6. Alex
CHAPTER 6
ALEX
F riday night’s roll in the hay with Isidoro had been a hot one, but it felt like a distant memory on Monday morning. Every bit of distraction he’d wrung out of me before I’d gone home wasn’t doing me a damn bit of good anymore, and it had nothing to do with him or Lieutenant Commander Marks.
I never spent the night with hookups, and nights like last night were the main reason why. Horrific but familiar nightmares had shaken me out of a restless sleep at least three or four times before my alarm had gone off. Halfway to work, I’d had to pull over and calm myself down, calling on every coping mechanism I had to push away the tentacles of an impending panic attack.
An hour after I’d mustered for work, I’d had to drag out all those coping mechanisms once again, and I could only be grateful no one had been in Radiology right then. Luckily, I’d pulled myself together before any patients had come in, but it had been a close call. I’d even managed to slip away to change out of my sweaty utilities; good thing we all kept extra clothes on site in case someone puked or bled on us.
A few hours later, I was still jittery and off-balance, but I doubted anyone noticed but me. After years of dealing with this bullshit—not to mention fighting to keep it out of anyone’s sight—I was a seasoned veteran (so to speak) at pretending I was fine. And by this point, I was more or less fine. If anything, I felt a little like I was trying to function after a sleepless night and skipping a couple of meals—lightheaded, struggling to concentrate, kind of shaky. PTSD was a constant companion, and I was as used to it as anyone could get, but it wasn’t fun.
I’d be all right, though. Especially once I got home and didn’t have to pretend to be all right anymore.
For now, I had patients.
“If these are actually safe,” the young Sailor said suspiciously, “why do you leave the room every time you turn it on?”
I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Because you’re only getting three images taken. I use it on a couple dozen people per day every day.”
He didn’t look reassured. “But if it’s safe…”
“It’s safe in small doses. The exposure I would get if I stayed in the room for every image I took over weeks and months would definitely be dangerous.” I paused. “You take Motrin, right?”
He snorted. “Good ol’ Vitamin M.” He wasn’t wrong—the military issued Motrin for every goddamned thing from an acute injury to recovery from major surgery. Vitamin M, indeed.
“And you only take what you’re prescribed, right?”
The Sailor nodded.
“Right. But if you took the whole bottle at once, it would be toxic, wouldn’t it?”
He pursed his lips, clearly seeing where I was going with this but not liking that he’d been wrong. “Maybe that means Motrin is toxic, then.”
It took a lot of work to not roll my eyes. Calling on every ounce of professionalism and military bearing I possessed, I blandly said, “Anything is toxic in a high enough dose.” Then I stepped back. “All right, hold still. One more image, and we’re done.”
I went into the next room, and as I pushed the button for the X-ray to do its thing, I finally indulged in that eyeroll. For the millionth time, I was glad this hospital didn’t have an MRI machine. Instead, we sent patients out in town to Spanish hospitals for MRIs, which meant they could deal with the concerned conspiracy theorists worried about radiation (there was none), carcinogenic contrast dye (it wasn’t), and the magnets rearranging DNA strands (they didn’t). Oh, the stories their translators told after some of those appointments…
With the Sailor’s X-rays finished, I took the lead apron from him and sent him on his way. I transmitted the images to his doctor along with my notes, and that was that. Then I headed out into the waiting area to see if anyone was waiting.
There was, and I did not expect the person in question to be Lieutenant Commander Marks.
Fuck. Because I wasn’t already wildly off-balance.
“Oh. Uh…” I stammered, then remembered myself. “Good morning, sir.” Sometimes I hated the formality of rank, but it did keep some distance between us that I desperately needed right now.
“Good morning, HM1.” He held my gaze, but then flicked his eyes away. “I, uh… I wanted to ask about something.” He gulped. “Related to our last conversation.”
Aww, fuck. So much for professional distance.
And did we have to do this now? While I was still reeling from last night and this morning’s fuckery?
Apparently so.
I cleared my throat and gestured for my office. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s, um… Let’s sit in there.” It was more cramped than the waiting area, but offered a modicum of privacy.
