Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
September 29th, 2024
Bo Beckett
I wasn’t bisexual, but I needed extensive periods of avoiding Leighton to believe my own bullshit. And even then…
Christ. I was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.
There was something about that kid that messed me up more than anyone ever had in the past. More than any girlfriend I’d claimed to love, more than Adam when I’d had all my doubts in high school.
I’d forced myself to contemplate what my sister had spouted, that I might have some underlying misconceptions about my feelings, about what relationships were, and sexuality. After all, some guys had always made me feel uncomfortable or on edge—and maybe I’d gotten it all wrong? Maybe it’d been my fight-or-flight kicking in. Maybe I hadn’t been wanting to get away from them. Maybe I’d panicked because I’d felt the opposite? But that didn’t explain my around-the-clock desire to see Leighton. No part of me wanted to get away from him. No part of me wanted to pump the brakes. He didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. On the contrary, I was addicted to every moment we spent together. Talking to him, watching him, observing his progress. He evoked emotions within me that were foreign to me. Like fucking jealousy.
I didn’t know what kind of relationship he had with Tanner, but I bet they were screwing around. They were close. They went out together some weekends, and I’d lost track of the times I’d seen them laughing and whispering shit to each other.
It pissed me off.
It infuriated me almost as much as having Leighton invade my dreams. The past week or so, I’d woken up with hazy images of kissing him in the elevators, of bending him over and ramming my cock up his ass in the martial arts studio, and of catching him on his knees for me in the showers.
I needed help. The only other time I got obsessed like this was when I worked. I’d never lost my mind over a person before. It freaked me the fuck out. It didn’t make any sense either. Leighton and I hadn’t found ourselves in any compromising situations that might trick my brain into misinterpreting something as lust or attraction. We’d had no awkward moments with high tension. I’d never seen him stare at me inappropriately…
That pissed me off too.
I wanted his eyes on me.
I…I wanted to know how he’d react if he thought I might be interested. Was I his type? Would he grow wary around me? Would he avoid me?
I cursed under my breath and swiped my ID card, then opened the door to the operation room?—
“ No .” Shira rose from her seat and strode toward me. “Not a chance, Bo. You were here all day yesterday—you’re taking today off. Nothing has changed. They’re still in Fredericksburg, and the Juniors don’t have surveillance for us yet.”
I blinked.
She pointed for me to get out. “I mean it. If you wanna be reinstated for fieldwork, you focus on training and resting up until we know more.”
Was she serious? I peered over her head and spotted both Hyatt and Hudson. “How come they can be here?”
Shira shot me an incredulous look. “ You asked for Hudson, Bo. Coach and I obliged. The words you’re actually looking for are thank you .”
I clenched my jaw, and Hudson gave me an over-the-shoulder wave without turning around. He was busy tracking something on the screens. If I were to venture a guess, the footage was coming from Hyatt’s army of drones.
I glanced back at Shira and debated whether to pitch a fit, but judging by the look on her face, now wasn’t the time.
Goddammit.
“You’re a fucking sadist, woman,” I told her and walked out again.
Of-fucking-course she laughed. So did Hyatt and Hudson. Assholes.
* * *
I didn’t get off the treadmill until I was tasting blood and my vision was filled with black spots.
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
My legs were jelly as I collapsed on the floor, and my chest heaved too rapidly. My arms were too sore as well, from an hour of lifting weights before my run.
Panting and wheezing, I just lay there on the thin mat and waited for my heart rate to come down. T-shirt drenched, shorts sticking to my skin, water bottle out of reach. Christ, I’d pushed it too hard. But it was either this or opening the fifth of bourbon I kept hidden in my room.
I threw an arm over my face and swallowed dryly. All I could hear was a rushing sound in my ears—and the air conditioning. My playlist had run its course twenty minutes ago, so I removed my earbuds and left them next to me.
Actually, I could hear something else too. Someone was down here.
The basement had been empty all afternoon, with the exception of a couple on-call operators heading into the shooting range. And one, by the sound of it, kicking a vending machine.
Been there, done that. Particularly the machine with chips. Those little bags got stuck all the time.
After a while, I managed to sit up, and I wiped sweat off my face and checked my watch.
I might be the sad fucker today who got an early-bird dinner. It was only 16:00, but I was getting hungry.
Once I got to my feet, I hauled my tee over my head and draped it over my shoulder. Then I picked up my water bottle, drained half of it, and walked out on Bambi legs.
The sounds were coming from the martial arts studio down the hall, so I decided to see who it was. As far as I knew, only two recruits were in the building—Leighton and Aaron.
I walked past a floor-to-ceiling mirror and smacked my stomach lightly. Not too shabby. I’d been working out more lately, and it was paying off. Maybe being frustrated because a young guy’s ass suddenly turned me on was a good motivator to work up a sweat.
Not to mention his fucking abs.
I took another swig of my water and continued toward the martial arts studio, and fuck me sideways if it wasn’t Leighton in there. Because of course it was. I was clearly not suffering enough already.
I stayed in the doorway and leaned against the doorframe, and I hoped he didn’t turn around anytime soon. He had his laptop on the mat, and if I squinted, I could see a few illustrations of Krav Maga stances. He was trying to mirror them, and he carried out strikes in slow motion.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed by his tenacity. He had incredible control over his body, excellent self-discipline, and all the potential to become a great gray man. He was quiet and observant. Resilient. The only things I wanted him to work harder on were openness and being more of a go-getter for himself. The conversation we’d had about him settling for less still bothered me.
