It was a wonder I could function. I’d met Mark over a week ago and wound up in his bed almost every night after work. Neither of us was getting a lot of sleep, but he hadn’t suggested slowing down and I wasn’t bringing it up either.
It helped that I wasn’t at the bar until two or three every morning. The High-&-Tight closed at eleven on weeknights, so I was usually out of there by midnight. Mark sometimes slept for a few hours after he got home from work so he could stay up late enough to see me. I felt kind of guilty about it—if he was half as tired as I was, getting up at six in the morning must’ve been killing him. Whenever he had to be on the boat early and had to get up at five? Jesus.
Thank God he didn’t mind me sticking around after he’d gone to work. The first few mornings, I’d left with him, but a week into it, he’d murmured, “Just lock the door on your way out,” and he’d been gone. Fine by me.
Today was a Monday morning, and after I’d rolled out of Mark’s bed, showered, and poured myself some coffee in his empty kitchen, I texted Dalton.
You busy today?
Never too busy for you, baby. ;)
I laughed. We’d broken up forever ago but still jokingly flirted. Fortunately, his husband didn’t mind.
I’d never been friends with an ex-boyfriend before, but Dalton? He was something else. Maybe because our relationship had never really gone anywhere, so we’d never really had a chance to piss each other off. He was military. I wanted casual sex, and he wasn’t into it. So I’d told him, anyway. Truth was, I’d started falling for him, and fast, and it had spooked me. I’d said I needed to keep it casual, and he hadn’t been interested. We’d just cooled it and stayed friends. Well, aside from that one hookup last New Year’s Eve, which had been fucking hot. It hadn’t made things weird, thank God, and as of very recently, he was happily married to Chris, who he’d been in love with even before we’d started fooling around.
Today, like a lot of days, I went over to his place to hang out until we both had to go to work. As Dalton pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge, he said, “So, Chris and I are having a wedding reception at the end of January.”
“What?” I laughed. “Eloping wasn’t good enough after all?”
“Our parents decided it wasn’t good enough.” He groaned. “I mean, we explained why we did it. They get it—if we wanted to be stationed together when we got our new orders, we needed to get married sooner than later. But then we’re probably going overseas, and suddenly they’re freaking out like we need this giant send-off, and somehow that turned into a wedding reception.” He rolled his eyes. “So, our families are flying in, and we’re . . . going through the motions like we aren’t already married.” He paused, brow pinched. “You, uh, want to come? If you don’t, it’s fine, I—”
“Shut up, pendejo.” I squeezed his arm. “Of course I want to come. When and where?”
“Don’t know yet. We’re still figuring everything out. Sometime at the end of January, that’s all I know.”
I nodded. “Just let me know when you’ve got a date so I can make sure Hank lets me off.”
“I will.” He smiled. “And thanks. It’ll be good to have you there.”
I huffed. “Like there’s any question. After pulling last-second witness duty when you eloped, there better be some fucking cake in my future.”
Dalton laughed and elbowed me. “Okay, fine. I guess you can have some cake.”
I just chuckled. I teased him about owing me for being one of their witnesses when they’d gotten married on three days’ notice, but I’d been honored to do it. And yeah, it had hurt a bit, watching another man slide a ring onto Dalton’s finger.
Standing there, watching him exchange rings and vows with Chris, I’d done some serious thinking about my “no military men” policy. I hadn’t been willing to make an exception for Dalton, and that said a lot. Dalton was a guy I could have fallen hard for. Hard enough that I’d been jealous as fuck when he and Chris had started dating, because I’d known without a doubt I’d missed any chance I’d ever had.
“So what’s going on with you?” he asked. “You still fucking that guy? The one from the club?”
I nodded.
“Yeah?” Dalton grinned. “How are things going with him?”
“They’re . . .” I swallowed. “They’re going really well.”
He inclined his head. “You don’t sound happy about that.”
“I’m, uh . . . nervous about it.”
“Yeah?” Dalton held my gaze. “Why’s that?”
“Besides the fact that he’s a Cardinals fan?”
Dalton snorted. “Yeah. Besides that.”
“He’s military.” I shook my head. “I can’t fucking do that.”
“But you are doing it.”
I shot him a glare.
Dalton put up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’ve been hooking up with him for, what, a week?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Hooking up. We’re just fucking.”
“Uh-huh.” Dalton sighed. “Look, I totally get it. If the Navy had fucked me over as much as it fucked you over, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near it either. But if this guy’s in the Navy and he’s still got you on the hook like this?” He shrugged. “Maybe there’s something there, you know? Even if it’s just sex right now, there’s obviously some chemistry if you keep going back for more.”
Chewing my lip, I stared into my soda. He had a point. “So it probably won’t help if I say we’re going to Flatstick this weekend. Overnight.”
He chuckled and patted my leg. “No. It doesn’t help.” He turned serious. “Like I said, I get why you’re iffy about him. But as much as you’ve already lost because of the Navy, don’t let this guy be another casualty. If you guys really do turn out to be a good match, and you’ve really got a connection with him? Especially if you’re willing to bend your own rule about dating military guys?” Dalton looked me right in the eyes. “Don’t be a fucking idiot about it.”
