Table of Contents
Excerpt
The Screwdriver – Dirty Martini 2
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
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Note from G.R.
eBooks by G.R. George
G.R. recommends … Lexxie Couper
Excerpt
“Here’s your iced tea,” his mom said when she came back in the living room with a tall glass in her hand. “I hope you still like sugar in it.”
He didn’t. “That’s fine, Mom.” He took a sip and smiled. “How’ve you been?”
“You know me,” she said.
Only he really didn’t. When Dad cut him off, she’d kept contact with Chris to a minimum. He’d spoken to her less than a handful of times over the past eight years.
“Good. I’m glad.”
“What’s going on, Chris?”
“What do you mean?”
“I may not get any prizes for ‘mother of the year,’ but it doesn’t mean I can’t tell when you’re upset.” She shook her head. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But I don’t think you drove all the way here, just to drink tea and reminisce.”
Chris chewed his upper lip and rubbed his chin. “I…” He found himself reluctant to tell her what was on his mind. He honestly didn’t know why he’d driven to his childhood home. In a way, it felt almost masochistic.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Christopher.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “But I’d like you to trust me.”
He almost laughed. Almost. “I don’t trust anyone, Mom. That’s the problem.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Your father loved you,” she said as if it were an irrefutable fact.
Chris tugged at his shirt, his knees bumping the coffee table when he leaned forward. He tried to keep his voice level. “Throwing your teenaged son out of the house because he’s gay is not love.” God! He hadn’t come all the way home just to fight, had he? He looked at the front door. Maybe he should run for the exit. “I don’t want to get into this with you. It’s the past, and it can’t be changed.”
The Screwdriver – Dirty Martini 2
The Other Team, Book 8
G.R. George
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-31-9
Copyright © 2016, G.R. George.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.
Blurb
The Other Team Sports Bar & Grill, where mixology meets biology and it’s pure chemistry. USA Today Bestselling author Renee George, writing as G.R. George, invites you to the best little gay bar in the Midwest, where the drinks are cold, the men are hot, and it's always Happy Hour. These steamy MM romances are tasty little recipes for a perfect evening of entertainment. Watch Chris and Marty navigate their new relationship in The Screwdriver, Book 8 of The Other Team series.
Marty Lincoln and Chris Lawson are only happy when they’re in each other’s arms. Unfortunately, their relationship remains long-distance as Marty completes his final months in the Army. Chris has a new and challenging job that keeps him busy, but he yearns every day for Marty. Marty suffers from PTSD and needs Chris as his anchor.
Time apart feeds the doubts each man harbors as they deal with their tragic pasts and try to hold on to the love blooming between them. Will fear make them give up before they even get started? Or will love find a way?
Content Notes: GLBT, M/M, contemporary romance, military. This novella contains explicit male/male sex. It is not intended for readers under the age of 18.
Acknowledgements
I have to thank the fans of The Other Team series for believing in these couples and for wanting more, more, more. Like you, I can’t wait to see where these lovers go and grow as their relationships move forward. This couple always takes it out of me emotionally, which is a good thing! I hope you’ll laugh, you’ll sigh, you’ll get mad, and cry, and in the end, I hope you’ll fall in love again with these beautiful men.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank some individual people who support me with this series in other ways, Kevin Macias, Robbin Clubb, Michele Bardsley, and Kate Douglas. I love you all! Thank you for everything.
Note to Readers
The name of the series has been changed as a business and creative decision because there is another series out there called “Cocktails” and our boys were getting lost in the shuffle. I think I might like “The Other Team” as a series name even better though. You guys seriously rock, and as long as you want to hang out with the men of The Other Team Bar & Grill, I will keep writing their stories.
XXXOOO, Renee
The Dirty Screwdriver Recipe
2 ounces of vodka
6 ounces of orange juice
1 cup of ice
1 splash of green olive brine (or juice)
Put your ice in a highball glass, pour in vodka then top with orange juice. At the end, hit it with a splash of olive brine to create a deliciously dirty screw.
Chapter 1
Mid July
Marty Misses Chris
“I’m sorry we’ll be losing you, Lincoln.” Master Sergeant Bo Griggs sat behind his desk, his mood as sour as the expression on his face. “You are one of the best Rangers I’ve ever trained.”
“Was,” Marty Lincoln corrected. The attack two years ago, the one that killed his best friend, Michael Wares, and injured him, put an end to his career in field operations. Sure, they’d asked him to stay on as a trainer, but the chronic pain in his left leg made it impossible to bear the sixty-one-day intensive course. He felt his only recourse was to leave the Army.
“You’re still a Ranger, Martin.”
