by L. A. Witt
“It does? How?”
“When they stick you down in the scullery and make you wash dishes.” Another shudder, followed by a deep swallow from his drink. “Serving food to your shipmates is humiliating, but washing the dishes is absolute drudgery in the worst conditions imaginable.”
“Spoken from experience?”
“Oh yeah. I got stuck on kitchen detail a few times. I mean, everybody has to do it at some point anyway, but when you’re there as a punishment, it’s worse.” He swore under his breath. “Bad enough I was missing two port calls because I was restricted to the boat, and I lost two months’ pay. Making sure all my peers went through the line and gave me shit while I served them green beans and whatever else—it was kind of insult to injury, you know?”
I blinked. “What did you do?”
“Uh, well.” He cleared his throat, and his face colored. “As it says in my record, I ‘used poor judgment when trying to resolve a conflict with a fellow Sailor.’”
“Is that Navy-speak for getting into a fight?”
Grimacing, he nodded.
“Wow.” I paused. “Did you at least win the fight?”
Noah laughed. “I probably would’ve if security hadn’t pried us apart when they did.”
“Those bastards.”
“Right?”
“Wait, aren’t you security?”
“Yep. And we get into just as much trouble as everybody else.”
“Knowing you, that doesn’t surprise me.”
He put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I know you?” I smirked over the rim of my wineglass. “Come on. I wouldn’t be dating you if you didn’t have a bit of a bad side, would I?”
“Fair point.” Noah lowered his hand and reached for his drink. “I think you’d get bored if I didn’t.”
“Probably. And I definitely haven’t gotten bored with you.”
“I should hope not.” He paused as if in deep thought before his lips spread into a devilish grin. “I wonder if I should go ahead and write that apology to your roommate now, or wait until I know exactly how little sleep he’s going to get.”
I probably should have laughed.
But I just shivered.
Yes, please . . .
“My God, you were right.” Noah laid his napkin beside his plate. “The food here is unbelievable.”
“Right? I love it.” I scowled at the people flocking in the lobby. “I guess we should get out of here, though. Normally I’d suggest lounging here half the night, but they look pretty busy.”
“That’s fine. I could stand to walk this off a bit anyway.”
“Yeah, me too.” I caught the waitress’s attention. “Could I get the bill, please?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
After she’d gone, I looked at him. “Once we’re squared away here, we could go to the theater. See if anything is playing.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He drained his drink.
The waitress returned in no time with the bill. When she put it on the table, Noah reached for it, but I was faster.
“No way,” I said. “I’ve got this one.”
“You sure?”
I smiled. “You flew out here. I think I can pick up the tab for dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You can get the next one.”
Noah shrugged. “Okay, that’s fair.”
I skimmed over the bill, and furrowed my brow. The total didn’t bother me, but the line items seemed . . . off. “I think there’s a mistake here.”
“What?” He craned his neck.
I laid the folder on the table so we could both see it. “I had one drink. You had two. Why are they charging us for five?”
“No, that actually sounds right.”
I blinked. “When did you have a fourth?”
“One before dinner, two during, and . . .” He held up his nearly empty glass, jingling the ice cubes.
“Oh. Okay.” I smiled uneasily. “Guess I lost track.”
And those were doubles, weren’t they? Strong doubles?
As if he could read my mind, Noah raised his eyebrows in an unspoken, Yeah? So?
I muffled a cough and focused on the receipt. He was still steady and coherent, so obviously he could hold his liquor.
Either way, it’s probably a good thing I’m driving.
I slid my credit card into the folder, and after it came back, I signed the receipt. Then we got up and headed out to the car.
On the way to the car, I glanced nervously at him. He’d had four drinks during dinner? We hadn’t been here very long. It wasn’t like we’d had a five-course meal or something. And those weren’t exactly light drinks—they were fucking doubles.
He was steady on his feet, though, and there wasn’t a trace of a slur when he spoke. I couldn’t decide if that made me feel better or worse. He was a Sailor, so I’d expected him to have a high tolerance for alcohol, but my mind kept going back to Clint.
Which made me realize how stupid I was for worrying. Comparing Clint to Noah? Not fair. I was overthinking it. Clint had been a problem drinker. Noah could down four drinks right in front of me, and not change his behavior in the slightest. I hadn’t even noticed he’d had that many until I’d looked at the bill.
Which . . . made me wonder how many he’d had on the plane yesterday if I’d been able to tell he’d been drinking. Was he that nervous a flyer? Or that heavy a drinker?
Is there something I should know?
We got into my car, and I pulled out of the parking lot.
“So, um.” I cleared my throat. “I . . .” Had no idea how to finish that thought. We’d had a great evening, and I was loving having him in town. Did I want to screw it up and make shit awkward?
Noah touched my leg. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I . . .” No. No, I am not okay, and I don’t know how to explain why, because then you’ll need to explain things to me, and I doubt you’ll want—
“Anthony?” He cocked his head. “What’s up?”
