Chapter Three

 

I lived in Texas. That fact keeps rattling around my battered brainpan as I sit in the passenger seat beside Carter and watch him white-knuckle his steering wheel.

I had fast, forbidden and sadly unsatisfying sex with a closet case—in Texas—and I’d never been harassed or beaten by any gay-bashing stereotypes before.

It happened here. In a liberal city, at a gay friendly bar, with a man I’d let pick me up at my home. The unexpected nature of the attack somehow makes it worse.

Growing up with Rick and Matilda—foster parents who’d given me nothing but total acceptance since I was four—I’d thankfully missed the prayerful reprogramming, physical bullying and verbal abuse that too many people I know had to suffer through when they came out to their friends and family.

Matilda had taken me out for new sneakers and a haircut, handing me a giant bag of chocolate kisses that I’d munched on throughout the day until my stomach ached. She said her mother had done the same when she’d gotten her period, and it was the only rite of passage she knew. Over dinner, Rick took his turn at being supportive in his own unique way, listing off every important figure in history that also happened to be gay. Then he quizzed my brothers and me to make sure we’d been paying attention.

I was lucky.

I’m still lucky.

Logically, I know they didn’t attack me because of my sexuality. That was all about me getting between a victim and her abuser. The fact that I was gay just conveniently allowed them to trick me into a date in order to get me somewhere alone for our chat. It didn’t make what happened any less disturbing.

“Fag.” Punch. “Queer.” Punch.

I don’t like the way I’m feeling after that. I’m not talking about the physical discomfort, though I won’t lie. Everything hurts right now. What I hate is that they made me feel vulnerable. Weak.

But the text I got from Toni as we left the police station was much worse.

I’m sorry.

She knew. She somehow knew what happened, what they’d done, and all she had to say was sorry?

Tomorrow I’d try to be more understanding. I’d remember all the psychology classes I’d taken and realize she probably didn’t believe she had a choice. She’d spent years being someone else’s punching bag, and he’d convinced her that was all she was. All she was allowed to be.

But tonight a woman I’d still been defending as I filled out a report on my two attackers left me to be beaten in the parking lot of a bar. One text can’t make up for that.

“I should take you to the hospital.”

I glance over at my scowling savior. “I’m not doing the suffering in silence thing,” I promise, even though I kind of am. “That one cop with EMT training felt me up. He says, and I’m quoting here, that I’m damn lucky. He also swears nothing is broken, I’m probably not bleeding internally and I’ll most likely feel better tomorrow. I’d rather not spend hours in the ER waiting for them to tell me the same thing with a higher price tag.”

“A cop felt you up?”

That was all he got from that? I would laugh if I weren’t worried I’d dislodge a rib. “He had a hairy mole on his cheek,” I tell him with mock-solemnity. “I was too distracted by it to resist.”

A vein in his temple throbs, so I don’t think I made him feel any better.

All I want to do is cuddle up to a few dozen icepacks and go to bed. But there’s no way I’m going back to my apartment tonight, and I should probably tell him before we go too far out of his way. “Could you drop me off at the Hyatt around the corner? Just turn left at the next stopli—”

“No.”

“No?” I repeat dumbly. “Why not? Don’t tell me it got a bad Yelp review.”

He glances over at me, gaze narrowed. “Because of your neighbor? Is that why you’re not going home?”

So he’d been listening when I gave my statement. “You could say that.”

You could also say that I’m not emotionally ready to face the aftermath of misplaced trust. That I don’t have the energy or strength to defend myself if she isn’t alone and push comes to more shoving. But “because of my neighbor” is less wordy, so we’ll stick with that.

Room service also sounds like a plan worth sticking to. Pay-per-view, ice machines and those decorative soaps that are too small to do any good if hygiene is an actual concern. I’m sure that’s all the medicine I need. A little chicken soup for the spoiled man’s soul and I’ll be able to face the repercussions of my life choices in the morning.

Pausing at the light, Carter blows out a forceful breath and then yanks on the wheel, doing a U-turn on the abandoned street. “You’re coming home with me. You can sleep in my guest room.”

“What?” I reached up to gingerly cup my jaw after jerking it in his direction. “Ow. No I’m not. I mean, thank you. For everything. I don’t know many strangers that would spend the whole night looking after a guy who let two idiots get the drop on him. You don’t need to do any more.”

“I let them get away.”

