Off Base

by Annabeth Albert

  “Finally.” Not even letting Zack get his boots off, Pike wrapped himself around Zack’s dusty fatigues, pulling him down for a kiss. It might have only been two weeks, but he kissed Zack like it had been years.

  “Hello to you too.” Zack laughed as he untangled himself. He’d been gone for a training exercise somewhere he wasn’t allowed to tell Pike about, ramping up to that summer’s deployment, something Pike tried not to think too hard about. “Is there food? Please tell me there’s food.”

  “Didn’t they feed you?” Pike waited for Zack to unlace boots and hang up his jacket before heading to the tiny kitchen. “Don’t freak, okay—”

  “Where are the cabinet doors?” Zack’s forehead creased. “And why is Gizmo sleeping next to the pots?”

  “I couldn’t sleep the other night. I had this great idea.”

  “Is your great idea red?”

  “Fuchsia’s a shade of red, right?” Pike grinned at him as he dished up a giant portion of noodles and meat sauce for Zack. He’d eaten a few hours earlier, but he was happy to sit at the table with his guy, watch him eat.

  Zack groaned. “You know when I said you could do what you wanted to the kitchen, I wasn’t picturing needing sunglasses to enter it.”

  “Hey, this is our place, right? We can always paint over it if you really hate it,” Pike reminded him.

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” Zack offered a wide smile before digging into the food. The house was still a pretty new thing. The senior chief had helped them to find a tiny former rental needing a lot of work at a great price, and thanks to Pike’s shiny new contract as a full-time professor, he was the proud owner of his first mortgage and a line of credit at the big-box home store.

  Me. Responsible homeowner. It still kind of boggled his mind, but both he and Zack had wanted a place of their own. Doing the work for the senior chief had been great, but now they got to make their little two-bedroom house a real home. And Pike kind of liked surprising Zack with projects when he came back from being gone. He had big plans for the bedroom while Zack was gone next time. And someday, in the not too distant future, Pike was going to bring up the idea of putting Zack on the mortgage, making this thing even more permanent.

  “Is your mom still coming down next weekend to help with the tiling?” Zack asked around a mouthful of pasta.

  “Yeah. Knowing her, she’s bringing her favorite trowel.” Pike laughed. She’d visited once already, right after they signed the mortgage, helping them with some exterior work. She loved Zack, and although he didn’t say much, Pike thought the feeling was mutual. Zack’s own parents were still being dicks—his mother had sent a tearstained Easter card, but that was about all the contact he’d had the past few months. It was just as well in Pike’s opinion as several tense phone conversations early on hadn’t exactly made progress on that front. But they’d spent the holidays with his mom in Berkeley and their friends in LA, and while nothing was ever going to replace Zack’s family, Pike was doing his damnedest to minimize the collateral damage.

  “Think you can talk your mom into making that spinach lasagna thing again?” Zack asked hopefully. “And I want to get a better light for the guest room.”

  “Already on it. I needed one for grading in there.” They had a friendly disagreement over whether to call the spare room an office or a guest room. Pike guessed it was both, housing the bed he hadn’t slept in in over six months and all their books, combined now, Zack’s atlases rubbing up against his differential equation texts. In the bedroom, Pike’s video game posters shared wall space with a old map of the world Zack had found at Pike’s favorite thrift store.

  “Oh man, I was hungry.” Zack scraped up the last bit of sauce.

  “I’ll say.” Pike took the plate from him, stuck it in the ancient dishwasher that was slated for replacement soon.

  “Shower?” Zack asked as he stooped to pet Gizmo.

  “You’re lucky I let you eat first,” Pike groused as he tugged Zack down the hall to the bathroom. He flipped the shower on. It had taken more than a little convincing, but Pike had finally gotten Zack to help install the dual showerheads he’d been dreaming of. “Wanted you naked about fifteen seconds after you came in the door.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you now.” Zack laughed and raised his arms so that Pike could pull off his T-shirt. Pike took care of his own clothes as Zack pushed his camo pants off, and then they were naked at last and in each other’s arms, hot water streaming around them.