With the door shut, we settled in. Though I was far too restless to sit, I needed the desk as a buffer and to hide my shaking legs, so I took a seat behind it. Marks took the guest chair, and he looked about as nervous as I felt.
“Okay.” I folded my hands on the desk to keep them still. “What do you need, sir?”
“I, um…” He lowered his gaze and scratched the back of his neck. Then he dropped his hand into his lap and looked right at me. “Listen, I’m pretty sure I found your profile.”
The heat that rushed through me was not helping this situation. The last thing I needed was to know that Lieutenant Marks knew all about what I liked in bed. Or that he’d seen some of those photos; they weren’t revealing per se because I valued my career and privacy, but they were suggestive too. Isidoro had straight up told me he’d jacked off to one of them. Several times.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Marks said quickly. “I, uh…” His face turned red and he couldn’t hold my gaze anymore. “I’m sorry—that was not the smoothest way to start this conversation.”
Smoothest? Why would he care about being smooth with me? It wasn’t like we could?—
Oh. Oh, fuck. He wasn’t… was he?
Before I could go too far down that steamy rabbit hole, he blurted out, “I really want to try the whole club scene. The, uh… The gay club scene.” His blush deepened and he raked a hand through his short, dark hair. “I’m just so fucking clueless about all of it.”
I blinked, both because I couldn’t believe the direction this was going, and because I wasn’t sure what to make of Marks being this flustered. He always seemed so cool and composed, but right now? Not so much.
“Where, um…” I cleared my throat again. “Where do I come in, sir?” The formality helped to remind me where we stood, but it didn’t help much .
He pressed his lips together, then finally met my gaze. “There was a line in your profile. About… About going to places like Barcelona and Ibiza. I, um… I got the impression that isn’t to check out the architecture.”
I coughed a laugh as some warmth rose in my own face. “I mean, some people probably do go to Ibiza for the architecture.”
“But something tells me you don’t.” Though he was still flustered, he seemed to look right into me. All the way past my professional facade and military bearing to those booze-blurred memories of Ibiza that had nothing to do with architecture.
“No,” I rasped. “I don’t.”
“Right. And I… I want to try places like that.”
“Not for the architecture?”
“Not for the architecture.” He shifted a little, still clearly nervous. “I know where the lines are. With…” He tapped the insignia on his camouflage blouse. “Ranks. We can’t fraternize.”
I reached for my water bottle. My tongue was suddenly sticking to the roof of my mouth. Some of that was lingering from my earlier panic attack and the stubborn jitteriness, but some of it? Not from earlier. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to fraternize with this man. Given half the chance and I’d have locked the door, dropped the blinds, and fraternized with him right over my damn desk.
After a sip of water, I croaked, “So, what? You want some guidance? Which clubs to go to?”
“I… Kind of?” He chewed his lip, a gesture that had no business being that sexy. “I mean, we can’t go places together. But if we were in another city and we happened to cross paths in a club, there’s nothing that says we can’t talk to each other. Or that you can’t give me a few pointers about what the fuck I’m supposed to do in a place like that.”
Ooh, hell.
“I, uh… I guess…” I needed some more water, not that it helped much. “That’s true. I don’t think anyone would be surprised if we ran into each other and started talking.” I drummed my nails rapidly on my desk. “And if someone saw us in a place like that, I doubt they’d have any inclination to rat us out.”
He eyed me quizzically, then seemed to catch on. “Because they’d have to admit they were there too.”
I nodded. “In my experience, the people most likely to out someone or get them into trouble are also the ones most afraid to out themselves.” I gave a quiet, caustic laugh. “Self-loathing is a hell of a drug.”
“That’s true,” Marks said. “So, if we did just… happen to run into each other in a place like that…” He inclined his head and raised his eyebrows.
Why did I feel like there wasn’t enough air in this room? But not in the same way there wasn’t enough when I was having a panic attack? Enough to make me dizzy, but not enough to send me spiraling.
