24. Said Dick
said dick
Mirren
“The forward door is now closed. Please ensure all electronics are in airplane mode for the duration of the flight.”
My exhale drives me deep into the wide first-class seat. I’m not yet free to drop the persona, but I am free enough to let go of the breath I’ve been holding for several days. I’m no longer on display, atop a stage as an actor, or under the microscope as a potential buyer.
Though there are so many things I’d rather do, I pull out my computer and begin making notes.
Line by line, the text encrypts into what might as well be hieroglyphics.
My spelling and grammar errors or duplicated details can be fixed later.
Daxton will be—time zones permitting—reading in real time.
Line after line, I dump any and every detail whether it seems pertinent or not into our system.
Every single piece of conversation I can remember. The glasses captured the layout in my two and a half days there. I hope the mic picked up everything else.
Regardless, I spend the better part of ninety minutes noting every name, all facial descriptions where they matter, and the social hierarchies. I even note the meal choices, since we dined together for everything but breakfast which I took in my room, still vegetarian to keep up the ruse. Blech.
With twelve hours left on my flight, I close my computer and ditch the glasses. Noise cancelling earbuds, an eye mask, and a couple of melatonin mean I get some decent sleep in mediocre conditions. Then again, after the Army, calling first class mediocre tells me how good I’ve actually got it.
Dallas to Pensacola is long but doable. The sun’s in the right place in the sky, I’ve left Tanzi in Dallas and reemerged as myself, including my original change of clothes.
I wish I had my phone. I get why I don’t, but it would be great to catch up while I’m spending hours sitting in coach—with Tanzi’s persona gone, so is her budget.
I need to get my cover straight for my brothers and know what the heck has happened in the world, especially where we were “camping” to make my story plausible.
The lying and deceit are hard. They blow. Dad wasn’t wrong in his assessment.
But it’s a small price to pay for being damn good at my job. Hell, it’s in my genes. And this week proved it.
New culture, new customs, new everything, and I fucking rocked it.
I got in, got the information we needed, and got out. Tanzi can’t be traced to me, and Mirren is unknown to them. Besides, in our current op, manufacturing isn’t even the concern; it’s the programming. So I’m even less of a threat, and certainly not concerned for my life.
But heading home to real life—or real-er life—begs the question: is this the good or the great?
Damn Strider for posing something so thought-provoking before leaving me high and dry to deal with its repercussions. And dry is the operative word. Since he left, my sex drive is gone—not lessened, not diminished—it’s AWOL.
So help me, if that man tied my libido to his very generous dick and then took said dick to Illinois, there will be hell to pay. For both of us.
I like sex. I like getting off. I really like it with him. But if I can’t even by myself, I may go mad.
Speaking of, what did he do with my vibrator?
Safe touchdown number two of the day. It’s Friday night and it’s late-ish. The sun is down, even this far south, and I’m heading home, battling everybody who’s getting an early start to their holiday break. Next week will be stupid around here, especially down on the coast, but at least I’m home.
I used every bit of discipline I had not to check my phone before I pulled out of the parking spot. If I had, I’d still be in the lot, fixating on the perfection that is Strider Anderson.
Strider
Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready. And holding you was one of my top three from my extended vacation.
My thumbs have hovered and retreated more times than I care to admit. I want the right response. Retrospect and distance brought clarity. And I miss him.
On a reread, taking my temper out of the equation, I can see what he was doing. Heightened emotions never make for logical decisions.
And your top two?
I move about my apartment, peeking out through the curtains to the lights of the main house.
A family of five is in the living room. They have the house for the next week and arrived a bit early.
Fine by me—better it rented than not, because the income is nice.
And I don’t have it sitting there, tempting me to revisit it.
Strider
You on my lips. Or my cock. I go back and forth. And our time at the beach. I don’t know which is one or two… or three. Maybe the beach is at three.
Is it because you needed the vitamin D?
Would you think less of me if I made a D-is-for-dick joke?
I’d think less of you if you didn’t.
My phone rings. “Hello.”
“Hey, Freckles.”
“Hey. How are you?”
“Better now.” His voice is mellow but husky around the edges. “You?”
“Same.”
“I’m sorry for how we ended things on Sunday night. It’s on me. It won’t happen again.”
I exhale. Wow… okay. Strider falling on his sword immediately wasn’t what I expected. “Thank you. And I’ll do my best not to… ghost you if I’m mad?”
“It feels like you’re questioning your own thought,” he says with some humor.
I pace my little space, cleaning up my kitchen after my quick throw-together dinner. “Yeah. Well, I can get spicy sometimes. And I’d rather not say anything than say something I can’t take back.”
He hums a little through the line. “What if you trusted that I was man enough to take your spice—as you call it—and deal?”
“I don’t even know what to say to that. I’m not used to these levels of maturity. In myself or in anyone else.”
“I just offered a D-is-for-dick joke, so maturity might be a strong word.”
I can’t not laugh at that. When the laughter stops, I dim the lights in my kitchen and migrate to the sofa to bail under a blanket. “I accept your offer. Adult conversation plus dick jokes hits my sweet spot.”