  “Missed you,” he said, lips against Zack’s ear.

  “Missed you more,” Zack said, pulling him in for a kiss. They made out like they had all the time in the world, and maybe they did. Eventually, hands went roaming, and they were moaning in each other’s mouth as they stroked each other off, slow and languid, still kissing, even as they came in rapid succession. Always kissing. Always together.

  “Couldn’t wait to come home,” Zack said with a laugh as the water went cooler.

  Home. This was home. This house. This man.

  Home.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed OFF BASE, you’ll want to be sure to check out the rest of the series, coming Spring 2017. And don’t miss Annabeth Albert’s #gaymers series. You can catch Ryan and Josiah’s story in CONNECTION ERROR, which is out now. Keep reading for a sneak peek!

  Now Available from Carina Press and Annabeth Albert

  His game just got tougher thanks to this Navy SEAL.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  CONNECTION ERROR

  Chapter One

  Somewhere between the third newsstand and the fourth moving sidewalk in LAX, Josiah regretted not joining his friend Ravi in training for a 10k charity race. Nothing like a flat-out sprint from the check-in counter to the slow-moving security lines and another dash from security all the way through gates to make him rethink his aversion to cardio. And the worst part was that for once in his life he’d made every effort to be on time, getting up before the alarm, starting coffee, making sure they were out of the house by o’dark thirty ready for his early morning flight to Germany via a stop in Washington, DC.

  Passport? Check.

  Carry-on with both laptops, tablet and assorted accessories? Check.

  Suitcase with more shirts with buttons than he’d ever owned in his life? Check.

  Double-checking that his ticket was booked under “Josiah” not “Joseph”? Total fail, but in his defense, it never occurred to him that the travel agency his employer used would give the wrong name. And the check-in attendant at the airline counter didn’t want to believe that there was a mistake. Thus, every careful endeavor he’d made to ensure that he was on time—early even—went up in a huff of waiting for a supervisor and then another supervisor.

  And now finally he was sprinting to make sure he didn’t miss the plane. Forget being there in time to priority board, he was going to be lucky to make the plane period. His first time flying first class—thank you, Space Villager for being such a bestselling game—and it was off to an inelegant start thanks to a stupid mistake.

  Finally, finally, he reached the last few gates of the terminal. The TV sets scattered throughout the waiting area were all taking about that huge freak snowstorm heading for the New York area and whether it might veer south enough to cause snow along the whole Eastern Seaboard. Josiah shook his head, trying to not get sucked in to the TV. As long as he got to Germany on time, it wasn’t going to affect him and he needed to stay focused on—

  “Last call for Flight 324 nonstop service to Washington Dulles International,” the loudspeaker blared.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” he panted as the gate attendant set the red phone back on its hook. He held out his ticket. The woman was around his mother’s age with very red lipstick and very short blond hair and a spectacular frown just for him.

 
; “Ah. Mr. Simmons.” She looked up after scanning his tickets, decidedly less frosty once she saw his first-class seat number. “Come with me, I’m going to have to walk you down.” She spoke into a walkie-talkie as they headed down the walkway. “We’re going to need to gate check your bags. I’m so sorry, but the first-class overhead compartments are all full.”

  “Crap.” She gave him a questioning look, and Josiah remembered that he was supposed to be Mr. Smooth and Sophisticated Project Manager, not some whiny kid. “Sorry. That’s fine. Just let me grab my laptop.” He grabbed the laptop with the longer battery life before the attendant put a pink gate-check tag on his two bags. “But...uh...fragile.”

  She gave him a tight smile, but added a yellow Fragile tag to his laptop bag. “You’re in Seat 1A,” she said, handing him his ticket back. “You’ll get your bags back when we land, I promise. Enjoy your flight.”

  After a brief conversation with the gate attendant, a male flight attendant shut the plane door behind Josiah. “Welcome aboard,” he said to Josiah in a tone that clearly meant, “thank you for pushing back our departure.” In fact, the plane was rolling away from the gate before Josiah almost tumbled into the empty aisle seat of the first row.