“You saved my ass, Carter. I heard what you said to the cops. When I collapsed, you let go of Tweedledumbass to check on me and they both bolted. But the end result is all that matters. I’m still standing. You’re still standing. The heroes win and truth and justice prevail.”

He lifts one shoulder to shrug off my words. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was talking to Wyatt and I let you…” He trailed off, expression grim with self-recrimination. “I didn’t realize you were standing out front alone until Fiona told me.”

My chuckle comes out sounding more like a ragged hiss. “It hasn’t been anyone else’s job to take care of me for years. But don’t worry, this is not something I plan to let happen again. Defense classes are in my future. Maybe Kung Fu. I’ll find someone to call me grasshopper and start wandering the West promoting peace with my mad skills. I’m not shaving my head though. Wyatt said he likes my hair.”

He’s fighting a smile. I can tell. “As we prize peace and quiet above victory, there is a simple and preferred method. Run away.”

If my jaw weren’t swollen it would drop to my knees. “Holy shit, Carter. Did you just quote Kung Fu to me?” Did a drill instructor, a Marine, just quote a fictional Shaolin monk from a seventies television show?

Now is not the time for me to get turned on. That’s not sexy. That’s not sexy.

That is so fucking sexy.

And that thought right there is why I shouldn’t be going home with him. Not for a reason like this, anyway. An injured, helpless, not sexually motivated reason. I need to think of something else, but the options are dwindling with every mile. “I could call Fiona.”

She wouldn’t say no. But we haven’t been the kind of friends that ask for more than notes from class and a sympathetic ear now and then. Thinking about it now, I don’t really have any, “let me stay at your place while I recover from a beating” sort of buddies. Especially since Toni is no longer an option. Just study groups, work friends and online fan forums.

I should fix that.

My new friendship goals don’t help me tonight, and the idea of Carter taking me to his place has me feeling guilty, embarrassed and yes, pathetically turned on. I’m sore, not dead.

“Fiona must be asleep by now. I’m not and I have the room.”

He’s acting like this isn’t a big deal, but going home with someone I met in a bar isn’t my usual MO. It’s not that I don’t think I’d be safe with him. A career Marine. A friend of the sainted Brady.

The man I’ve wanted to do filthy things to all night.

But I usually deal with my problems on my own. I like taking care of myself. I always have.

So stop being a wuss and go home.

I can’t. Not tonight.

“It’s late, Green,” Carter continues. “You and I know what the best move is here. You’ll stay with me and we’ll both get some sleep.”

He sounds tired, and I feel guilty. He did save me. It would be rude to say no.

Don’t do it. Don’t use that lame, “it would be rude” excuse.

I lean my head back and let my shoulders relax as I ignore my doubts and give in to the inevitable. I might as well, since he doesn’t seem to be willing to look at other options and I’m in no shape to argue. “I appreciate the offer.”

His sigh sounds relieved. “Thank you.”

I only wanted to shut my eyes for a few seconds, but when I open them again we’re already pulling into a driveway. His driveway. And the two-story house at the end of it looks like it belongs to a family of five. “This is your place?”

Well damn. Am I about to meet the wife of Zeus? That would be the only thing that could make this night complete. A jealous Hera punishing me for daring to think about her husband’s ass.

He turns off the ignition with a nod. “I’m renting it from Tanaka. He has a few houses in the neighborhood and this one was sitting empty. Too much space for only me, but I’m grateful. It’s going to take a while to get used to the quiet.”

I think about my busy apartment complex and the dorm before that, not to mention my crowded house growing up. I get where he’s coming from.

Carter has been in the military for most of his life. That’s not an environment conducive to elbowroom. After living like that for so long, you either crave silence, or you need noise and distraction and can’t sleep without the lights and the television on.

Helpful hint: choose your channel wisely. Dreams can get weird if you fall asleep during a Sharknado marathon.

“This is a lot of space for one guy. I don’t feel as bad about borrowing your guest room now.”

“You shouldn’t.” He gets out, coming around swiftly to open my door and help me to my feet. “Most of the second floor is a gym, but there’s one bedroom with a full bath up there, plus two guest rooms downstairs, so you can take your pick once we get you cleaned up.”

Did he say we? “I don’t know if I care about a shower as much as I do an available pillow.”

Not entirely true, because a large part of me needs to wash this experience away. But the louder voice is begging to be knocked unconscious for a while. To stop the wheels from spinning in my brain, worrying about things and people I can’t save or change.

