by L. A. Witt
“Not when DADT was still in effect, no. And long-distance relationships did make it easier to run stealth.” He sighed. “But even after DADT was gone, it was mostly luck of the draw. I’d start dating a guy, and one of us would get transferred.”
“So long-distance relationships are kind of your thing?”
“Not by design.” He caressed my arm. “Somehow I always seem to connect with people who aren’t in my town for very long.”
“Like horny guys visiting from Denver?”
Noah laughed. I loved that sound. Nodding, he said, “I’m absolutely not opposed to horny guys visiting from Denver.”
“So, you wouldn’t be opposed to me visiting again?”
“Absolutely not.” It came out as a low whisper, almost a growl. “The sooner the better.”
“You can always come my way too. I mean, if you want to see Colorado.”
“I do want to come see you.” He touched my face. “But I don’t expect to see much of Colorado while I’m there.” He held my gaze, and my heart sped up. Anything witty I might’ve had to say died on my tongue. All I could do was look at him.
His thumb ran back and forth along my cheekbone, and I couldn’t resist cupping the back of his neck. My pulse was absolutely soaring now.
We’d made out. We’d fucked each other blind. We’d spent more than one night sleeping in a rumpled, sweaty heap. He’d limped after I’d ridden him, and I’d worn bruises shaped like his teeth.
But for some reason, looking at him now gave me that giddy feeling like someone was about to kiss me for the first time. Like we’d been working up to something, and it was about to happen, and everything seemed to be both completely still and moving at breakneck speed, and I didn’t know if I wanted to move forward or let this deliciously tense moment linger a little longer.
Noah moved first, tentatively crossing that familiar space between our lips, and hesitated a second before they touched. Heart racing, I slid a hand up into his short hair, and drew him the rest of the way, and then our lips met and everything stopped.
It wasn’t our first kiss, but it was our first one like this. Slow. Almost delicate. Like we’d gotten all the frantic need and desperation out of our system, and now we could stop and really taste each other. Holy fuck. I hadn’t been kissed like this in . . . don’t know . . . a long time . . . Jesus.
Our eyes met again. If I was supposed to say something, I had no idea what it was, and wasn’t entirely confident in my ability to enunciate. Guys didn’t usually leave me tongue-tied. Noah did it effortlessly.
He curved his hand over my ass and pressed another kiss to my lips. “You’ve raised the bar, you know that?”
“Likewise.” I nipped his lower lip, and grinned when he moaned. “Every guy after this is going to have to pass the Noah Test.”
He laughed. “The Noah Test? Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do I dare ask what that test entails?”
“Well.” I quirked my lips as if this required deep thought. “For starters, he’d better be packing. And know how to use it.”
“Hmm. That might have to be on the Anthony Test too.” He started kissing my neck and trailing his nails up my back until I was a squirming mess.
“D-definitely . . . gonna need a Noah Test.”
He laughed softly and found my lips with his. “Well, until you find someone who passes that test,” he murmured between kisses, “I’ll be more than happy to fill in.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
On Saturday night, we managed to get out of bed, cleaned up, and dressed, and went into town in search of something to eat. I tried to think of a place to go, but most of my preferences had to do with a restaurant’s bar more than their food, so we parked by the pier where the carnival was starting to come to life for the summer, and walked. There were plenty of restaurants down here. When we came across one that looked good, we’d eat there.
I tried not to think about the various bars and drink menus. After all, I couldn’t get fucked up tonight, because I was with Anthony. I also still had every intention of going at least one or two more rounds with him, so . . . easy on the booze.
On the other hand, I was going easy on food too—no sense putting us both into food comas when there was still sex to be had—so at least what little I drank would go further than usual.
I’d been itching for a drink all damned day. This week had been crazy at work, and the stress was still festering at the ends of my nerves. If Anthony hadn’t flown in last night, I’d have drunk it all away—again—then woken up this morning, pulled myself together, and moved on.
But I hadn’t had that relief yet. Sex with Anthony had definitely helped, of course, but I still needed some hundred-proof solvent to wash away the rest of it.
I’d be fine. A drink with dinner, maybe a shot before we called it a night, and that would carry me through for the moment. I could hold out, especially if it meant spending a couple of days and scorching-hot nights with Anthony.
“How about this place?” I gestured at a restaurant with a fake marlin—pretty sure it was fake—over the door and some blue fishnets dangling over the windows. I couldn’t remember ever eating here, but I’d heard from some of my coworkers that it was good.
Anthony balked. “Uh, maybe not there.”
“Why not?”
“Because my ex-brother-in-law and his boyfriend apparently come here a lot.” He gave the front door a wide berth like someone was going to leap out and drag him in. “I’d just as soon not run into them if they happen to be here tonight.”
I bit back a comment about this being a small town—if you didn’t like someone in Anchor Point, running into them was pretty much inevitable—and we continued down the sidewalk. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
Anthony sighed. “I . . . He’s not a bad guy. And I know he’s not. But I haven’t forgiven him for hurting my sister.”
“That’s understandable. If someone fucked over my sister, I probably wouldn’t want to be around them any more than I had to.”