I kept my eyes on the road, gnawing my lip so hard I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d drawn blood. Obviously he saw right through me, so there was no point in pretending everything was fine. And maybe it was better to get this out on the table and be done with it. If that pissed him off, and the conversation turned into a deal breaker for one or both of us, then it was better to find out now, right? Before I wasted a few months or a few years with him? I’d already wasted years of my life—and my ex-wife’s—because I couldn’t man up and face the truth.
Oh, what the hell?
I took a deep breath. “Listen, before we . . .” I hesitated. Why couldn’t I say it? I wasn’t a shy kid.
Noah shifted in the passenger seat. “Everything okay?”
You tell me.
I swallowed. “I need you to be honest with me about something.”
“Sure.”
Well. Here goes.
I wasn’t sure how to word the question, so finally settled on the direct approach: “How much do you drink?”
“How much—” Noah laughed quietly. Maybe a little self-consciously. “I couldn’t really tell you. Why?”
Because I’m scared the answer is “way too much.”
“I . . .” I exhaled. “It seems like whenever I see you, either you’re drinking or you’ve just had a drink, and . . .” I swallowed. “Anyway, I guess I’m just kind of . . . concerned?” There. That wasn’t so confrontational. I was worried, not mad. Which was true. I was worried.
“Anthony.” He patted my thigh. “I’m a Sailor. You’re not really surprised that I drink, are you?”
“No. I know but . . .” I tapped my thumbs on the wheel. “I guess I’m worried about how much.”
When I glanced his way, he smiled, and it was probably supposed to be reassuring. Maybe it was, but I didn’t feel reassured. “Look,” he said. “I do drink. I go out with the gu
ys from work sometimes, and we get drunk. When I’m home, I like to have the occasional drink too.”
I remembered the glass making a cameo during one of our web chats.
Define “occasional.”
“It just . . .” I shifted uncomfortably. “I guess I’ve noticed that unless we’re in bed together, you almost always have a drink in your hand. And . . . it worries me.”
“Would you prefer I not drink when we’re together?”
“I’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t—”
“That’s not what I asked.” He studied me. “I asked if you’d prefer I didn’t drink around you.”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t mind people drinking. It’s the quantity I’m worried about. But if you’ve got it under control, then it’s fine.” I glanced at him again. “You know you.”
“I do. And I’m fine. Trust me.”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
I just couldn’t decide if my experiences with Clint were clouding my judgment, or raising red flags that I really, really shouldn’t ignore.
We’d bought our movie tickets, but still had time to kill, so we wandered up and down the street and in and out of small shops. I had a pleasant buzz going, I’d had some really good food, and I had great company, so I was flying high. As we walked, I regaled him with some sea stories because I was a Sailor and that was what we did, and he seemed to enjoy hearing them.
As we lazily strolled down the sidewalk on our way back to the theater, he said, “Wow. I don’t know if I’d ever want to live on a ship, but I’m envious of all the places you’ve gotten to see.”
“I kind of wish I could’ve seen more of them. I mean, a lot of times, we were only in port for a few days, and didn’t have time, money, or authorization to go very far from where the ship was docked.” I laughed dryly. “Hell, I barely remember Sicily and Bahrain.”
“You don’t remember them?”
“Nah.” I chuckled. “As soon as we were off the boat, we were hitting up the bars. All I really remember of Bahrain is getting to the bar, and then I woke up in my rack.”
“Oh.” Anthony stared straight ahead. “Was that something you did, uh, a lot?”
After the conversation in the car, I could read between the lines. Why was he so hung up on my drinking? If I had a problem, it would make sense, but Jesus—Anthony drank too, for God’s sake.
We were having a nice evening, though, and I didn’t want to ruin it, so I shrugged. “On deployments? Definitely. Everybody drinks like crazy when they’re on cruise. It’s about the only thing that’ll keep you sane. I mean, when you’ve been working fourteen-hour shifts, seven days a week, and haven’t seen anything but the inside of the boat, you tend to get a bit stir-crazy. Once they call liberty, all you want to do is party, drink, fuck, and sleep.”
“I guess I can understand that.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Funny. I always thought the drunken Sailor thing was a stereotype.” There was a faint hint of venom in the comment.
I glanced at him. “It is, and it isn’t. Like, you just need to blow off steam, and you’re only on dry land every couple of weeks.”
“Well. True.” He didn’t look at me. “Maybe I’m just jaded about it after my brother-in-law.”
I hesitated but couldn’t resist. “What exactly happened there?”
Anthony sighed, shoulders sagging a bit, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “No one really knows, to be honest. He was fine for years. Loved my sister. Adored their kids. Seemed to have it together, you know? And then one day something happened at work, and my sister said when he finally came home, he was different. He pretty much started drinking that day and didn’t stop until they were divorced.”
“Jesus. Has he said what happened?”
Anthony shook his head. “I guess it’s all kinds of classified. He was a drone pilot, so—”
“Oh. Right. You said that.” I grimaced. “Yeah. I’ve known a few of those. That job is not for the faint of heart.”
