Cam clicked on the starred email again for what must have been the one hundred and eighteenth time since he’d received it a month ago. It was from Teresa, written formally in the vein of an official email from the UN, approving his request to be transferred to UNHCR’s New York Liaison Office.
He remembered his conversation with Teresa months ago when he first brought up the idea of leaving the field. The Skype connection had been patchy, and she’d made him repeat himself to make sure she’d heard correctly. As if he hadn’t almost choked on the words the first time.
“But that job is in New York,” had been Teresa’s response.
“I know.” Cam had hesitated with his next words. “That’s why I want it.”
“But you’re a field guy.”
That was the same reaction he’d gotten from most of his staff. The only person who had been excited about his decision to leave the field had been Patsy. She’d pulled him into a long, uncomfortable hug and said, “Good for you.” She hadn’t let go until he’d finally relented and hugged her back.
Two weeks until his contract at Dadaab ended, and he was already scheduled on a UN-personnel-only flight out to Nairobi for an in-country debrief. That should take a couple of days, then to New York via London. Then he’d be home.
Cam didn’t remember feeling this terrified when he was twenty-three and waiting for his first overseas posting. Now, the thought of going home made his stomach churn, but the thought of staying out here wasn’t much better. He was fucked either way.
“Hey, boss.” Patsy poked her head into Cam’s office, and he quickly closed the email.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Those CBN guys are leaving tomorrow; thought you might like to say goodbye.”
Cam didn’t like Patsy’s mischievous expression as she kicked the door shut and dropped into a chair. “Why would you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she teased him. “Perhaps a smoking-hot journalist had caught your eye.”
Cam’s gaze shot to his closed door, and he listened for the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
“Oh, come on. There’s no one out there,” Patsy said dismissively.
Cam lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You don’t know that.”
“What I do know is that man is hot as hell, and I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
Cam cringed and buried his face in his hands. Shit, if Patsy had noticed, who else had also noticed?
“Cam, it’s fine!” Patsy leaned across the desk and pulled his hand away from his face. “You’re allowed to be yourself.”
He leveled his sternest gaze at her. “Not that part of myself. Not here. If I’m outted, I’m not the only one who bears the consequences. Other people could get hurt too.”
Patsy’s sigh was more of a huff. “Well, I’m not saying you should have sex in the middle of camp. What’s the harm in chatting with the guy?”
Cam knew she would never fully understand, but he also knew she was only looking out for him.
“Besides,” Patsy continued. “You should at least come hang out with us. You don’t have too many of these nights left, you know.”
A fresh layer of guilt piled onto his already heavy burden. His staff was capable; they knew what they were doing. So why did he feel like he was hanging them all out to dry?
Cam swallowed the mix of fear and shame, and nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Sure thing, boss.” She let herself out.
Cam started packing up his laptop. His staff were more than simply his staff; they were family, and they’d been through a lot of shit together. Patsy was right: he should go and spend what little time he had left with them.
Loud voices and laughter drifted down the hall as he approached. More guilt hit him as he stood in the doorway and watched his people unwind from a long day of work.
Cam’s eyes drifted to a certain tall Asian with the perfect hair and easy grin. One of his female staff leaned in a little too close and giggled at his oozing charm, and something sour and sharp spiked in Cam’s belly. He tried to ignore his reaction, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Tyler Ang laughed readily at a joke, or stared intently into the eyes of someone speaking to him, as if that person were the only person alive on the planet.
Cam almost backed out of the room, suddenly in no mood to share his people with this outsider.
Robinson caught sight of Cam. “Boss! You made it!”
Too late.
He went inside, dropped his backpack on a couch that was probably older than he was, and accepted the lukewarm beer that was handed to him.
“Eh, boss, how much longer you with us?” Robinson asked.
“Two weeks and counting.”
“Ay, you’re going to miss it here, aren’t you?” Robinson gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder, but coming from someone who was six feet four inches of muscle, it didn’t feel friendly when it landed.
Cam rubbed his bruised shoulder. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know.” And that was the truth; he’d miss the people, that was for certain, but would he miss the long, dirty grind? Probably not.