It startled Marty to hear Griggs use his first name. “Thank you, Master Sergeant. I appreciate you saying so.”
“You are still a Ranger,” the old soldier said again, his voice suddenly gentle. Sad. “You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, Master Sergeant.”
Marty left the office and headed toward his barracks. He hadn’t wanted to let Griggs down. The man had been a second father to him. An instructor when Marty had joined the program six years earlier, Griggs had trained Marty and Mike, and Marty knew the older man felt the pain of Mike’s loss, too.
Since Marty had returned to base, the nightmares had started again. He’d been given a week’s reprieve, a week filled with comforting intimacy. Jesus, he could still feel Chris Lawson’s lips on him like a ghosting touch when he least expected. He couldn’t understand how this man managed to make him feel lighter, less burdened. The hardworking bartender had been more effective than all the counselors, sleeping tablets, pain pills, and anti-depressants the Army had thrown at Marty. That week with Chris had given Marty hope for a future beyond the military. Now that he was back on base, his anxieties and fears had returned.
It had been six days since he’d kissed Chris goo
dbye. Six days since he’d had a peaceful night’s sleep. Six days. He’d wanted to call Chris, but the physical distance between them made Marty doubt if what they’d had was real and tangible. He wanted to believe he was special to Chris, not just a short fling. His brother, Jay, the owner of the bar and grill Chris worked at, had told Marty that Chris was a player. The king of one-night stands. Marty didn’t want that thought circling around in his head, but it was there, a little rain cloud hovering over his happiness.
He stared at his smart phone, his finger hovering an inch above the touch screen. He hadn’t called Chris when he’d returned, and every day that passed without sending a text or a making phone call made the idea of keeping his promise to contact Chris scarier. Before the gorgeous bartender, Marty had only been with women, but there was something about Chris that made Marty’s pulse race.
Had he been drawn to Chris—a man grieving the loss of a father—because he’d been a wounded soul, too? Marty gravitated toward people in need. There was something inside him that wanted to help, wanted to fix. Or had he been drawn to Chris because, for the first time in two years, another human being looked at him as if he were more than his battle scars, more than damaged?
His heart skipped a beat. Marty sat his phone on the nightstand in his private room. There was a third option. Maybe he genuinely liked the guy. If that were true, did any of the other stuff matter?
Marty had a big decision to make. He touched his mouth, remembering the supple press of Chris’s lips on his own.
“Jesus,” he whispered, rubbing his hand over the erection tenting his boxers. “Every time.” All he had to do was think of Chris and his dick got hard. “Fuck it.” He picked up his phone and called Chris.
It beeped once. Then again. And again. When it went to voice mail, he hung up. Half-disappointed, half-relieved, Marty put the phone down on the bed next to him and lay back on his pillow. He stared at the water stain shaped like South America on the ceiling tile above his head. The quick turn of the ceiling fan blade as it whooshed in a slow, steady circle soothed his frayed nerves. His left thigh ached, and instead of grabbing the bottle of pain pills, he concentrated on breathing. Within a few minutes, he’d found a semi-Zen state, which is why he jumped out of his skin when his phone started playing “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus.
“What the hell?” He picked up his phone and saw Chris’s name was on the display. Chris must have assigned the ringtone when he’d put his number in. With a smile, he answered
* * * *
Chris Misses Marty
Chris Lawson had almost stopped breathing when he’d seen the missed call on his phone. He’d certainly said a few cuss words. Since Marty had left, he’d willed his phone to ring every second of every minute, and after six days, he’d started to think the young war vet would never call. Chris tried to prepare himself for the inevitability that he’d been nothing more than a social experiment for Marty. A distraction from the pain.
But Marty hadn’t forgotten about him. The proof was in his missed calls history.
Chris touched Marty’s number. His chest squeezed with an ache he’d never experienced the minute he’d heard the man’s voice.
“Are you serious? You changed my ring tone to Wrecking Ball?” The soft chuckle on the other end of the phone sent Chris’s pulse to the races.
“It’s just a joke,” Chris said.
“It’s not very funny.”
“Yes, it is.”
He could hear the smile in Marty’s voice. “How are you?”
“Fine. Back to work now.”
“Your mom?”
“We’ve talked a couple of times since the funeral.”
Chris hadn’t talked to his mom in nearly five years except for the occasional short call, but his father’s death had reconnected them. He still didn’t feel close to her. It was hard to trust someone who was supposed to love you unconditionally but didn’t.
“I’m glad,” he said.
“I’m glad you called,” Chris said.
“You called me.”
“I have a missed call from you from like five minutes ago.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. I called.” Marty sounded nervous.
“Did you…want something?”