“Or weak of liver, apparently,” Anthony muttered.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I halted, and when he did too, I faced him. “Does it really bother you if I drink?”
“No,” he said quickly. Not quite defensively, but almost. “No, I . . . I’m fine with it. I just get nervous when people start drinking to excess.”
“Fair enough. What qualifies as ‘to excess’?”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I guess it’s like . . . I know it when I see it? When someone obviously can’t handle their alcohol or . . .” His jaw tightened.
“Or what?”
Anthony exhaled. “Or when they can’t live without it. Like my ex-brother-in-law. He was out of control with it, and couldn’t live without it.”
“Ouch. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It . . . is what it is, I guess.”
I packed that note away in the back of my mind. He’d insisted he was okay with my drinking—sort of—but apparently he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Fine. My parents weren’t either, so I always made a point of either heavily moderating my intake around them, or avoiding it altogether. I could do that around Anthony. Hell, I only saw him for a few days at a time. If I couldn’t go three whole days without more than one drink with dinner, then I really did have a problem. But I didn’t have a problem, and I absolutely could go dry for a few days.
He cleared his throat, hands still in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
“No, you’re fine. Honestly, if you prefer I don’t drink—”
“You can drink.” He shrugged tightly. “Just . . . I mean . . . I’d rather you didn’t drink like you did in those ports, I guess?”
“I’m not on cruise.” I smiled. “That’s a completely different world.”
Uncertainty creased his brow.
It took all I had not to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Straight guys could do that. I didn’t dare.
“Listen, I’m serious.” I looked right in his eyes. “If you’d prefer I didn’t when we’re together, then I won’t. I know not everyone is big into drinking or being around people who do, especially after they’ve watched someone self-destruct like your ex-brother-in-law did. It’s fine. Really.”
He pressed his lips together, then sighed. “I’d . . . Okay, yeah. I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather not be around anyone who does. I’m touchy about it after him, I guess.”
“I don’t blame you. Sounds like he had a serious problem.”
Anthony winced and nodded subtly. “Yeah. Big time.”
“Then I won’t. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
He lifted his head and searched my eyes. “You really don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
His features stayed taut for a moment before they slowly softened, and his usual smile returned. “Okay. I mean, it’s fine sometimes, you know? Just not all the time.”
“Okay. Not all the time.” I smiled back. “No sweat.”
He exhaled. We locked eyes for a moment, and I didn’t know what to say, so I checked my watch.
“We should get going.” I motioned toward the theater that was still half a block away. “They’ll start seating soon.”
“It’s your last night in town.” Late Sunday night, Anthony dragged me down on top of his naked body. “And you’re going to feel me the whole way home tomorrow.”
“Likewise,” I murmured before claiming a deep, hard kiss. Damn I was glad I’d decided to take an extra day so I could spend one more night with him.
I fucking loved when he was this rough and needy. It gave me the same thrill as when he was on top and pinning me to the mattress—he might’ve been on his back and under me, but he was absolutely not giving up control. Kissing me breathlessly, he made clumsy but surprisingly effective progress at getting my jeans and boxers over my thighs. Between us, those were the only clothes that hadn’t found their way onto the floor, and it w
ould’ve been easier to take them off while we’d still been standing beside the bed, but who was I to object to a man who wanted me on top of him?
“Fuck me,” he breathed in my ear. “Hard.”
“Do I ever fuck you any other way?”
“No, you don’t.” He nipped my earlobe. “Why do you think I always want more?”
I moaned and shuddered. He was so effortlessly dirty, and it was a wonder I ever lasted when I was in bed with him. “Didn’t you say something about tying me down and riding my cock?”
“Uh-huh,” he whimpered. “But now I like the idea of being pinned down and fucked.”
“Jesus.”
He always changed his mind about positions, but I seriously couldn’t complain. The end result was—without fail—ridiculously hot sex followed by earth-shaking orgasms. I didn’t care if he suddenly decided we should wear costumes and dangle upside down, as long as one of us was getting fucked and he made me come like that again.
“Stay right there.” I lifted myself up. “I want you just like this.”
He stayed, but he squirmed, and was that ever a beautiful sight. His fair skin had a few welts and bruises—mine probably had quite a few too—and looking at them made my cock that much harder. I’d left every one of those marks, and he’d all but begged for more. I didn’t see it as marking my territory or anything. No, it was more like seeing physical evidence of how badly I needed him whenever I had him.
Like right now. When he was lying there waiting for me, ready to be fucked even after he had to be tender from all the sex we’d had this weekend. God knew I was.
I tore a condom off the strip, and opened the wrapper on the second try. I swore every time I slept with Anthony, condoms got way more complicated to put on. Another two or three visits, and I’d be useless at working the stupid things.
But at least for tonight, I handled it, and it was on, and Anthony was covering the thin rubber in a generous amount of lube.
“That’s enough,” I panted. “Back. Get on . . . get on your back.”
He didn’t miss a beat, and lay back with his legs apart. Fuck yes.