8. Alex
CHAPTER 8
ALEX
I n the days leading up to our jaunt to Sevilla, I wondered more than once if I was making a mistake. Just standing in Connor’s bedroom and talking about clubs and all that shit had scrambled my damn brain. Knowing I was going to be in a club with him, watching him dip his toes into the scene, had overheated more than a few synapses this week.
And now here I was, standing in front of the hotel across the street from mine—we didn’t dare stay in the same place—realizing I had severely miscalculated.
The glass doors had opened, and Connor had stepped out, and… oh God. My dumb ass had put together something for him to wear that wouldn’t make him stand out too much and wouldn’t make him blend into the woodwork… not once considering that I was making him look like exactly the kind of man who’d yank my attention away from anything .
Okay, that already described him, but I’d gone and made it worse.
The black button-up shirt was open and loose over that skintight pale gray T-shirt. The jeans weren’t tight enough to reveal if he dressed to the right or left, but they weren’t baggy either. They sat perfectly on his hips, and maybe the untucked shirt was a good thing; I didn’t need an unobstructed view of how his jeans clung to his ass.
It was a simple outfit. There was nothing flashy about it. Nothing that should’ve made me forget how to breathe.
Except it also happened to be a look that I’d always loved. There was a reason I’d gone with a similar ensemble myself—the only difference was the button-up was bright red and the tee was white.
Good one, Alex. Take the hottest man you’ve ever seen and dress him in a way that would turn your head .
The streetlights above us picked out some highlights in his hair as he came down the steps. Like a lot of officers, he didn’t have the severe high-and-tight like I did, so his dark hair was long enough to style. Instead of being neatly arranged the way it always was at work, it was closer to how he’d had it when I’d come to his house—finger-combed and artfully mussed. Not what I’d call messy, not deliberate bedhead—I suspected he was too used to keeping it neat in uniform to go too wild with it in civvies—but definitely a more relaxed style than usual.
Somehow, I managed to keep my expression neutral and friendly as he approached.
Connor stopped in front of me and gestured at himself as he gave me an uncertain look. “Are you sure about this?”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, no, I do. But it’s—” He looked around us. “Well, I guess it’s cooled off, hasn’t it? I was sweltering in shorts earlier.”
“Funny how that happens when the sun goes down.”
He rolled his eyes and flipped me off.
I laughed. “Nah, you’ll be fine. Especially since Castillo de Danza actually has A/C, and they use it.” In fact, I hoped they had it cranked to max tonight, because I was already getting a little warm just standing out here with Connor. God help me if it turned out he knew how to dance.
I suppressed a shiver and motioned for him to come with me. As we started down the sidewalk, I said, “So when did you get into town?”
“Last night.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to spend today checking out the city since I’d never been here.”
“Yeah? Where’d you go?”
“Pretty much everywhere TripAdvisor said to go. Plaza de Espana. The Alcazar. The cathedral.”
“No wonder you were sweltering. That’s a lot of walking.”
He chuckled. “No kidding. At least the cathedral was cool on the inside. I thought I was going to melt at Plaza de Espana.”
“Ugh, tell me about it. The first time I went there, I thought it would be smart to go during siesta. You know, since there’s nobody out and about.”
Connor glanced at me. “Yeah? How’d that go?”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “That was the day I realized why siesta is at two in the afternoon—because it’s the hottest fucking time of day .”
“Ooh. Okay, yeah. That makes sense. I think that’s when I was in the cathedral. It was hot as fuck outside, and everything was closed when I came out.”
I nodded. “Yep, that sounds like siesta.”
“I’ll get used to that one of these days.”
“Good luck with that.”
We turned a corner a block or so down from our hotels and followed a narrower street. Restaurants were still open and crowded, which made sense—it was 2230 on a Saturday night, so people were still eating dinner.
“What did you think of the cathedral?”
“It was big,” he said. “Like, I knew that, but holy shit…”
“Right? I made the mistake of going to that one before I went to the one in Cádiz. The one there was kind of a letdown after the big one here.”
“I could see that. I went to Cádiz a couple of weeks after I got to Rota, but I didn’t get to the cathedral because it was a Sunday. Nice city, though.”
“It is. I go there a lot. Some great restaurants.”
Connor nodded. “I ate at one of the cafés in the plaza outside the cathedral. I need to go back and try some others.” He glanced at me. “Any chance I can hit you up for some recommendations?”
“Of course.” I paused. “And fair warning? As you’re traveling around Spain, now that you’ve seen the cathedral here, a lot of the others will be kind of anticlimactic. Not just the one in Cádiz.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, they’re all cool, but once you’ve seen one, you’ve kind of seen them all, except for the ones that have something really unique going for them.”