“Exactly.” He sighed. “I mean, I really try to be civil with him when we are around each other. But . . .”
“But you’d rather not be around him in the first place?”
“Yeah.”
We continued down the block and found another restaurant that was also a bit heavy on the maritime theme, but the place smelled too enticing to walk past. It didn’t reek like a marina on a good fishing day—that wasn’t appetizing in the least—but something amazing was cooking in here.
I didn’t have to ask. We exchanged smiles and then went inside.
“If there’s one thing I envy about you coastal people, it’s the seafood.” Anthony took in a deep breath and sighed blissfully. “When I was looking for a job, I interviewed for a gig out in Seattle. Met up with a friend while I was there, and had some of that Alaskan halibut? Oh my God.”
“Yeah, you can’t really go wrong with seafood out here.” I glanced around. “If I remember right, this place has some amazing pies too.”
“Oh, I’ll have to try one. Assuming I don’t stuff myself with half the seafood menu.”
I just chuckled.
The hostess seated us, and since they weren’t terribly crowded yet, we scored a table by the window with a beautiful view of the ocean, and a slightly less beautiful one of the base. It kind of annoyed me to live in a town where I could see the ships from almost everywhere. Anchor Point was fairly flat, and none of the buildings were terribly tall, so the aircraft carrier’s bridge was visible from almost anywhere. Fucking yay.
At least Anthony didn’t mind taking the seat facing the base. Mine looked out over the pier and the dozens of people wandering between game booths, carnival rides, and food stands.
We each ordered a drink—a horribly dry-sounding red wine for him, a double Jack and Coke for me—and perused the menus. Once we’d settled on what to order, we laid the leather-bound books on the table
.
“So,” I said. “How’d you end up in Denver? You grow up there?”
Anthony shook his head. “Nebraska, actually. I moved to Denver for work.” He paused. “Almost took that gig in Seattle, though. Almost.”
“Yeah?”
“I swear, if they’d offered me more money, I’d have taken that job in a heartbeat.” He scowled. “But apparently they thought I was too stupid to look up the cost of living in Seattle.”
“I’ve heard it’s pretty expensive.”
“Mm-hmm. I mean, Denver is pricey, but for what they were offering, I could live like a king in the suburbs and commute into Denver. Seattle? I’d have to commute two hours from my cardboard box.”
I laughed, nodding. “That sounds about right, from what I’ve heard.”
“It is. I mean, half a mill and up for a condo?” He made a disgusted noise and wrinkled his nose. “Please. Nobody fucks me that hard without buying me dinner first.”
I smirked. “Does that mean I’m buying tonight?”
“You trying to sell me a condo for a stupid amount of money?”
“Um, no?”
“Then we can split the check.” He winked. “You can fuck me another way.”
Our waiter materialized right then, and I swore to God, he went white. Eyes wide, jaw slack, he stared at us like he had no idea what to do with that.
Anthony looked up at him with an expression full of innocence. “What’s the special tonight?”
It was all I could do not to explode into laughter as our poor mortified waiter recited his speech about the chicken cacciatore accompanied by a choice of soup or salad with a recommended pairing with some wine I couldn’t pronounce. The whole time, Anthony kept a perfectly straight face, nodding along with the practiced spiel before deciding to go with the New York steak after all. I’d have teased him about forgoing the seafood after it had drawn us in here, but I’d decided to get something land-based myself. I ordered the grilled chicken and vegetables for myself—along with another drink—and our waiter hurried away.
I finally let myself laugh. “Why am I not surprised something like that would happen with you around?”
He snickered as he swirled his wine. “Dine out with a man with no censor, and anything’s possible.” He winked before taking a sip.
“So I’m gathering.”
“Fast learner.”
The mortified waiter came back with my drink and took my empty-except-for-the-ice glass. As I sipped it, Anthony’s eyebrows rose.
“You already blew through a double?”
I laughed. “They make them weak here. If I didn’t order a double, it’d basically just be a Coke.”
He seemed kind of uneasy, eyeing my glass, but just said, “Oh.”
I set the drink down. “Why?”
“I, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “Nothing.” He shook his head. With a nervous laugh, he said, “Inhaling a double that fast would put me on my ass, so I guess I was kind of surprised.”
I chuckled. “Like I said—they’re weak.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged, then clasped his fingers on top of the faded-blue placemat. “So, out of curiosity, what made you join the Navy?”
Grateful for the subject change, but resisting the urge to take another drink until I was sure he’d really let it go, I said, “The GI Bill.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “The plan was to enlist, do four years, then get out and go to school on the Navy’s dime. But about the time my enlistment was almost up, my ship was getting ready to do a world cruise.”
“A world cruise?”
“Yeah. It’s exactly what it sounds like. I’d only done a WestPac at that point, so—”
“A what now?”
“WestPac. Sailing around the Pacific, basically.” I shrugged. “And I guess I liked the idea of seeing more of the world, so what was four more years?” With a chuckle, I added, “One re-enlistment turned into another, and the next thing I know, I’m on the homestretch toward retirement. Might as well stick it out till twenty.”
