hand firmly on the knot. This wasn’t his first trip to this particular rodeo.
“My boots need shining. And I’ve got laundry to do.”
“This is my problem why?” Zack tried to manage a sneer.
“Because.” Cobb got a grip on Zack’s biceps, twisted hard. He’d have a bruise tomorrow for sure. And despite knowing a half dozen different ways to throw Cobb off, Zack’s insides froze, muscles and brain locked up with the same icy fear that always struck when Cobb got ahold of him.
“I still haven’t told,” Cobb said conversationally before his tone slipped back to nasty. “But I could.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zack tried to keep his voice from wavering but failed miserably. As always. What was it about Cobb that got him all twisted up?
“You’re full of shit. You and I both know what I saw. And if I tell, you’ll get the shit kicked out of you and no one’s going to have your six.”
Fuck. Still this. Way back in BUD/S training, Zack had had a weak moment. A lapse really. He’d been damn tired, exhausted and hungry, and not thinking straight. And he’d ogled his friend Harper’s ass in the shower, gotten a semi from it, which Cobb alone had noticed, and he’d tormented him about it ever since. And it didn’t help that Harper, despite being his friend, was a big homophobe who would most likely punch him out over this.
His friend Ryan had managed to be openly gay as a SEAL officer, but out here among the enlisted men, Zack didn’t see a lot of rainbow flag wavers. And for every time he was tempted to tell Cobb where to shove it and fight him for real, someone else on the team would be all “faggot” this or “queer” that with their jokes and that impulse fled.
“I’ve got to do a load today anyway.”
“That’s what I thought,” Cobb sneered as he walked away. “I’ll drop my shit off in your room.”
I’ve got to get out of living here. Zack might not be able to escape having Cobb on his team, but he couldn’t keep living like this. It was past time to investigate off-base housing.
* * *
“So I hear you’re looking for off-base housing?” the senio
r chief asked Zack as they stretched before what was slated to be a grueling run.
“Yes, sir.” Zack didn’t ask how he knew. The senior chief made it his business to know when one of his men sneezed. “I put in my request.”
“Going to be tough to find something on an E-4 salary in this area,” the older man said thoughtfully as he switched legs for a hamstring stretch. “You got a girl in a situation or something I should know about?”
“No, sir,” Zack said quickly. “No girl.” And how.
“Anything else I should know about?” The man’s dark eyes always seemed to see inside Zack’s deepest secrets. Had he heard about the trouble with Cobb? That wouldn’t do at all, because Zack had no doubt that Cobb could spin things so it looked like Zack was at fault. Since their shower run-in a few weeks ago, Cobb had lain low, but Zack had no illusions. Cobb was a snake in the grass—he could strike again at any moment.
“You handy at all, Nelson?” The senior chief studied him intently, like he’d discover the truth regardless of Zack’s answer.
“Yes, sir.” It didn’t matter that he wasn’t particularly. The senior chief needed something doing, Zack would be on Google and on it until the task was done.
“That’s fine. Real fine.” The senior chief nodded, scratching his chin. The man was big, bulky like Cobb, but with gray hair at his temples and a kindness to his voice that Cobb could never manage. “I own some rental properties. Little side business for the wife and me.”
Zack nodded, mentally crossing his fingers that this was about to lead to an answer that would get him off base.
“We just got a new place. About five minutes from base, good neighborhood, but it needs some things done—painting, refinishing cabinets, ripping carpets out, that sort of thing. Usually Cherice does a lot of it, but we just found out she’s expecting. Twins. Lord, help us.” The senior chief looked skyward. “Anyway, I could use a hand.”
Off Base Page 3