“I don’t see why not.” I shrugged, hoping I looked more chill about this than I was. “If we, uh… If we happen to be in the same place at the same time.” The word “sir” lodged in my throat. I wasn’t sure why. Or maybe I was, because… fuck. Marks looked at me. I looked at him. Was his heart thumping as hard as mine was? Were we on the same wavelength? And did he have any idea how absolutely insane it would drive me to watch him bumping and grinding with men who weren’t me? To be the one helping him get in that close to those men?
Goddammit.
On the other hand, getting to watch him in that environment would be hot as hell, and it was the closest I’d ever get to him, so why not?
I swept my tongue across my dry lips and pretended not to notice that he’d noticed. “I… was thinking I might go up to Sevilla this weekend. There’s a club there. Castillo de Danza.” I shifted nervously, grateful for the desk between us because, yeah, just thinking about this was making me feel some kind of way. “Maybe I’ll hit it up on Saturday night.”
Surprise sketched across his face, but it was quickly replaced by understanding. And interest. “Castillo de Danza, huh? And Sevilla?” He tilted his head. “You don’t go to Málaga?”
“Oh, I do. But Sevilla’s closer.”
He frowned. “Closer means a bigger risk of running into…” He circled his finger in the air as if to encompass the hospital where we worked.
I laughed softly. “You haven’t traveled much outside of this area yet, have you?” I paused. “And this is your first overseas duty station, isn’t it?”
Marks blinked. “How do you know that?”
“Because rule number one of living overseas? Go off-base and drive more than twenty klicks in any direction, and suddenly there isn’t an American in sight.”
“I’ve heard that. Kind of figured it was an exaggeration, though. Like how they say Norfolk is full of signs that say ‘no dogs or sailors on the grass’ ?”
I barked a laugh. “It’s no exaggeration, trust me. Especially in a place like this where the language barrier is such an issue.”
He cocked a brow. “Even with translator apps?”
“Pfft. Okay, obviously you’re new here because you haven’t been using them long enough to develop trust issues.”
“You don’t use them?”
“Oh, I do. Sometimes they’re a necessity. But when they’re wrong…” I whistled and shook my head.
His curious little grin was too damn cute. “I feel like there’s a story there.”
“Mmhmm. Two weeks after I got here, I saw chocos fritos on a menu. My stupid app told me it meant ‘fried chocolate.’”
Alarm raised his eyebrows. “What did it mean?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fried cuttlefish.”
“No shit?” He made a face even as he laughed. “Oh my God. That sounds…”
“I mean, it wasn’t bad? But it definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.” I waved a hand. “So yeah, even those of us who are adventurous enough to go off-base don’t completely trust the apps. The people who are too scared to go through the gate?” I shook my head.
Marks pursed his lips thoughtfully. “So… the odds of running into someone we know in Sevilla…”
“In a gay bar in Sevilla.”
“Right. Point taken.” He met my gaze. “And you said the place is called Castillo de Danza?”
I nodded, my pulse ticking up as I realized we were doing this. Then I remembered how he said he hadn’t done this before at all, and my stupid mouth moved before my brain could tell it not to: “Do you need advice on what to wear?”
He froze. “Oh. Uh. Yeah? Probably?” He grimaced. “I have a decent fashion sense, but I have no idea what people wear to a place like that.”
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I weighed the options. Finally, I offered, “If you want to send me pics of what you have, I can yay or nay them.”
“That could work. Or—” He hesitated.
I raised my eyebrows.
Marks fidgeted with renewed nerves. “You, uh… You could come by and tell me what works. Probably more efficient that way.”
Oh, fuck me.
Then he cringed. “That’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”
“I mean, it depends.”
“On?”
“Where do you live?”
“Out in Sanlúcar.”
“Do you have a lot of American neighbors?” I couldn’t remember if many service members lived out there.
Marks shook his head. “My whole street is locals.” He paused, and he seemed to be warming up to the idea. “I have an enclosed driveway, too. Not a garage, but someone would have to really look through the slats of the gate to see your car.”
God, I loved Spanish houses. “Okay. Okay, sure. That’s probably safe enough.”