Carter puts a sturdy arm around my waist and guides me up the walk, using his key and opening the front door with his free hand. “I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t make sure you were clean and fed and I at least checked your injuries. It won’t take long.”

I feel small beside him, though he only tops me by two inches. I think it’s more about what he exudes. Strong. Steady. Safe. I’m reacting to it, even though I know I shouldn’t be.

When I said I could take care of myself I meant it. I’ve been slapping on Band-Aids and cooking my own frozen dinners since I was old enough to reach the microwave.

Matilda was a first class cheerleader for personal freedom and a lioness if the cause was just, but if she’d ever stepped foot in the kitchen it was after I left for college. She was too busy working as a civil rights attorney and saving the world. She didn’t have time to stop and bake us cookies.

I could use the lioness right about now. And a cookie.

I take in as much as it can with my one good eye. Large foyer. Open kitchen and living room design, both of them individually bigger than my apartment. Both basically absent any decoration. Understandable, since he just moved in. Carter turns right down a hall and walks me through a bedroom. This must be his.

Jesus, that bed is enormous, I think, as he leads me to the master bath. Orgy-enormous. Harem-enormous. Does he have a harem hiding somewhere nearby?

“This place came furnished, but my room has the best shower,” he mutters out an explanation, making me wonder if I was thinking out loud again. “And the towels and first aid kit are here.”

He places a thick blue towel by the sink. “If you think you can clean up on your own, I’ll leave you to it while I scrounge up something to eat.”

And if I couldn’t he would what? Strip and join me? Rub soap all over my body with his bare hands to make sure I’m nice and clean? The possibilities are endless and tantalizing.

I poke my swollen eye to remind myself that now is not the time. “I’ll manage, thanks.”

He strides away before I can argue, shutting the door behind him.

I look in the mirror and wince. “Shitballs.”

Shit is what I look like. My hair—usually styled in thick waves that nearly reach my shoulders—is a nest. The light brown is dark with sweat and dirt.

It was an alley. You hope its dirt.

One sleeve of my flannel is torn at the shoulder and a few buttons are missing, but right now I’m more concerned about my face. I’ve never had a shiner before. Another first. My laugh becomes a moan as I cup my cheek. My jaw hurts and the inside of my cheek is cut, which must be where the blood came from. There’s also some bruising around my neck, but that’s it. It could have been so much worse.

I turn on the shower, strip and step beneath the spray, hissing when the water hits my side. There’s some bruising there too, and I feel like I was kicked by a mule.

Or a jackass.

“I hope your balls fall off, Billy Ray,” I growl and reach for the liquid soap on the shower caddy. Luckily, I remembered his name was actually Brent by the time we reached the station. Billy and the Asshole, aka Brent and Eddie, should be getting a visit from the men in blue by morning. So will Toni, if she’s still at her apartment.

I wash slowly, unable to stop myself from recalling what she said the last time I saw her.

“Maybe you should call for a ride. My treat.”

I laughed as she hovered in the doorway. “What’s wrong with him? Can’t he drive?”

I stopped rolling up the sleeves of my flannel and let my eyes go abnormally wide. “Is he old enough to drive, Toni? Did you set me up with a high school freshman again?”

She shook her head with a small smile at my teasing. “He was eighteen and you know it.”

“So you say,” I teased. “At least he had a driver’s license. I know, because no decent pizza place would hire a delivery boy who didn’t.”

She rubbed her temple and I noticed the shadows under her eyes. “Are you sick, T? I can stay home. I know you arranged this, but we can always reschedule.”

“Stop trying to take care of me,” she said, almost angrily before pushing her hair back and taking a calming breath. “You’re constantly helping other people, people you don’t even know, and you never think about yourself. You need someone special in your life as much as your readers do. Someone to take care of you for a change.”

“Well, maybe this guy is the one.”

“He’s not.” She shakes her head, a moment of panic flaring in her eyes. “This guy is a few hours and an article at most, and if anything about him bothers you, I want you to promise me you’ll come right home.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good. But once he’s out of the way, you should find someone. A serious someone. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Don’t worry about me, T.” I shrug and flex my biceps playfully. “Even if I’m alone with my hand for another decade, I’ll survive. My shelf life is eternal. Like a Twinkie.”

She didn’t laugh. “I want you to be happy, JD. One of us deserves to be.”

I get a face full of water and shampoo as I shake my head. “Damn it, Toni.”