He needed to be more creative too, but we’d get there. So early into the training, he was already exceeding our expectations.
I watched him pull back and execute a perfect and impressively slow high-kick to an invisible enemy’s head. A move Shay had warned them about. High-kicks left you vulnerable, but they were still good training.
Soon after, he heaved a couple breaths and moved on to the next illustration.
Good width between his feet, one foot positioned farther back for leverage. He raised his fist as if to punch someone in the face, and he checked to make sure his hand was at the right angle.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Lift your elbow a bit?—”
“Jesus!” He spun around, eyes wide with shock, though that quickly morphed into a glare.
Cute.
I nodded at him. “Lift your elbow. You wanna pack more force behind that punch.”
His glare weakened as he scanned my body briefly before turning away again. “A heads-up next time would be nice.”
“Your enemy won’t give you a heads-up,” I pointed out. I pushed away from the doorframe, dropped my T-shirt and water bottle on the mat, and walked over to him. “Use my hands.” I positioned myself in front of him and showed my palms. “Start off slow so you can analyze your impact.”
He took a deep breath and raised his guard again, and this time, he lifted his elbow more.
“That’s good. It gives you more strength, right?”
He nodded and made impact against my right hand with a light smack.
“Okay. Keep going.” I let my gaze travel the length of him, inspecting his stance. “Don’t forget your footwork. Find a balance between stability and flexibility. You wanna put more weight on?—”
“The ball of my foot, I know,” he said, giving me another light punch. Elbow up, good. “Can we spar for real?”
That wasn’t a good idea. Except…as his instructor, I was supposed to encourage more of those suggestions.
“Sure.” I lowered my hands and rolled my shoulders. “Do you wanna use any protection?”
He smirked. “With you? No.”
I felt my eyebrows lift. Was that an innuend?—
“Let’s go,” he said, moving his laptop. “I wanna take advantage before you run off again.”
Aw, did he miss me? Was I not paying him enough attention?
That actually spoke volumes, because I was making damn sure I didn’t give him less time of day than any of the other recruits.
It made me smile. Sue me.
I raised my guard. “Come at me, boy.”
He narrowed his eyes, and that was his first mistake. He shouldn’t be so expressive during a fight. He flinched forward with his fist up, and I sidestepped him quickly, only to deliver a light side-kick to his hip.
That was just the beginning.
Over the next several minutes, we fought in sets of four or five strikes before we backed off to start over. This was personal to him; he wanted to advance, he wanted to impress me, and he wanted to prove himself. All natural urges during training, but it did make him easier to predict.
My main task was to dodge his blows and show him how I could evade whatever he threw at me, and it was evidently pissing him off.
He was lucky I didn’t strike back. Much. Every now and then, I had to demonstrate a maneuver or two.
“Goddammit,” he cursed. He flew at me again, ready to kick things up a notch, and he shoulder-checked me in the chest with enough force to shove me backward a few steps. But in doing so, he left much of his body exposed. I punched him lightly in the gut, then delivered a palm to his temple.
“Where are you aiming?” I asked. “You’re too good to just throw punches and see what sticks. You need to go for the jugular, Leighton. Hit me in the liver, kick me in the knees, go for the balls, hammer-fist my nose?—”
He growled and came at me once more, and I shook my head and shoved him away from me.
“I can anticipate every move, recruit,” I told him. “What’re you doing? You’re much sharper when you fight Miguel. Save body checks for when your arms are exhausted and you’re becoming desperate.”
Fury flashed in his eyes, and he swung around and tried to go for a roundhouse kick, and that actually pissed me off. I grabbed ahold of his foot and twisted it sideways, to which he cried out and tumbled to the floor.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” I snapped. “Operator Tenley warned you—Coach and I warned you too. No goddamn kicks to the head. They require too much energy, and your enemy can take you down in a second.”
I fully expected him to jump to his feet to start again. Instead, he threw an arm over his face and remained flat on his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Is that all?” I demanded. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but—” I stopped myself when I heard him mutter something. “What was that?”
“I said I’m distracted,” he griped.
“By what?”
He huffed and removed his arm from his face, then pulled himself up to his feet. “You murdered my leg.” He winced as he put pressure on it.
“Looks to be alive and kicking to me,” I said.
He snorted a snicker-sounding laugh, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Alive and kicking…”
My mouth twitched. The boy sure as fuck loved his wordplay and puns.
“What are you distracted by?” I asked again.
His mirth faded, and he went over to close his laptop. “I dunno. It’s just one of those days, I guess. And I’m hungry. Plus, I’ve been down here two hours already.”
Fair enough.
“I was thinking about an early bird myself,” I said. “Care to join forces?”
He side-eyed me and perked up a little. “Yeah, sure. I just wanna shower first.”
Right. A shower. I needed one of those. But…yeah, so, that meant…heading up to the shower room and seeing him there…
Let’s go.
“It’s a plan.” I nodded firmly and cursed myself to hell. What was I doing? Even if I was drawn to Leighton, it wasn’t as if I could act on it. Besides, I wasn’t ready to admit to an actual attraction. It could be something else. We had good chemistry. Maybe I was simply annoyed by the fact that we couldn’t form a proper friendship while he was my recruit, and the part of me that had always rebelled against authority was acting out.
Maybe I was confused again.
* * *