“How many years do you have left?”
“Three. Not that I’m counting.”
Anthony laughed. “Man, I can’t imagine retiring at . . . what, thirty-eight?”
“Thirty-nine for me. I was nineteen when I actually got my shit together and enlisted.”
“Still, retiring before forty is amazing.”
“Pity it’s not retiring from everything.” I sighed dramatically. “Still gotta get a job when I get out.”
“Oh what a shame.” He put a hand to his heart. “Not being able to stop working forever before forty.”
“I know, right? What a crock.”
We both laughed. I chanced another sip, and he didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he’d made some progress on his wine, so presumably he wasn’t too hung up on the issue.
We continued talking for a while, steadily working our way through our drinks while we waited for our food. Then Anthony looked around. “Do they have a men’s room?”
“By the front door, I think.”
“Okay.” He pushed his chair back. “Be right back.”
“Sure. I’ll be here.”
He flashed me a grin, then got up and headed for the men’s room.
As soon as he was out of sight, I flagged down the waiter and gestured for another double Jack and Coke. I drained my current glass, and when the waiter came back, traded my empty one for the fresh one. Okay, so it wasn’t as much as I usually drank, but downing the first two as quickly as I had meant they’d get into my system faster, and I took a deep swallow of the new one for good measure.
As a bonus, the restaurant was dim enough it wouldn’t be readily obvious that I’d had a half-full drink when he’d left, and now had a mostly full one.
I swallowed some more, and sighed as it heated the back of my throat enough to make my eyes water.
Ahh. Perfect. Now I’d be able to relax.
After we’d both eaten entirely too much, we decided to walk the waterfront for a while so we didn’t feel quite so bloated. Despite intending to go easy so we could fuck like crazy afterward, the food had been too good. I suspected we’d be collapsing into bed and drifting off into food comas as soon as we got home. And it wasn’t like we hadn’t already fucked three times today.
North of the base, there was a beach that was mostly deserted. A couple in their twenties was walking along, hand in hand, pausing occasionally to throw a soggy tennis ball for their equally soggy Golden Retriever. A lady in her fifties was sitting on a folding chair, face buried in a book.
Otherwise, it was just us. I couldn’t ask for much more than this—a pleasant night, a pleasant buzz, and some very pleasant company.
Anthony took in a deep breath through his nose. “God, I love the smell of the ocean.”
“Me too. It’s one thing I never got tired of, being around ships all the time.”
“Not even when you were at sea?”
I laughed. “You make it sound like I ever saw the ocean while I was at sea, let alone smelled it.”
He eyed me. “Didn’t you?”
“Not really, no. I saw more water when we were in port than at sea.” I inhaled deeply. Yeah. Loved that smell. “When you’re not in port, you’re either working, eating, or sleeping. Only people with certain gear and qualifications can go up on the flight deck during flight ops, and I never had any reason to go anywhere else I could actually see off the ship.”
“Huh. Never thought about that.”
“Neither did I. It got to the point that when I smelled the ocean, I’d get all excited because it meant I could finally get off the damned boat. Underway, all I smelled was diesel, metal, and the guys who didn’t like the ship’s showers.”
Anthony shuddered, making a disgusted face. “That’s awful.”
“You’re telling me.”
“How did you stay sane?”
“Reminded myself it could be worse—I could’ve been on a su
b.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened, and he grimaced. “Oh God, I can’t imagine how gross that might be.”
“I’ve heard stories. It’s pretty gross.”
“I don’t even want to know.”
“Trust me—you don’t.”
We kept walking, and the beach led us to a boardwalk, which in turn took us down by the marina, where dozens of pleasure boats were moored in bobbing rows.
“You know,” I said, “if you ever want to go, they do whale-watching and boat rentals out of here.”
“Oh, that could be fun. I haven’t been on a boat in years.”
“I love boats. One of these days, maybe I’ll even own one.”
Anthony smothered a snicker.
“What?”
“I was thinking, if you did get a boat, you could totally name it—”
“Oh God. Don’t you dare.”
“What?” He batted his eyes innocently. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“Well, I’m going to guess you’re planning to make the obvious joke that everyone makes, while accounting for the tiny possibility you’ve come up with something original.”
“So I’m not the first person to suggest naming your boat Noah’s Ark?”
“No. You’re not.” I eyed him, and the adorably mischievous look on his face almost made me laugh out loud. “But admittedly, it’s kind of cute coming from you.”
He flashed a Cheshire cat grin, and I definitely couldn’t help laughing.
“You’re a dork,” I said.
“Well, I was a nerd in school.” He shrugged. “Might as well be a dork on top of it.”
“I can’t imagine you as a nerd.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I pushed my hands into my pockets, wondering if he had any idea how hard it was not to slide an arm around him. “You definitely don’t fit the socially awkward stereotype.”
Anthony chuckled. “Eh, I had my moments when I was a kid. And I did spend a lot more time at the library than out partying.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep.”
“We definitely wouldn’t have moved in the same crowds. I mean, I did okay in school, but as soon as the bell rang, I was in the woods smoking with the punks.”