The hairs on the back of Cam’s neck stood up, as if someone was staring at him. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Tyler Ang was the culprit.
Yes, after a full week of the posh journalist running around his camp, he still thought of the man on a first-and-last-name basis. It kept him at a distance and staved off the hope that Cam could ever have a chance with him. Aside from that early-morning run they had shared, Cam had managed to avoid the other man altogether. Now, he only had to get through one more night, and then he’d be free.
“Hey, Donnelly.” Tyler Ang’s voice always came as an unwanted yet pleasant shock, resonating so much lower than he could brace himself for. “I wanted to thank you and your team for hosting us this week. I think we got some really interesting stories. The health clinic break-in will definitely get decent airtime.”
Cam nodded. “No problem.” He hid the slight crack in his voice with a quick gulp of his beer. Where the hell had Robinson disappeared off to?
“You’ve got a great team here.”
Cam nodded again and took another gulp of his beer. The beer at camp was little more than flavored water, barely strong enough to give the slightest hint of a buzz, never mind getting drunk off it.
“I heard you’re leaving soon.”
“Yeah, in two weeks.” Cam was almost done with his beer and debated whether he should grab another or go back to his cabin for something stronger.
“You’re going to be missed, you know. They can’t stop talking about what a loss your leaving is going to be.”
Cam’s throat closed with yet more guilt. They would be fine, he reminded himself; he wasn’t irreplaceable by any means.
Cam stared at the bottle in his hand, but he could feel Tyler Ang’s gaze heavy on him, demanding his attention. When he finally succumbed and raised his head, their eyes locked in terrifying clarity. Light-brown eyes, almost bordering on hazel with a slightly golden hue. Those eyes were observant, intelligent, probing. If Cam wasn’t careful, those eyes would see right through his mask, meticulously crafted by many years of fending off the most inquisitive of people. And yet, not having to wear that mask anymore was exactly the reason why Cam was leaving the field.
“You’re allowed to be yourself,” Patsy had said. And he only had two weeks left.
“Do you want something stronger than beer?” The words were out of Cam’s mouth before he had the forethought to stop them.
Dark, thick eyebrows rose, and the full mouth curved into the same easy grin that the girls had been giggling over. Apparently, that grin didn’t only work on horny young female aid workers; it also worked on horny old gay aid workers.
“What do you have in mind?” His voice rumbled low, awakening parts of Cam that had been repressed for a long time.
He didn’t trust himself to speak. Shit, he shouldn’t trust any part of himself at this point. But that didn’t stop him from nodding toward the door, grabbing his backpack, and leading the way outside.
Though the sun had set several hours ago, residual heat still lingered in the air as Cam headed toward his cabin with Tyler Ang in tow. Bringing someone back to his cabin—a man, no less—ran counter to the central principle that had protected him in the field for the past ten years.
Just drinks, Cam told himself. Nothing had to happen. Like Patsy had said, it couldn’t hurt to chat with the guy.
As Cam held the door open, his heart raced at the knowing look he received from golden-brown eyes under strong eyebrows. Cam’s mouth went dry, and he ground his teeth together against the heat that tickled his skin.
“Nice place.”
Cam lit the kerosene lamps, slowly turning up the flames until they threw flickering light against the walls of his cabin. His bed was little more than a cot, and the only other pieces of furniture were a small table and two chairs, one of which served as his nightstand. He removed the books and the bottle of water from the chair by his bed and brought it over to its partner, then went to his closet to dig out the bottle of whiskey he kept stashed there.
“I hope neat is okay with you.” Cam poured the amber liquid into two plastic cups stolen from the staff kitchen.
“Sure. I imagine ice cubes are in short supply around here.”
Cam grunted as they settled at the table. Tyler Ang’s tall frame sat slightly slouched in his chair, and his long legs crossed at the knee. With one arm thrown lazily across his lap and the other holding his cup on the table, he exuded an easy confidence that was both enticing and irritating.
He studied Cam. Cam studied the liquor he swirled in his cup.
“Thanks for the whiskey,” Tyler Ang said, and Cam nodded his acknowledgment. “We should toast.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, holding up his cup.