She’d been doing so well. She was saving her money and daydreaming about an island vacation, her too-skinny frame was finally filling out to form healthy curves. I thought she was moving on.  

I should have seen it.

I’ve always had a talent for reading people and situations, discovering what’s going on beneath the surface. When I was younger I used it to entertain classmates and make teachers uncomfortable. It didn’t win me a huge assortment of close friends though. Mainly because I couldn’t stop doing it. Watching. Observing. Combine that with my lack of filter and you’ve got a weird, socially dysfunctional child that makes people uncomfortable. Matilda told me I’d either be an investigative reporter or an FBI profiler. She was hoping for the former, since she didn’t want me working for “the man”.

But maybe I’m slipping. I didn’t see the trap they laid for me tonight. I didn’t see Toni’s setback, and it must have been coming for weeks. Now I’m naked and bruised in the shower of a man whose intentions are unclear or, at the very least, confusing. Why am I having such a hard time reading him?

I can see the basics. White knight syndrome isn’t unusual with first responders and the military. And he’s lonely. He’s left everything he’s ever known behind for something new. Which for me is normal, but for a guy like him? I get it. It’s a big change.

What I can’t wrap my head around is the way he’s treating me. The way he was treating me all night, even before I got my ass kicked. The looks, the touches, the overly attentive behavior. It’s more than kind. It’s protective. Almost possessive.

You’re seeing what you want to see, Green.

That’s what I’m most afraid of. My reaction to him could be clouding my judgment, making me see a connection that isn’t there. Objectively, we don’t have much in common. He’s bossy. Older. Intense. Probably irritatingly punctual.

Even if he is gay or bi, he might not want anything to do with me sexually. For all I know, he could look at me and see a child. A young recruit that got into a fight because he mouthed off and now has to be reprimanded. To take his punishment from the hot, older drill instructor by stripping and bending over the—

Not going there tonight.

A wave of exhaustion and dizziness swamps me and I turn off the tap. Definitely not going there. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.

“Damn,” I swear softly and hobble out of the shower, wrapping the towel around my waist before leaning against the cool counter.

“JD?” the words come with a knock and the door opens before I can respond. “I brought you food and something for the pain.”

It would be easier to fight this attraction if he’d quit being so nice. “Thanks, but anything stronger than aspirin and I’ll have to pass. Trust me, you don’t want to see me on pain killers.”

His eyebrows go up. “They don’t knock you out?”

“There are nurses in a certain Seattle hospital that wish they did.”

He covers his smile by scratching his beard and I’m struck again by how attractive he is. Too attractive. There is such a thing, and he’s a prime example of the breed. I know my limits, and he is too much for me to handle.

I’d still love to give it a try.

“Good thing I brought whiskey,” he says easily, stepping closer and eyeing my naked torso with concern.

It makes me self-conscious. “Do I look that bad?”

Dark eyes flash with something that disappears too fast for me to identify. “The bruises look painful. Are you sure you don’t want to get them checked out?”

“I’m tougher than I look.” Truer words. “At least I can still move all my fingers and toes. And I feel better now that I’m clean. Great water pressure, by the way.”

Great water pressure?

A grunt is the only acknowledgment I get as he bends down beside me to rifle through the cabinets beneath the sink. His head is too close to my—towel. And what’s under it. I need to think of something else before he gets a show he might not appreciate.

“After tonight I’d say security is the right choice for your second career.” I look toward the door so I won’t think about him being on his knees. “I was out of it at the time, but I could tell by the sound of the high-pitched screaming that you were impressive.”

“I barely touched him.” He sounds disgusted. “Man took one look at me and had a fit.”

Who could blame him? “Whatever you did, it worked. All I had up my sleeve was a good tongue lashing, and that only ticked them off.”

“I heard some of it.” I can feel the heat of him against my bare legs. “Ballsy. Stupid, when you’re cornered like that. But still ballsy.”

I shake my head wearily. “Stick with stupid. I don’t know where it came from. I was mad at myself.”

“At yourself? Why? You didn’t attack anyone.”

“Exactly.” I scowl at the memory. “I tried to fight back, but I had no idea what I was doing.”

“It was late. You’d been drinking and you were outnumbered.”

“You managed.”

He pauses at that. “I’ve had years of training.”

“So you’re saying I have to join the military.”

“No. I’m saying I can teach you.”