“In other words, break my rule.”
“Exactly. If he really is your type and he really does push your buttons like you say he does?” He gave my leg a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be stupid.”
Lowering my gaze, I nodded slowly. It actually annoyed the fuck out of me that Mark was my type. That he hit all the right buttons. I hated that the only thing I could find wrong with him was that he was in the Navy. It was a lot harder to say that was a deal breaker when everything else about the man was so close to perfect.
And I remembered all too well what had happened last time I’d bent—but refused to break—my rule. I’d let things go too far emotionally with Dalton, and we’d broken up before we got in over our heads. Except the deep, burning regret I’d had afterward told me I’d already been in over my head, and letting go of him had been a mistake.
I wasn’t pining after Dalton anymore. I was glad he had Chris, and I knew they’d be happy together. Sometimes, though, I caught myself wondering if he was the one who got away. If I’d let something special slip through my fingers.
Maybe Mark was another shot at getting it right.
If I could get past all my own shit with the Navy.
I always looked forward to my one weekend off a month, but never like this. Usually I’d spend it with Dalton—and Chris if he wasn’t at work—or just be lazy. If there was football on, I’d watch it at home.
Tomorrow, I’d be watching the game on Mark’s impressive big-screen.
Tonight, we were going out dancing. I couldn’t even remember the last time someone had wanted to go dancing. When I was in my twenties, yeah. As I crawled through my thirties, the men I’d dated hadn’t really been into that scene. And I could do without it, but some nights, it was just fun to cut loose under some disco lights, especially if I was with someone who liked it too.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like going to clubs to meet guys. My pickup game wasn’t bad, and I’d had some seriously hot hookups in men’s rooms, parking lots, and strangers’ beds, but the thrill of the hunt got old. Sometimes I liked dancing to relax, and it was not relaxing to be concentrating on picking up a guy. I liked going to the club with the same man I’d be going to bed with later. That way I could enjoy the dancing instead of concentrating on getting someone’s attention.
At least we were staying someplace cheap tonight, and Mark hadn’t pushed about why money was so tight. It had been bad enough admitting I lived paycheck to paltry paycheck, but it was less embarrassing than admitting I didn’t technically get a paycheck. Just tips. Those details could come out later if we kept doing this.
Mark volunteered to drive too, and I didn’t argue. My piece-of-shit truck ran most of the time, but whenever I took it more than fifty miles out of town, I’d spend the whole trip back praying it wouldn’t crap out on the side of the road. The only thing I had to worry about this time was if I could add a few gallons of gas to what I’d already budgeted for the weekend.
Fuck it, I decided before we’d even left the Anchor Point city limits. I hadn’t spent too much recently—aside from a couple of indulgent visits to the café—and I hadn’t been out to have a good time in ages. As long as we didn’t do this every weekend I had off, I’d be fine.
The passenger seat of his Lexus was cushy and comfortable, and there was a ton of room to stretch out my legs. Awesome. Especially since there was already a twinge in my knee letting me know I’d be limping tomorrow if I danced tonight. And I was dancing tonight.
On the way out of town, Mark asked, “So you’ve been to the clubs down there?”
I nodded. “I don’t go very often, but yeah.”
“You don’t get tired of it?” He glanced at me. “After you spend hours on end at the High-&-Tight?”
“It’s not really the same scene. And I’m having fun instead of working.”
“True. I’m surprised working there doesn’t make you turn up your nose at clubs, though.” He rested his elbow on the console and his other hand on top of the wheel. “When I worked at Burger King as a kid, I couldn’t go near any fast food chain.”
“Yeah, but clubs don’t smell like fry grease.”
“Fair point.”
I watched him for a moment. “Why can’t I picture you flipping burgers?”
Mark laughed. “I did it for three years. Took me almost ten to be able to eat a burger again.”
I grimaced and shuddered. “No, thanks.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t fun. But I was a teenager, so . . .” He shrugged.
We drove on in silence for a minute or two before I said, “How do you like Anchor Point so far?”
“No complaints so far. Not like I’ve seen very much of it yet. Just the base, the High-&-Tight, and . . . you.” He glanced at me and grinned. “So like I said, no complaints.”
“Hey, you have plenty of time to explore the town between when you get off work and when I do.”
“Uh-huh. Except that’s the time I have to use for menial things like grocery shopping, cleaning the house, and doing laundry.”
I waved a hand. “Those aren’t important.”
“Of course they’re not. Eh, I’ll get out and explore it eventually. I’m probably going to be here a while.”
“Yeah? How long?”
“Don’t know. The boat just moved here, so it’s not going anywhere. Well, besides deploying. It’s not going to a new home port, I mean. And if the upper chain of command gets shuffled around again, the rear admiral will probably blow a gasket. So, I could probably stay here until I retire.”
That piqued my interest even as I tried not to get twitchy over the conversation turning to the military. “When do you think you’ll retire?”