  “You made it.” A warm chuckle eased past the pounding of Josiah’s heart.

  “Wha—what?” he whipped his head over to the window seat—a farther distance than one might expect. The first-class seats were huge padded affairs and there was a thick console dividing the seats. And...hello, most gorgeous guy Josiah had ever seen.

  Wide, mischievous smile. Sparkling hazel eyes. Unshaven jaw. Short dark brown hair. And holy hell, arm muscles for days. Bulging biceps with tats poking out of his T-shirt sleeves.

  All of a sudden this flight started looking way up.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I just meant I was beginning to think I’d get the row all to myself.” The guy’s voice was possibly even more attractive than his model-worthy face, deep and soothing, with an undercurrent of the sort of confidence that never failed to make Josiah shiver.

  And he was all Josiah’s for the next five hours.

  Well, except for the part where he seemed ready to take a nap and tune Josiah out—the guy had a pillow behind his head and a blanket on his lap. He yawned, revealing gleaming teeth worthy of a toothpaste ad.

  “You’re not a model, are you?” As usual, Josiah’s tongue leaped into action before his brain could restrain it.

  “What? No, not a model.” The guy laughed, more of that smoky chuckle that did things to Josiah’s insides.

  “TV star? Athlete? Because it seems like I should know you from somewhere, and I don’t want to get to DC and people be like, hey, you were next to that Laker the whole flight...” He trailed off because his friends were right that he had absolutely no filter, and that was triple true around Muppet-flail-worthy hot guys.

  “Nope, not famous.” The guy studied Josiah for a long moment, considering, the sort of are-you-for-real expression on his face that Josiah was well used to. Seeming to come to some sort of decision, the guy stuck his right arm across the console. “Lieutenant Ryan Orson, US Navy.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Josiah accepted the handshake. Navy made sense given the Navy-emblazoned T-shirt stretched tight over the guy’s aircraft-carrier-wide chest. Holy crap, the guy was big. Josiah was a skinny 6’2” with big hands and feet that always got in the way. But this guy’s hand made Josiah’s feel downright dainty. “I’m Josiah, Josiah Simmons.”

  “Well, Josiah, want to know a secret?” Ryan asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Sure.” Josiah was down with whatever secrets this guy wanted to share.

  “Not only am I not famous, I’m not even supposed to be in first class.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope.” Ryan winked at Josiah. He had a very disarming wink, all good humor and twinkly eyes.

  “The check-in clerk bumped me into first.”

  “You got the nice clerk.” Josiah was still a bit grumbly over the name hassle.

  “She lost a brother over in Afghanistan.” There was a subtle hint of “grow up” in Ryan’s tone. Josiah straightened, remembering again who he was supposed to be. And here was this impossibly attractive guy to practice on. Sure, he might be Josiah the clueless geek back home, but here he was Josiah the new project manager. This Josiah knew the right way to act and speak and could impress even tough audiences.

  “That’s so sad for her.” Josiah tried for sophisticated empathy, something he knew he kind of sucked at.

  “Yeah, it is.” Something indecipherable passed over Ryan’s face, his eyes getting darker and cloudier and that wide smile flagging a bit. “Anyway, guess she saw...the Navy connection and had a spare seat to bump me into.”

  “What do you do? In the Navy I mean?”

  The guy went silent, considering, and Josiah was afraid he’d been too nosy again, but right when he was about to apologize, Ryan finally spoke. “I’m a SEAL. I do a little bit of everything, but mainly I make things go boom. You?”

  “Oh my God, you’re Special Forces. Do I ever have questions for you!” Josiah babbled again, only slowing down as Ryan’s easy smile morphed into grim line. “Sorry. I’m just excited because I’m a video game designer. And special ops is our new expansion pack.” And it happened to be the one Josiah was in charge of.

  “You program games?” Ryan blinked, and Josiah wasn’t sure what he’d expected Josiah to do, but this clearly wasn’t it. “Anything I’ve heard of?”

