Late in the Day

by Mary Calmes

  “Yep,” I teased. “‘Baby’ just came right back.”

  We were both floundering, absolutely unable to restore professional decorum even for a second. Normally I would never allow a moment where I let my defenses down, but this was Efrem I was talking to, and my memories of him drowned all my logic. My gut reaction was to simply unload the truth on him.

  He was in exactly the same boat, and I could tell from his rough breathing, the furrow of his brows, the pain in his gaze, but mostly in the way he kept leaning toward me and catching himself. Clearly, he was fighting the urge to lunge at me.

  “I—”

  “I promise you, he’s not trafficking guns.”

  “Oh, no, of course he isn’t,” he placated me. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before and one I didn’t like. Jaded did not fit well on my ex.

  I put my manacled hand on his wrist and gently squeezed my fingertips on the pulse point there. “He’s not.”

  “You’re telling me that he’s not moving guns, but if he’s not, then why was he leaving Eastman’s home to begin with?”

  Implicating Trevan, for any reason, even to save him, was not something I was prepared to do. “He was saying goodbye.”

  “And I’m just supposed to take your word that he’s not in the gun business anymore?”

  “No. You can check. You can talk to anyone, and they’ll tell you that he used to move products—manure, mulch, sod—and moved on to things like dog food and then went into renting out his warehouse space and finally sold them.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “It might have looked like gun trafficking on the outside, but I can assure you that no one in Detroit has ever bought guns from Trevan Bean.”

  “So you’re telling me that he’s the only legitimate part of Thiago Fanton’s business in Detroit?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you expect me to buy that?”

  “No, like I said, you can look into it and verify everything I just told you.”

  He stared at me, and as I gazed back, I noted, as I always had, how gorgeous his eyes were. The green was really just beautiful. Like lying on my side in the grass in the deep shade, the green so dark it held traces of midnight blue at the tips that I could see catching faint traces of dappled light.

  I could still remember reporting to my CO’s office that morning to meet the new twenty-two-year-old second lieutenant transferred into our company after our last one froze in the middle of a street, too scared to go forward and too terrified to retreat. He’d died there, and I’d nearly died retrieving him, but he’d always talked about his mother, and I wasn’t about to let her not have him to bury. I’d been a newly promoted staff sergeant then, all of twenty-four, thinking I knew everything, there with three others, not looking forward to meeting the new guy, wondering how long this one would last and what college he was from. But when my gaze locked on the man standing beside the desk, I found the air had gone thin as I tried to catch my breath.

  His gaze didn’t waver. There was strength to it, and power. The other guys had been hopeful; I was enthralled. I just wanted to talk to him. Of course, with us being separated by rank and privilege, I was sure I never had a chance, but it turned out that when he looked up and saw me, he saw someone he wanted as well. But that was much later, us talking during lazy Sundays spent in bed. In that moment there was only me being dismissed along with the others.

  At dusk, I was walking toward the barracks, and when my name was called, I’d turned and he was there, the new lieutenant. I came sharply to attention and was floored when he walked right up to me, too close, head tipped, staring into my eyes.

  “At ease, sergeant,” he whispered, inhaling deeply.

  As alluring as I found him, no one, ever, had any power over me besides rank for a legitimate reason. His interest, communicated by his baited breath and how he stared into my eyes, had nothing but physical attraction marking it. I’d wanted him from the second I saw him as well, but for it to work, there could never be a question that we were equals. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Permission to speak freely,” I growled, excited and irritated at the same time.

  “At ease,” he replied hoarsely, lips parted, eyes on mine, zeroed in there.

  “This is bullshit,” I bit off the words. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

  “Do what to you?”

  “Stop me with your rank on a whim.”

  He seemed startled and took a step back. “I—no, I didn’t mean—”

  I went back to attention. “Permission to leave, sir?”

  He stammered out his agreement, and I turned on my heel and left.

  A week later, at a local dive bar down on Abercorn, I was shooting pool with other guys from my unit when Efrem came in with Torian Black and some other friends. I’d been ducking him since our first encounter, walking out of rooms he walked into, seeing him only when we were training or sitting in briefings. When he came to the table, the rest of his guys in tow, and asked if we wanted to play, my buddy Jake Sawyer voiced concern: if we wiped the floor with the officers on a Friday night, what would Monday morning look like?

  “We’re assholes,” Torian assured him, “but we’re not total pricks.”

  Everyone laughed, and that was it, tension broken.

  When I went to get a round of drinks, Efrem quickly volunteered to go with me. As we stood at the bar waiting, me facing the bartender, him at my shoulder, I felt him lean close, just a brush of contact that could have been incidental, but the inhale a second later, close to my ear, was on purpose. Or not.

  It might have been that he couldn’t help himself. That thought did warm things to my stomach and cock.

  I turned my head to look at him and realized that his eyes were everywhere but meeting mine. I wasn’t just being checked out, I was being cataloged. “Hey.”

  His head snapped up and the guilty look on his face was obvious and adorable. “What?” He almost gasped, startled as he was.