“Like the big one they’re still building in Barcelona?”
“Sagrada Familia, yeah.”
“You been to that one?”
I nodded. “Several times.” I chuckled as I added, “Even though I don’t usually go to Barcelona for the architecture, I do still check it out once in a while.”
Connor laughed, and I almost tripped over my own stupid feet.
You are not going to have any trouble turning heads tonight, Lieutenant Commander. Holy shit.
Thankfully oblivious to my near stumble, he said, “During orientation when I got to Rota, they said something about this one cathedral somewhere that I want to check out. I can’t remember the name, but it’s like an old mosque that was turned into a cathedral?” He cocked his head. “Is that real, or did I hallucinate it because I was so jetlagged?”
I laughed. “It’s real. That’s the Mezquita in Córdoba.”
His eyes lit up. “Have you been there?”
“Couple of times. It’s really cool; definitely worth visiting.” I glanced at him. “If you look closely, a lot of the cathedrals are converted mosques. That one’s just the most obvious.”
“They are?”
“Mmhmm.” I grinned. “Next time you go to the one here, check out the belltower.”
Connor shot me a look. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Nope.”
He pursed his lips. Then he halted and took out his phone, and I realized he was pulling up the photos he’d taken today. He paused on one and peered at it. “Okay, what am I looking at?”
I stepped in close to him so I could see too. On the screen was the belltower in question. “Right, so you see the top part where the bells are?” I covered them with my thumb. “Now look at the rest.”
He pulled the phone a little closer. “Okay, so it’s—wait, no shit. Is that… Wait, what the hell?”
I chuckled. “It’s the minaret from the mosque that used to be there.”
“Wow. How did I not notice that?”
“Because you just got here. Give it some time, and you’ll start seeing the Moorish architecture in a lot of the historical spots.”
“And here I thought you weren’t into—” He stopped abruptly when he turned to me. So did my breath.
Because oh, hell—we were really close.
I quickly broke eye contact and sidestepped to put some space between us. “I’ll have you know, I do pay attention to historical stuff and architecture.” I motioned for us to start walking again, and as we did, I added, “Just not when I’m trying to get laid.”
Connor coughed a laugh as he put his phone in his pocket. “Hey, at least you’ve got your priorities straight.”
“That’s about the only thing straight about me.”
He snorted. “Oh my God. And I thought my dad jokes were bad.”
I just laughed, and we continued down the block to where a brightly colored neon sign glowed above tinted glass doors. “That’s the place.”
Connor tensed a little, and he pushed out a nervous breath.
The temptation to put a reassuring hand on his back was almost overwhelming. “Relax. It’s just a club.”
“Uh-huh. Says the guy who’s been going to clubs since he was a teenager.” He swallowed. “Didn’t you say you’d be intimidated in my shoes?”
Damn, maybe that hadn’t been the best thing to tell him, even if it was true. “I did. And I would be. But I’d also hope I had someone there to tell me, ‘dude, it’s just a club—let’s go have a couple of drinks and dance.’”
He seemed to consider that. “Okay, that… doesn’t sound too terrifying.”
“Exactly. Oh, and just so you know, they pour the drinks strong in there. Pace yourself.”
I’d gone into Spanish clubs with younger guys from the base before, and they’d invariably puff out their chests and insist they could handle it. After all, they were a Sailor! Or a Marine!
But Connor—either because he was a doctor who knew better or a seasoned officer who’d learned the hard way—was apparently wise enough not to play chicken with his own liver. “Duly noted. I’ll probably just stick with beer anyway.”
“Good call.” I dug into my pocket. “Also, you’ll want to wear these.” I held out a pair of bright orange earplugs.
Connor eyed them, then me. “Really?”
“Trust me. You’ll still be able to hear just fine, but it’ll cut through the noise enough that you can actually hear someone talking.”
He shrugged and plucked the earplugs off my palm. “Eh, I won’t argue with not damaging my hearing.”
“Hasn’t the military done that enough?”
“What?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
God, I loved the way this man laughed. His smile made me dizzy, and I loved it, even though it frustrated the hell out of me because I wanted to?—
Focus, Alex. Focus.
We didn’t have to wait long to get in the front door. It was only 2300, so the Spanish club scene hadn’t begun to kick up yet. Any club in town would be almost deserted at this hour; normally, I wouldn’t bother showing up until midnight, since that was when the locals usually materialized. This time of night, it was just a smattering of expats and tourists, the bartenders, and the deejay.
I’d done that on purpose tonight. This was Connor’s first foray into this scene, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him.