“Oh hell, I have no idea. Three months ago, I was going to retire next year. Now . . .” He shook his head. “I’m still getting my bearings now, so I haven’t really thought about it. But since I just made rank, there’s no point in retiring until I’ve been in long enough to retire at captain’s pay instead of commander’s. And if I stick around three or four years for that, I might as well stick it out for ten and retire at thirty.”
I fought to keep my disappointment from showing. Ten more years? Jesus. “And you might stay in Anchor Point that whole time?”
“Maybe.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t know why I bothered feeling disappointed. The man had just put on captain and uprooted his life to come here. Of course he wasn’t retiring anytime soon. And staying until thirty meant three-quarter retirement pay instead of half. Sounded like a no-brainer to me.
Must be nice to have the opportunity to stay in that long.
I bit back my own bitterness. None of my situation was Mark’s fault. I was happy he’d been successful in the Navy, and he deserved whatever retirement he eventually took.
It was Mark’s turn to break the silence. “So, what’s the plan when we get to Flatstick?”
“Check into the room, right?”
“I mean after that.”
“Probably get dinner or something.” I grinned. “Then we dance, we fuck like bunnies, and we go back to your place so we can watch my Eagles crush your Cardinals.”
He smirked. “Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.” He put his hand on my thigh and ran his thumb along the outer seam of my jeans. “You have a Sunday off, and it’s the Sunday our teams play each other.” He glanced at me. “Kinda sounds like we’re meant to watch that game together.”
I laughed. “Almost like divine intervention.”
“Almost, yeah.” He cut his eyes toward me. “And come Sunday, you and your Eagles are gonna need some divine intervention.”
“Oh, ha ha. Fuck you.”
We exchanged glances, and I elbowed him.
Divine intervention. Pfft. We’d see about that.
We pulled into Flatstick around seven. The row of clubs was at the outer edge of town, but we didn’t head there quite yet. Instead, he drove us closer to the beach, where the tourists usually clustered. I’d made him promise to get someplace cheap, and my gut clenched every time we went near something that might be expensive.
Then he parked in front of what looked like an old house. Victorian, maybe?
Flatstick Bed & Breakfast.
“A B&B?” I asked. I could almost feel my budget going up in smoke.
“Believe it or not,” Mark said as he turned off the engine, “this was the cheapest place in town.” He paused. “Well, aside from the two motels that had multiple TripAdvisor reviews mentioning black mold.”
I grimaced. Okay, I could accept skipping the cheapest places if they had mold problems. “But this isn’t really expensive, is it?”
“No, not at all.” He smiled. “I promise, it isn’t.” He nodded toward the building. “And breakfast is included, so why not?”
I looked up at the big, extravagant house, and my panic slowly receded. “Okay, fair enough.”
He patted my leg. “Come on. Let’s go check in.”
Our room was so cutesy it made my teeth hurt. There was a giant lace doily on the table by the door with a pastel-pink vase full of pastel-pink flowers, which matched the pastel-pink walls, comforter, and picture frames. The sheer pinkness of the place probably scared off any black mold that tried to show up.
Mark put his bag on the bed. “I’m almost afraid to fuck in here.”
I looked at him, eyes wide. “What? Why?”
He smirked. “Kind of feels like screwing in my grandma’s house.”
“What? You’ve never screwed in your grandma’s house?”
Mark shot me a horrified look. “Have you?”
“Not in your grandma’s house, no.”
The longer he stared at me, the harder it was to keep a straight face. When my lip twitched, he rolled his eyes, and we both laughed.
“You’re a dork,” he said.
I just chuckled and dropped my overnight bag beside his on the bed. “Should we get ready to go out?”
Mark checked the time on his phone. “Want to get dinner first?”
“Good idea.”
After a light dinner in town, we came back to the pink palace and started getting ready to go to the club. We didn’t dare shower together or we’d never leave the room, and I wanted to get Mark spun up on the dance floor before we wound up in bed together.
I took a shower, and while he took his, I pulled on a pair of boxers. Before I got dressed, though, I took the black knee brace out of my overnight bag. I scowled at the thing. It wasn’t all that comfortable, but it beat the alternative.
I wasn’t fast enough. Before I’d put my jeans on, Mark stepped out of the bathroom, and his gaze went straight to the black nylon wrapped around my knee. Concern instantly creased his forehead. “Leg bothering you?”
“Not as long as I wear this, no.” I smoothed a Velcro strap into place. “This and some Motrin, and I’ll be good for the night.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was already aching, and it would be throbbing like a bitch by the time we left the club. The brace and the ibuprofen would just keep it bearable.
And then I noticed the question in his eyes. Oh shit.
“It’s just an old injury,” I said quickly. “Standing all the time at work aggravates it. That’s all.”
“You’re still okay going out, though?” He searched my eyes. “If you want to take it easy tonight, we—”
I kissed him and, for good measure, squeezed his ass through the thin towel he was wearing. He whimpered softly against my lips.
“I want to go out,” I purred, “and then we’re going to come back here so I can fuck you.” I nipped his lower lip. “My knee can handle it. Question is—can you?”
Mark shivered hard. “Oh yeah. I can handle it.”
“Mm-hmm. Prove it.”
“Let me finish getting ready,” he murmured against my lips, “and I will.”