  “Did you just smell me?”

  “I—what?”

  I scowled at him so I wouldn’t smile. This beautiful man who couldn’t lie at all, who was very clearly into me, there was no way not to be interested right back. But I needed to make a decision because I needed a balance of power. So now, if I wanted anything more from him, then I would have to be the one to initiate. It was easy to see I made him more than a little nervous, for probably more than one reason. Attraction was one thing, being unsure where you stood another, but the military aspect on top of it made our interaction… precarious. We each had to be sure of the other, and that would be difficult unless someone bit the bullet and came out and asked. Since maybe that had been what he was trying to do the day he attempted to talk to me, I figured it was my turn to take a breath and dive in.

  After we carried the round of beers back to the others, I moved over to the back wall and leaned, waiting to see what he would do. It took only seconds and he was there, beside me, close, ostensibly waiting for his turn to play, brushing his shoulder with mine.

  “That day you came up to talk to me,” I said without turning to look at him, “did you have something you wanted?”

  “Yes,” he replied gruffly.

  I crossed my arms before glancing over at him. “What was that?”

  “Are you—I mean, I wasn’t sure if you were interested in what I had to say.”

  “I am,” I assured him.

  “I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  I nodded. “It could be that I have authority issues.”

  Tentative smile then, just a trace curling his lush mouth. “I could have handled things better, but I was a bit overwhelmed.”

  Nice to hear. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “So, then we’ve come to a new understanding, don’t you think?”

  “Please… yes, good.” The words tumbled out of him nonsensically. “We have.”

  “You’re sure?�
�

  Those gorgeous emerald eyes of his, glittering in the neon lights of the bar, were huge as he stared at me and nodded slowly.

  “You want to do things with me?”

  “I do—yes. Whatever you want.”

  “Okay, then, I usually get a room over at the Econo Lodge down the street so when I pick somebody up, I can just take them there.”

  I heard him catch his breath.

  “If I asked you to come with me, would—”

  “Yes,” he blurted.

  “Did you all ride together?”

  “We took a cab,” he explained, shifting closer to me, bumping my arm with his. “I can leave now and—”

  “We can walk there,” I told him. “Just meet me around back in fifteen minutes.”

  I pushed off the wall then, put up my cue, walked over to Jake and leaned in. I told him I was leaving to get laid and went out the back.

  Standing under a tree in the shadows behind what could loosely be described as a dirt and gravel parking lot, I waited only ten minutes before Efrem was there, opening and closing the door behind him, scanning the area for me.

  I whistled for him, and he jogged over, ducking under a low-hanging branch to join me in the darkness.

  “Your buddy, does he know you’re gay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  He cleared his throat. “The way he told it, you were going on a booty call with some girl.”

  “Well, yeah, this is the Army, right?”

  “Sure,” he agreed, staring, moving closer, crowding me.

  “Are you gay, bi, straight but wanting to—”

  “Gay,” he said quickly, swallowing hard. “You?”

  “Same.”

  We were quiet, each waiting, surveying the other.

  I said what I assumed he was thinking as well. “This could have been a trap.”

  “I thought of that,” he confessed, his hand slipping to my hip, one of his fingers catching in my belt loop. “But I decided I was going with hope instead of being chickenshit about everything like I usually am.”

  “Are you?”

  He nodded as his other hand, his right, pressed over my heart. “I don’t… I’ve never been interested in another soldier before, and so usually I’ll see someone when I’m out and it’s easy enough not to act on that feeling, that excitement. The moment passes and it’s a missed opportunity, yes, but I’m still safe. I haven’t risked anything.”

  “I get that.”

  “But that day in the office—I nearly swallowed my tongue.”

  I smiled at him. The honesty was refreshing.

  “And I thought: I’m going to be around this man, and I thought: maybe he’s looking at me back, and it is definitely lust at first sight because I can’t get him out of my mind.”

  “I felt the same,” I admitted. This was about us being on equal footing. It was important. The balance of us having identical thought processes put things in perspective.

  “Then why were you upset that day? And why did you work so hard at putting space between us?”

  “To make sure we were both serious.”

  “Well, I am,” he told me. “Serious.”

  I nodded.

  “So are we going or—”

  “We’ve got to check first and make sure we’re compatible,” I said as I leaned in.

  I was a player before Efrem Lahm kissed me. I was the one who initiated, I was the one who fucked and forgot, who barely got first names and was never interested enough to ask for or give out a number. But that changed when he met me halfway, wrapped his arms around my neck, making sure I couldn’t get away, and kissed me hard and deep and with so much frustrated need I felt it roll through me like I was being tumbled by a wave, left disoriented but not hurt, not drowned. It was just a wake-up call that the ocean had all the power. And in that moment, I understood that whatever equal footing I thought I had with him was a delusion. Because when you wanted to be with someone, when another person had all your attention, that took you out at the knees and left you floundering.

  I clutched at him, crushing him against me, and he whined into my mouth, grinding his groin into mine, pushing, trying to wedge in closer.