That wasn’t true. I’d have sawed off a limb for the chance to overwhelm him. Strip off that carefully curated outfit, mess up that perfectly styled hair, and?—
No, Alex. No. Don’t even fantasize about it.
What I didn’t want to do was turn him loose in a night club that was in full swing. Too much noise. Too many people. Too easy to get disoriented.
Right now, Castillo de Danza was about as lively as a strip club on a Tuesday afternoon. The music was loud and there were people on the dancefloor, but it wasn’t utter chaos and sensory overload. Yet.
I watched Connor surveying the scene, his nerves on full display. Then I shouted over the music, “Why don’t we get something to drink?”
He shook himself and turned to me. “Uh. Okay. Yeah. A drink sounds good.” At the bar, he looked over the various beers on tap and seemed to get even more lost. I had no idea if he’d tried any Spanish beers yet, but he eyed the brands like none of them were familiar. Finally he leaned toward me. “What do you suggest?”
The words “depends on what you like” almost flew off my tongue, but I hesitated. Even a simple decision like that could pile on to that fish-out-of-water feeling that was probably setting in hard.
I gestured at the options. “Cruzcampo is good. It’s kind of on the fruity side if you’re into that.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I turned to the bartender and ordered us a pair.
Beside me, Connor chuckled. “You know, it’s funny—everyone who found out I was going to Spain said I’d only need to know three Spanish phrases.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “?Donde esta el banos? Dos cervezas, por favor. Dos más cervezas, por favor.”
He laughed, oblivious to what that did to my head and my balance. “Yes, those. You heard them too?”
“Everyone does. Trust me. And then you get here and find out that not only are those grammatically incorrect, but people in Spain don’t call the restrooms ‘banos.’ And the bartender will want to know what brand of cerveza.” I rolled my eyes again.
Right then, the bartender handed over our dos cervezas, and I paid him.
As we stepped away to find a table, Connor said, “I could’ve paid. You don’t have to pay my way.”
I waved dismissively. “You can buy the next round.”
“Eh, fair enough.”
This early in the evening, there were plenty of unoccupied tables, and we found one with a good view of the sparsely crowded dancefloor. Connor rested his forearm on the table and sipped his beer. “Oh, you’re right—this is good.”
“Isn’t it?” I sipped my own, grateful for the cold and the bittersweet flavor. “It’s not my favorite of the Spanish brands, but I like it a lot.”
“Yeah?” He met my gaze, unaware of the disco lights sparkling in his dark eyes. “What do you like?”
What… What do I like? What are we—oh. Right. Spanish beers.
I took another sip and put the glass down. “Alhambra makes a lot of good beers.”
“Alhambra?” He tilted his head. “Isn’t that—I thought that was the old fort or whatever in Granada?”
“Oh, it is. But there’s a beer brand that uses the same name. Good shit. And the palace is worth visiting, too.”
“So I’ve heard. At least I’ll remember the name of the beer.”
“I know, right?” I laughed. “Do you like wine? Sherry?”
“Not sherry.” He wrinkled his nose. “Too fucking dry. I’ll cook with it, but…” He shook his head.
“Same. If you do like cooking with it, though, you’re in the right place—we basically live in the heart of Spanish wine country and the sherry capital of the universe.”
“Good to know. One of the doctors in my department keeps telling me I need to visit some of the bodegas.” He made a face and shrugged. “I like wine, but I’m not big on the whole wine tasting thing, you know? Just let me buy a bottle, damn it.”
“Ugh.” I groaned. “I got dragged on a bodega tour last year. I appreciate a good wine, don’t get me wrong; I just do not care how it’s made.”
“Right?” Connor raised his beer. “Or like the breweries that want to tell you all about every fucking step of the process.” He paused. “Though I think my issues with that are partly my brother’s fault.”
“How so? Home brewer?”
“God, yeah. And thanks to him, I know more than I ever care to know about yeast, hops, and…” He flailed a hand. “I swear, if I hear one more monologue about beermaking, I will drown myself in a fermenter.”
I almost choked on my own beer. He was always so mellow and calm at work—well, when he wasn’t nervous and stammering about us crossing paths on a hookup app. Watching him rant and rave was way funnier than it should’ve been. “He’s really driven you nuts with it, hasn’t he?”
“Ugh. Yes .” Connor took a deep swallow of his beer. “I just want to drink it and enjoy it. I don’t give a fuck about the rest.”
“Same.” I clinked my glass against his, and we both chuckled as our eyes locked.
And for the hundredth time tonight, I wondered if this was a good idea.
How the hell was I going to stay sane once every man in this building started to notice him?