  Ah. That was it. He assumed Josiah was some sort of kid programming a dot matrix game in his basement. Josiah knew he looked too young for his job, because he was too young. At twenty-three, he was the youngest lead developer on the design team. Thus, he took no small amount of pride in saying, “Space Villager.”

  “Oh wow, really?” There was a new note of respect in Ryan’s voice. “I love that game, especially the pod racer and first-person shooter expansion packs.” There was a hint of Texas or something else Southern in his voice, and Josiah could listen to him all day.

  “Yeah? Well you’re going to love our special ops expansion pack even more.” Josiah projected far more confidence than he actually felt. He could make this project a success. He had to. The PR team had already hinted that the next expansion pack would revolve around special ops activities on a small war-torn planet, so Josiah didn’t worry too much about sharing this much with Ryan.

  “I bet. My ex got me to back the crowdfunding drive, and I’ve been hooked ever since. My buddies were already teasing me about how much time I spent gaming, but there’s something particularly addictive about your game.”

  Your game. Josiah liked the sound of that. He only knew a handful of women who played Space Villager, but the ones who did tended to be rabid fans. It was possible he might even know Ryan’s ex by her user handle, but Josiah had just enough self-control to not ask.

  “Prepare for takeoff,” the pilot intoned over the PA. This was the part Josiah hated, the acceleration and stomach-dropping ascent. Today he hated it even more, knowing they might catch the edge of that storm. Focusing on turbulence that was probably hours away wasn’t logical, but then, Josiah’s brain seldom was.

  “You always so antsy or are you a nervous flyer?” Ryan asked.

  Oh crap. Guess he wasn’t doing such a bang-up job projecting the aura of a with-it project manager. He laughed nervously. “Both?”

  “I promise we’re going to be okay.” Ryan gave him a quick friendly pat on the knee.

  Oh. Josiah’s eyes went wide. Ryan was missing part of the pinky finger on his left hand and had some wicked scarring further up his forearm. Josiah tried not to stare, but knew he failed miserably.

  “Mission gone wrong,” Ryan said gruffly. “Now back to flying, millions of people fly every day.
It’s safer than car travel.” His tone made it clear further discussion of his hand was not on the table.

  “I know flying’s safe. Knowing that’s not the same as believing it.”

  Ryan’s answering laugh seemed to strip some of the tension from his face. “How well do I know that attitude. My ex got nervous before every flight, and his buddies used to razz him about it mercilessly.”

  Man, two ex references in five minutes. Ryan must be totally hung up on his ex...wait. “His buddies”... What the hell?

  “Your ex is a guy?”

  “Yup.” Ryan’s smirk said he’d pegged Josiah ten minutes ago, probably when Josiah couldn’t peel his eyes away from those tasty biceps.

  “Cool.” He was grinning, but he couldn’t make his facial muscles behave. Hot damn. Gorgeous, muscled, single, gamer, and gay. He ticked every last one of Josiah’s “perfect man” boxes. And if the gods were kind at all, Josiah could keep it together long enough to make a lasting impression.

  * * *

  Tall, twitchy, pale, and nerdy was so not Ryan’s type. Ever since the breakup with Chad, he’d had a type he classified as the anti-Chad: blond, bendable, and uncomplicated. And if that made him shallow, well so be it. But this wasn’t his favorite nightclub where he had decent pickings. Josiah was the first guy Ryan had had opportunity to flirt with in three months—four if you counted the deployment, which his dick definitely did.

  And other than a bit of staring at Ryan’s hand, the guy treated him...normal. No, not normal. Special. Like Ryan was a sexy offering from some alien race. And Ryan’s ego wasn’t above a little old-fashioned objectification. The guy might not be his type, but hell if Ryan wasn’t going to enjoy the flight.

  The plane reached its cruising altitude with Josiah still looking at Ryan like he was the last In-N-Out combo on a planet of K rations.

  “What can I get you gentlemen to drink?” A petite flight attendant with big dimples held out two napkins. “We’ll have breakfast by shortly.”