  One of my hands moved to his ass, and when I squeezed tight, he broke the kiss to let his head fall back, and moan. It was decadent and pained, and I knew that if I didn’t get us out of the trees and to the motel, we were in trouble. That fast, we were ready to sate the desire burning between us.

  Letting him go, I took his arm and yanked him after me until we hit the street.

  “I miss your hand already,” he confessed as he walked along beside me.

  “Well, I don’t want us to get shot out here,” I said, quickening my pace. “Because gay and interracial, I think we’re pushing it.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed, putting his hand on my shoulder, slowing me. “But this is okay. This is just two guys walking together.”

  I turned to look at him, wondering why we both weren’t running to get to the motel when he smiled at me, and I nearly stumbled. His ease, like we had all the time in the world, like we were just out for a stroll, was somehow comforting.

  “Are we not in a hurry?”

  “Why? I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

  I wasn’t, no.

  “It’s a nice night, not too hot yet, the breeze is cool, and it smells like it’s going to rain.”

  Slowing, enjoying the sound of his voice, I took a breath.

  “It smells like grass and jasmine out here.”

  “Yes, it does.” I sighed.

  “I plan on more than just this one night,” he whispered.

  Those kinds of words usually scared me to death. “You don’t think that’s a bit too optimistic?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a feeling,” he sighed, staring at me.

  “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “Anything worth doing seldom is.”

  I was surprised when we got to the motel, and instead of clawing at each other, we sank to the bed holding hands.

  “Tell me something nobody else knows,” he prodded.

  When my gaze met his, I realized he was serious, and even more surprising was that I wanted to talk to him. It was a stunning development. Who knew talking could be so hot?

  We ended up telling each other anything that came into our heads until right before dawn, and then we fell asleep, him draped over me like a blanket. I couldn’t remember having ever slept more soundly. The steady beat of his heart was like coming home.

  The next night, when I brought a bag over to his sweet little 750-square-foot A-frame, he launched himself at me as soon as the door closed.

  After he kissed me breathless, as I held him in my arms, my hands supporting his ass as his long legs wrapped tightly around my hips, I smiled wide.

  “I’m liking this welcome,” I confessed, feeling a clenching inside, like I was trying to hold myself together. My reaction to him was scary, immediate and overwhelming. Being with him was too much and not enough at the same time. I’d been alone so long, and I was careful about not letting people in, and out of nowhere was this man and I felt like I was unraveling so fast, too fast, after only one night together, and that didn’t seem smart.

  “I’m liking you in my home,” he murmured before mauling my mouth, grinding against me.

  My head told me I was being reckless because, clearly, this man already had a hold on me that was dangerous. Hearts were lost to men like him.

  “You should stay here,” he said between urgent kisses. “Stay in my house, with me. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll take care of you.”

  I deepened the kiss, held him still as I sucked on his tongue and showed him slow and steady and then frantic up until I had to pull free for air.

  “Oh, you’re going to be mine,” he whispered against the skin on my throat as he tried to get his breathing under control.

  I shivered. It sounded like a promise,
his words, and finding myself ready and willing was a brand new experience.

  Once I put him on his feet, he led me down the hall to his bedroom to show me where to drop my duffel.

  “You could have just directed me,” I assured him, grinning as I followed.

  “Uh-huh,” he agreed, taking the bag out of my hand and dropping it beside the door before turning me around and shoving me backward.

  Because I wasn’t ready for it, all the abrupt movement, I got tripped up and toppled onto the bed. Before I could climb off, he pounced on me, straddling my thighs.

  “I thought you cooked,” I teased.

  “It’s in the oven,” he said, curling forward, pinning my wrists to the bed and staring down at me. “I made baked parmesan crusted chicken; it’s got some time left.”

  “Does it?” I asked, because between the gorgeous man on top of me and the smell coming from the kitchen, I was pretty certain I never wanted to leave.

  He practically purred, and the sound was low and sexy. I couldn’t help but buck against him. His hands were tight on my wrists, and he was using his full weight to trap me under him, settling his ass over my groin.

  “Enjoying yourself?” I croaked.

  “Very much so, yes,” he husked, sliding his crease over the thickening bulge in my jeans.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Oh God, I hope so,” he said, his voice dropping into a whisper, and he tightened his thighs around my hips.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, pushing up into him, wanting more friction, my body knowing what I instinctively needed even if my brain was working to remain logical, to not attack him and take what I wanted.

  “We talked last time,” he said, releasing my wrists and rolling off me, but only long enough to shuck his shorts and briefs and then scramble to make quick work of my belt buckle and the button on my jeans. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  “Not ever?” I barely got out.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” he teased, unzipping me just enough to fish out my cock and take both his and mine in hand and press them together.

  “Oh God,” I groaned, shivering under him as he rubbed the precome seeping from the head of his dick over mine, the silky slide of smooth flesh utterly carnal.

  “Tell me how bad you want to be inside me.”