Right then, the door to the waiting area opened, and a woman walked in with a child.
“Shit.” I got up. “I need to—listen, I’m free tonight. If you text me your address and a time, I can be there.”
He glanced toward the window as he too got up. “I need your number.”
I scratched it out on a sticky note and handed it to him.
“Okay.” He flashed me a smile as he pocketed the note. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
This was a bad idea.
A stupid, career-threatening, recklessly terrible bad idea.
I told myself that all the way home, and then all the way to Sanlúcar. We weren’t getting into the territory that would get him disciplined for conduct unbecoming a gentleman and me for… well, I’d never actually looked up what the formal name was for “you’re banging an officer and now you’re in trouble.” And I wasn’t going to look it up now because I wasn’t banging—and wouldn’t be banging—an officer.
Also, I was driving.
To that officer’s house.
Which wasn’t as serious as banging him, but it was well into fraternization territory. The military had a massive bug up its butt about officers and enlisted service members even being friendly with each other. I’d never really understood why. If we were in the same chain of command, fine, but if not, then who the fuck cared?
Big Navy, that was who, and I was too close to retirement to get my ass kicked out.
And yet, there I was, taking the third exit off that roundabout in the middle of Sanlúcar and following the GPS’s directions down a narrow one-way street and up a hill and…
Why am I even arguing with myself? It isn’t like I’m going to turn around.
I didn’t, either. A minute or so later, I pulled up to the house indicated on my GPS. Back at my apartment, I’d grabbed a shower and used that time to talk myself the rest of the way down from this morning’s panic. Now I was still shakier than I would’ve liked, but the nervousness now was decidedly more pleasant. I was here to see a man I had no business seeing, thinking about things we had no business doing, and that was a welcome distraction from everything that had happened earlier.
There was a car parked on the street that I suspected was his, and I parked behind it. Engine idling, I texted him to let him know I was here, and a moment later, the wide black gate started to rattle open. After I’d pulled into the driveway, the gate shut behind me.
And holy shit, Marks’s place was huge . It was brilliant white stucco like so many other houses around here, with a red tile roof and dark hardwood trim. Potted flowers encircled a palm tree beside his front porch, and a wrought iron fence with an ornate gate spanned the front of the villa. Judging by the pale blue reflections rippling on the underside of the eaves, there was a pool in the backyard.
Then the front door opened, and I forgot all about the palatial house.
How dare you look that good in shorts and a T-shirt?
I’d never seen him out of uniform aside from in his pictures on the app, and those pictures hadn’t done him justice. He wasn’t a meathead like some of the guys on base, but he was built and sculpted. Outside of work, his hair was a bit less styled—more finger-combed and even a touch messy, which was so damn sexy.
And without the military bearing that was so ingrained in all of us, he had a relaxed air about him that made my pulse go nuts.
“Hey.” He smiled with a hint of nerves. Or was that shyness? Either way, it was cute. “Come on in.”
Heart thumping hard against my ribs, I came up the steps and followed him into the house. Of course it was equally impressive inside, and it was also cool . Like, literally cool, probably because of the marble floors at our feet.
“Nice place, sir,” I said.
He turned a look on me that was definitely laced with shyness. “We’re out of uniform and off duty. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”
I was hesitant. Keeping that in place would remind us both where we stood and what lines we couldn’t cross. On the other hand, I hadn’t come here because I was being careful or smart, so why not drop the formalities while I was at it?
“Oh. Okay. Uh.” I cleared my throat. “What… what do I call you? Because I don’t even know your first name.” I mean, I did—I’d seen it on the app, of course—but I felt weird and presumptuous about just using it.
He laughed softly. “Connor. Yours?”
“Alex.” And damn, now we were even less separated by professionalism and military bearing. In his house. Yeah, this was a bad idea, but whatever—I was here. I shifted my weight. “So, um… Clothes?”
“Right. Yeah.” He gestured for me to follow him. “In the bedroom.”
With his back safely to me, I mouthed a curse, then a prayer for help keeping my hands to myself.
Walking into this man’s bedroom with him, I was going to need it.