Those words send my already simmering arousal into the danger zone. Down, boy. “Tempting, but I think it’s obvious I’m not fighter material.”

“Not that obvious, but you don’t need to be a fighter, JD.”

“Then what are you planning to teach me?” I smirk. “Or do you just want the chance to call me grasshopper?”

“You caught me.” Carter’s eyes sparkle as he stands and sets down his supplies. “You could fight, don’t get me wrong. But I can show you how to protect yourself. Escape holds, disarm attackers, things like that.”

“Still not convinced since I’m also not big on crying.” He frowns and I find myself staring at his Adam’s apple so I don’t have to meet his gaze. No one has an attractive Adam’s apple. Was he made in a lab?

“What do you mean?”

“Your friend Brady? You made him cry.” I hold up two fingers. “Twice.”

When he bites his lip I want to lick it better. “I won’t make you cry, Green. I promise.”

I think you will.

His gaze captures mine and I can’t look away. I’ve never been this into anyone. It’s like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, my stomach dropping to the floor while the room spins.

“Easy now.” He catches me before I drop and walks me over to the bed. “I shouldn’t have kept you on your feet this long. Tanaka won’t forgive me if I lose his favorite advice columnist before my first day on the job.”

My body leans against his without my permission. He’s so warm. “I’m tired, Zeus. That’s all.”

“Mildly concussed is more like it,” he says in a rumbling rasp, sitting us both down on the bed. “Maybe more than mild, if you can’t remember my name.”

“I remember everything. That’s what I thought the first time I saw you. That you looked like Zeus.” Big Daddy Zeus.

His rough fingers pinch my chin carefully and turn me toward him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. You?”

“Forty-three. I was joining the Corps the year you were born.”

“At seventeen? Is that allowed?”

“When you want something bad enough, there are ways.”

I can see that about him. I like that about him. “Desert Shield?”

“No brain damage for you.” He seems surprised. “How did you know?”

“My uncle died in the Gulf the year after. I heard bio dad was never the same.”

“Bio dad?”

I wet my dry lips. That’s the last thing I want to talk about tonight. Why did I bring it up? “You mentioned food and whiskey?”

He blinks, his long lashes distracting. “Shit, I did. Sorry about that. You really do need to eat something.” He reaches for the food on the bedside table. “Take it slow now. Eat first, then you can have the whiskey while I see if anything needs patching up.”

Carter holds the plate for me while I grab the most perfectly cut sandwich I’ve ever seen in real life. I’m not exaggerating. This doesn’t look like he slapped something together for an injured stranger. It looks like one of those beautiful but poisonously glued together commercial sandwiches that are meant to make you crave one certain processed meat above the others.

I bet I wouldn’t find a single wrinkle on his sheets either. It’s a good thing he hasn’t seen my bed. No matter what I do it always ends up looking like it’s been hit by a tornado.

I need to stop thinking about messing up his sheets.

It isn’t until I swallow my first bite—and get over my self-pity about how painful it is to eat with a recently punched jaw—that I focus on my taste buds. “Wow.”

“All I had in the fridge was leftovers. I should have thought of that on the way home. I hope it’s okay.”

“Are you apologizing? This is your version of leftovers? It’s exactly what I needed to make everything better.” I chew on the barbecued pork and swallow with a groan. “No joke, this might be the best sandwich I’ve ever had while mildly concussed. And the flavors are so… Did a new restaurant open up around here recently?”

“No. Why?”

He doesn’t know me yet. Doesn’t know about my secret stash or my recipe collection. “I need more of this sauce. I’d love to get the recipe. I don’t think I’ve ever had better, and I’m a barbecue snob.”

His smile is wider than I’ve seen it all night. “Glad you approve. Unfortunately, Gran asked me to take that information to my grave. But I can make some fresh and bottle it up for you to take home.”

Is this real life?

Carter Willis makes barbeque sauce. This glorious, bearded Marine makes my favorite condiment and looks like my favorite wet dream. Oh and he saved me from the asshole brigade and smells like he’d taste delicious.

If I knew for sure he wouldn’t freak and I wouldn’t pass out, I’d get down on my knees to thank him properly. With my mouth. As it is…

“Did we just become best friends?”

His shoulders shake, and I know he got that movie reference. By the time he hands me a shot-worth of whiskey we’re both grinning like idiots.

I think we did. I think we just became best friends.

 

Dear Diary,

I want a dirty one-night stand with my best friend, Zeus.