Again those eyes, watching him, seeing him. Cam swallowed around the lump in his throat. “To what?”
Tyler Ang’s eyes narrowed as if in thought. “To your many years of service and the sacrifices you made. And to a new future.”
Cam’s heart thudded so loudly, he was sure it could be heard from across the table. A new future. There was no way this self-assured man could know how much the idea of a new future scared the living fuck out of Cam. This had been his life for the past ten years, and there was still so much work left to do. How was he supposed to leave it all behind?
Cam raised his cup and bumped it against Tyler Ang’s in a dull clunk. Downing its contents, he stood abruptly. “I need a smoke.” His hands shook as he stepped outside.
He lit a cigarette and let the acrid smoke fill his lungs as the nicotine worked its way into his blood stream. The red-orange tip of the cigarette glowed in the inky black of night.
“Seems like everyone smokes around here.” Tyler Ang followed him outside and leaned against the doorjamb a few feet away.
“It’s mostly the expats. It’s how we up our field cred.” Cam stared at the burning end of his cigarette.
“By smoking?”
“The more someone smokes, the crazier the shit they’ve been through. The chain smokers have the most field cred.”
“So, are you a chain smoker?”
Cam eyed him through a cloud of gray wisps. “I can be.”
Tyler Ang pushed away from the doorjamb and came to stand so close that Cam shuffled backward half a step. When he took the cigarette from Cam, Cam tried not to focus on the brush of their fingers.
Without breaking eye contact, Tyler Ang took a nice long drag. The cigarette glowed bright, and the crackling burn punctuated the silence. He exhaled slowly, and the space between them filled with gray tendrils of smoke. Gazing at the cigarette with a lazy grin and half-lidded eyes, he said, “God, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one of these.”
“What? You trying to build your field cred?” Cam surprised himself with the hint of flirtiness in his voice.
Tyler took another short drag, with the long white cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and his lips pursed lightly around the filter. “Maybe. Is it working?”
Cam’s lips parted as his lungs searched for more air. Tyler’s proximity and the thickness of his voice did more to suck the oxygen out of the atmosphere than the smoke that surrounded them. He wanted to kiss those lips and find out if they felt as soft as they looked. He wanted to taste the stinging, bitter mix of whiskey and smoke.
He caught himself right before he swayed into Tyler and those undeniably kissable lips. What the fuck was he doing? About to kiss a man in the open where anyone could catch them? Fear prickled his skin as he cast his gaze in a wide arc around them, pausing in the darkest shadows to search for impressions of figures lurking close by. He didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean no one was there.
Turning sharply, he went inside and braced himself, arms straight, against the back of one of the chairs. He only had to keep his shit together for two more weeks. He had done it for ten years, so why did two weeks feel so impossible?
He needed to remember: his actions had consequences, not only for himself, but for the people he was here to serve. Eyes were always watching, always judging—the smallest slipup could mean life or death in societies where being gay was not allowed.
Cam jumped at Tyler’s hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, are you okay?”
No, he was not fucking okay.
He grabbed the whiskey and poured himself a generous shot. He tossed it back and poured another; it would probably be easier to drink from the bottle.
“Whoa.” Tyler took the bottle from him, and Cam resisted the urge to snatch it back. “What’s going on?”
Tyler’s one hand rested on Cam’s shoulder, its heat seeping through Cam’s thin T-shirt and warming his skin. He was right there with his golden-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. All Cam had to do was lean over a few inches, and he could learn the feeling of those lips on his own, those shoulders under his hands. And yet, they felt like miles away.
For ten long years Cam had watched every word he uttered and the way he said them, looked over his shoulder, and questioned every suspicious glance in his direction. He was so goddamn tired of constantly protecting himself. He wanted to be himself, consequences be damned.
And Tyler was a temptation that Cam didn’t have the strength to resist.
The tip of Tyler’s tongue slipped out from between full lips and wetted them as if inviting Cam in for a taste. Tyler’s eyes were heavy lidded, and the hand on his shoulder squeezed. Cam drifted closer, compelled by a desire he no longer wanted to deny.