“Your sweet spot,” he growls. He can’t know how perfect that combo is.
“Exactly. How was your week?”
“I want to say terrible but that’s not a strong enough word. Can I tell you about it another time? It’s Friday night, and I just escaped it.” He pauses before adding, “And you’re here.”
“I get it and same. So what’s on tap for you for Thanksgiving? Does your family do it big? Are your sisters coming in?”
“I’m heading to Denver, actually, to my sister and her fiancé’s. I leave on Thursday morning. Because… work.”
“Ugh. But you get to go to the mountains, so at least there’s that.”
“The camper in you is probably jealous,” he teases.
“Absolutely, but unless we were under orders from Uncle Sam, we’re expected at Mom and Dad’s for a ridiculous meal and even more ridiculous shenanigans. It’s a whole thing. Those two and their holidays. Don’t get me started on Halloween.”
“I’ve heard actually. Mikey told me it gets crazy.”
I smile thinking of my family. “That’s one word for it. Over the top, obsessive, insane. Those are more accurate.” I slump down to recline and nestle the blanket up under my chin. “Mom’s not right when it comes to Halloween. Come sometime and you’ll see what I mean.”
Now why did I say that?
“I’ll add it to my list.” His words rumble in my ears and rattle through my soul. “And she’s the same with turkey day?”
“Oh yeah. Late breakfast—not brunch, mind you, that would ruin tradition—and the Macy’s Day parade.
Why, I have no clue, except we did it when we were young.
Football. Board games that get stupid competitive.
A huge meal that takes way too damn much time to fix and to clean up, more football and then National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
And we hear about it if we miss any part. ”
“But jobs or partners or…”
“Jamie and I both got personalized guilt trips when we were in. Again, why I can’t say, it’s not like my dad wasn’t Navy or that she doesn’t get it. She just assumes the U.S. military should bow to her whims. Come to think of it, everyone should bow to her whims.”
“Is she”—he starts but never finishes.
“Is she what?” I prompt.
“Is she a narcissist?”
“Not in the classical sense. But she was one of two daughters loved by her dad, she’s doted on by her husband, and has five sons with a man who trained them to treat her like a queen. She doesn’t demand that of her family, but she doesn’t see any reason to allow herself to be treated otherwise.”
“I kind of love that.”
“You do?” my voice rises in question.
Strider
“Well, yeah. A woman who knows her worth, chooses not to shrink, and whose man makes sure the rest of the world doesn’t take her for granted.
That’s exactly the kind of woman I want to be with.
” And the man I want to be—one who is the biggest cheerleader for the woman at my side, the loudest proponent for her dreams, and the guy who will stand against whatever challenges her.
“Oh.”
“What’s the oh?” I raise an eyebrow.
“You just seem nice to me, and I think someone like my mom would eat you alive.”
Ouch. Actually, double ouch.
“Nice? Did I come off too nice when I drilled you into the mattress on Sunday morning?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then explain.” I shift on my sofa to lie flat.
Mirren makes a noise in the back of her throat similar to a hum. “My mom is… a lot. And I think you’d be taken advantage of if you ended up with someone like her.”
“What if I want to end up with someone like you? What if I like that you know yourself? And that you don’t hold back. Would you eat me alive?” I adjust my cock in my sweats since the thought of her eating me has made me throb with need.
Silence on the other end is met with a huge inhale and a cough.
“Freckles, are you okay?”
She sputters for a few more seconds. Before she can speak, I continue, “Seems you were choking when I saw you at Davie’s too. Something about olives…”
“The olives, sure. Not the”—she coughs again, and the moment stretches—“Right. Not the man I tumbled into barely holding up a towel days before walking through the door with my brother.”
“Shocked the shit out of me too. There you were, straight out of my dreams, and Charlie’s sister.” Shit, that sounds bad.
Her laugh is rich and full. “Yeah. Charlie’s sister. Ew.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Well, I’ll make it plain. Charlie’s sister or not, I want you. I like you. I’d like to explore something with you, though I have no idea how since I’m in the frigid midwest and you’re in the deep south. But I’m willing to try with you. If you are.”
Rustling meets my ears, followed by a quick inhale of breath. “I— I don’t know how to do an adult relationship. I’ve never had one.”
“Do you want to try with me?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is sweet and innocent, even if the woman behind it is anything but.
“And never?”
“The Army doesn’t have a course in being a good partner. And it doesn’t foster relationships outside of ‘I have your back and would kill for you,’ you know?”
I don’t. I truly don’t.
“Same with the Rangers. And since then? Well, I know all the stories from the boys within a thirty-mile radius. Brothers, remember? So no one’s been worth the time or attention.”
Boys. She said boys.
“I’ll have to thank your brothers for cock blocking for me. Or is it beaver damming?”
That gets me a laugh. My insides warm.
“If you’re older, I guess. We say clam jam.”
I scrub a hand down my face and ask a question I dread. “So is me being older a turn-on or a turn-off for you?”