“No,” Marty said. “I just…I don’t know. I guess I wanted to let you know that I made it back to the base.”
“I know.” Chris sighed. Apparently, Marty had called his parents and Jay, but not Chris. He tried hard not to sound disappointed. “Jay told me a couple of days ago.”
“Of course,” Marty said. “I should have called you.”
“You really should have,” Chris agreed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you, but only because you have such a sweet ass.” Fuck, why was he so flip? Was he trying to scare Marty completely off?
“Jesus,” Marty said. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
Chris laughed it off as a joke. “I have to get back to work. We’re having a busy Wednesday night. Royals are playing Minnesota, and we’ve got a pretty big crowd of fans in for the game.”
“Go Royals,” Marty said. “Okay. I’ll let you go.”
“Okay,” Chris said. His next words were quieter. “Can I call you tomorrow night?”
He could hear Marty breathing, but it was a few seconds before he said, “Sure. Yes. I’ll be back in my room around eight.”
“Good. We’ll catch up then.”
“I’d like that.”
“Marty.”
“Yes, Chris.”
Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m glad you called.”
Marty paused again, then said, “Me too.” Then he hung up.
Chris’s mind raced as he put a tray of three draft beers and two Tom Collins on the counter. He’d scheduled a phone date with Marty, and it scared him how much he wished he could zip forward in time. He waved at the waiter, Alex Michaels. The tall, dark-haired nerd, who dated Ricky, the supremely sexy Irish cook, quickly made his way over to the bar.
“Thanks,” Alex said, grabbing the tray. He paused for a minute and added, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, why?”
“You look pale like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re not going to faint again are you?”
“No.” Chris narrowed his gaze on Alex. “I said I’m fine. Unless you have another drink order, move along before the ice melts in the drinks.”
Chapter 2
Not Strictly Straight
For the fifth time, Marty checked his watch. It was three minutes to eight, about a minute later than the last time he looked. Why was he so nervous and uptight? Besides, did it matter if Chris called early or even a little later as long as he called. Ridiculously, Marty had showered and brushed his teeth as if getting ready for a real date, not a phone call. His tee shirt clung to his still damp chest.
Two minutes now. Miley Cyrus’s voice belted out. Goddamn it, he thought as he pressed “answer.” I have to change that ringtone.
“Hey,” he said, saliva thick in his mouth. “You’re early.”
“Not that early,” Chris said. “I can call back in a couple of minutes if now isn’t a good time.”
“No,” Marty said sharply. “Now’s good.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. I told my commander I wasn’t re-upping.” Why had he blurted that bit of news?
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I know how important the Army is for you.”
“Thanks.” A swell of calm swept over Marty. “Thanks for saying that.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
Marty reclined back on his mattress. “Laying in bed, staring at South America.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He laughed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m staring at two fingers of bourbon in an old-fashioned glass because the color reminds me of your eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Marty heard t
he tinkle of ice in a glass. “I miss your face.”
“You do?” Chris sounded surprised, but he recovered quickly. “Of course, you do. I’m very good-looking. All the boys say so.”
“All of them?”
“Every single one.”
“Even the straight boys.”
“Especially the straight boys.” Chris laughed. “Look at you.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not strictly straight,” Marty said.
“No?”
He gripped his dick, once again rock hard for Chris. “I think the evidence speaks for itself.”
“I miss your lips,” Chris said.
“Tell me more.” God, how he wanted to hear more!
“I miss the way your soft kisses electrify my skin. I miss the way you taste when your tongue’s in my mouth. And I miss the way it feels when those sweet, sweet lips eagerly slide over my dick and you take me deep to the back of your throat.”
Marty bit back a moan. He slipped his free hand inside his underwear and gripped his rigid length.
“Marty?” Chris’s soft voice held questions and uncertainty. “Do you want me to stop?”
“God, no,” Marty said, his own voice hoarse and throaty with his rising lust.
“Are you touching yourself, Marty?
“Yes.”
“Close your eyes.”
Marty closed his eyes. “Okay.”
“I am rubbing your dick, stroking you. Can you feel me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I love stroking you. Almost as much as I love sucking you off. God, I want to put my mouth on you so fucking bad. I want to feel the silk of your skin on my tongue, taste the salty-sweet of your cum on my lips.”
“Jesus,” Marty groaned. His hips moving now of their own accord as he fisted his cock.
“That’s it, baby,” Chris said. “Next, I roll my tongue around your balls, licking and sucking the sensitive skin at the base. I push your leg up so I can get a better view of your gorgeous ass.”
“Fuck,” Marty said on a jagged exhalation. His cock pulsed in his hand.
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