The first brush of lips against lips was a tantalizing taste that his body yearned to indulge. And yet he hesitated, held in check by years of conditioning. Tyler must have interpreted his pause differently, because he leaned in to kiss Cam again, ruining Cam’s self-control. He kissed Tyler back like a man carried by the crest of a wave, propelled forward by a force not his own. Cam’s fingers found their way into his thick hair, and he leaned into the hardness of Tyler’s body. They stumbled in Cam’s eagerness until Tyler was backed up against the wall.
God, he tasted good: like whiskey and smoke, and the spices from that night’s biryani dinner. Cam slipped his tongue inside Tyler’s mouth, and he groaned when Tyler’s tongue fought back. He’d forgotten how deliciously good it felt to kiss another man, how his body lit up at the nips and licks they exchanged.
Tyler grasped Cam’s ass, squeezing hard and grinding them against each other. The realization of how much he’d missed this—needed this—sent deep shudders tearing through him. He couldn’t stop shaking.
Cam tore himself away from Tyler’s delectable mouth, struggling for some semblance of control, only to have Tyler kiss and lick at his neck, nibble at his earlobe. Cam let his head fall back, his fight for control no match for the wave of passion carrying him forward.
Tyler pulled Cam back into a tonsil-deep kiss, and the hand that had been clutching his ass drifted around to the front. When the heel of Tyler’s hand pressed against his throbbing dick, Cam let out a cry and jerked. He clung to Tyler, fingers digging into the sloping muscles of his arms.
Then, with a deftness that escaped Cam’s befuddled mind, Tyler unbuttoned and unzipped Cam’s pants and pulled his boxers low enough for his hard, leaking cock to spring out. Cam almost died when Tyler wrapped long, hot fingers around his dick. The foreignness of another man’s touch was so much more stimulating than his own.
He moaned and shook, surrendering to Tyler and to the part of himself that he had repressed to work in the field. It didn’t take long, one tug and then two. A twist of Tyler’s hand across the head of Cam’s cock, and a swipe of his thumb against the leaking slit. And then Cam was coming, his body tensing as he unloaded all over Tyler’s hand.
Shame and embarrassment followed close on the heels of the euphoria of his orgasm, chasing him as he retreated into his familiar dark corner. He pushed himself away from Tyler, and pulled up his pants as he stumbled against a chair. He couldn’t look Tyler in the eye. He didn’t want to know what the other man thought of being jumped by a scrawny, unkempt aid worker, or what he thought about Cam’s sudden ejaculation.
He wanted it all to go away—the impossible demands of aid work, the years of self-denial, Tyler and his all-seeing eyes. He wanted to hide in the distant safety of the darkness.
“You should go.” Cam’s throat was raw.
“Wait, what?” Tyler’s sounded raw too.
“You should go.” Cam repeated a little more forcefully, backing as far away from Tyler as the small cabin would allow.
“You’re kidding, right? You can’t tell me to leave after something like that.” Tyler held up his hand. “I’ve still got your jizz all over me.”
Cam grabbed a stray T-shirt from where it lay on his bed and tossed it at Tyler. He leaned against the wall, eyes shut tight as a complex mix of hormones and emotions coursed through his veins.
Tyler wiped up his hand and dropped the soiled T-shirt on the table. “What’s going on here? You—”
Cam held up a hand, palm out, ignoring the way it trembled. “Please, just leave.”
“Seriously?”
“Just. Leave.”
Tyler scoffed. “Fine. Good luck with your future.” He spat the words out like a curse.
When the door slammed shut, Cam collapsed into a heap on the chair, elbows braced on the table, head held in his hands. He sank into his darkness, a blanket of safety protecting him against the world. He reached blindly for the whiskey, and instead his hand landed on the soft fabric of the soiled T-shirt. Cam couldn’t snatch his hand back fast enough, his eyes flying open at the abrupt reminder of what he had done. His brain suddenly registered the smell of his semen and the lingering scent of arousal, pungent in the enclosed space of his cabin. Pushing away from the table, he barely made it outside in time for his stomach to force his dinner up his throat and onto the dusty Kenyan earth.