Chapter 8
James
Marc was not happy. Scratch that. Marc was so unhappy that I was beginning to question whether I should have flat-out denied Jones the favor I owed him and made Jones find a way to fix his own damn oversight.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Marc muttered from the bar stool behind the counter as he set his cellphone down.
We’d relocated to the flower shop when it’d become apparent that finding a room at a hotel would not be as simply picking one out of a hat.
His increasing frustration had begun to make the other patrons anxious, and by the time the barista started giving us the side-eye, I knew it was time to head out.
Seeing his defeated posture now, I knew I’d made the right call.
I set down the assortment of wood I’d been gathering that looked like it still had some life in it and walked over to him.
I still didn’t see what the big deal was about me sleeping on the couch.
We’d be able to get more done faster if I was literally already here.
I mean, we were already making great strides, and it had only been a day.
Rather than place a reassuring hand on his back or, worse, on his neck, like I wanted to, I rested my forearms on the counter beside him. “More bad news, I take it?”
He raised his head, shaking it. “I don’t understand. When the hell did Fairhope become the go-to destination for every convention, competition, and—” He waved his hands dramatically, then made an aggrieved sound and dropped his forehead to the counter.
I choked back the inappropriate laugh at the picture he created and focused on solutions. “The sofa’s really not a problem,” I tried again for what felt like the hundredth time. As freaking adorable as he looked, I didn’t like seeing him so stressed out.
“Yes, it is,” he mumbled without raising his head.
“And there’s nothing. Like literally nothing.
” He finally lifted his head, gaining steam, and gave me an incredulous look.
“Sure, there’s the odd day here or there, but that doesn’t fucking help me.
” I arched an eyebrow at the interesting focus of his rant, which he didn’t catch.
“There has to be something I can do. You don’t deserve to sleep on some old, musty couch with squeaky springs that are probably just waiting to give you tetanus. ”
“Whoa,” I held up a hand to stop the argument inevitably coming, “I’m gonna stop you right there. ‘Deserve’ doesn’t factor into any of this. At. All. So the hotels—”
“And motels, and bed-and-breakfasts, and rent-a-places,” he interjected.
I gave him the same look I’d given many mouthy soldiers over the years, the same one I’d picked up from my drill sergeant for being mouthy, and his teeth clicked shut.
“Everywhere is booked for the summer. You specialized in logistics. What are our alternatives? Alternatives that do not involve me taking your bed,” I added when he immediately opened his mouth.
The only way I was “taking” his bed was if I was taking him in it.
He released a disgruntled huff and scowled. “I’m assuming that means you also won’t entertain taking turns.”
I shook my head and allowed a small grin to escape.
Truthfully, I was vers as hell and the idea of Marc taking me in his bed sounded like my personal slice of heaven, especially after stealing glances of him the last two years.
But I wasn’t going to think about that, because I was fully capable of keeping any advances I wanted to make to myself, even if Marc was throwing all kinds of mixed messages.
Thank God we’d been at one of the wooden tables inside the cafe instead of outside at an iron, see-through one where there’d be no hiding the effect his “innocent” cookie crumble taste had on me.
Fuck, even thinking about the way his lips had wrapped around his finger and how he’d slowly pulled it free was getting me hard again, and there was nowhere to hide it this time.
Marc groaned again, though this time instead of beating his head against the counter, which was in serious need of an overhaul, he lowered his head to massage his temples.
“The only two things I can think of would be to somehow make the couch less awful or use my great aunt’s spare bedroom.
But that presents a different set of complications.
Forget that it’d be rude as hell. There’s the matter of transportation back to the shop.
And if I go, I’m pretty sure you’re going to say that falls under the ‘not taking my bed’ criteria.
” He peeked at me from the corner of his eye.
“And you’d be correct. Which leaves us with: how do we make the couch better?
Even though I don’t see anything wrong with it and I’m the one sleeping on it,” I added with a lopsided grin and immediately wished I could take the flippant comment back as I watched every muscle in Marc’s body tense.
Without thinking, I grabbed the back of his neck.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
You’ve made your position clear, and it’s my responsibility to respect it.
” I gave his neck a light squeeze and watched in amazement as a tiny shudder rippled through his body, then he completely relaxed.
He took a deep breath that fully expanded his chest, highlighting that while he was on the trimmer side, he was still fit if the muscles straining against his t-shirt were any guide. “So the mattress is the problem,” he said, gaze still angled toward the counter and gesticulating with one hand.
“Mmhmm,” I hummed as I rubbed my thumb along the base of his skull.
The soft hairs tickled the pad of my thumb while the warmth of him suffused my hand.
Fuuuuck. I should not have touched him, should never have seen him physically react to me, should never have even known he would react.
Christ, this was going to be the summer from hell.
And now I’d left my hand there too long, basically feeling him up under the guise of comfort while trying to talk my body down from doing more, and had to figure out how to remove it without things getting weird.
Assuming they weren’t already, and, per usual, I’d be the last to know.
Suddenly, he straightened, smacking the counter with both hands, damn near scaring the life out of me, and I dropped my hand.
I already missed touching him. No surprise there.
It wasn’t that I was touch-starved or anything.
Okay, maybe I was the teensiest bit touch-starved.
But it wasn’t exactly easy when you were naturally a physically affectionate person and the only types of affectionate touch your job condoned were "encouraging" smacks and “bro-hugs”. To this day, I still don’t know why I thought the Army would be any different or open-minded than fucking Ulwich Prep.
Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“Uh, JD? Did you hear me?”
I gave myself a good shake and blinked a few times before meeting Marc’s gaze. “Sorry about that. My mind went on holiday and didn’t bother to take me with it.”
He cracked a smile, eliminating the pinch of worry I hadn’t picked up on thanks to my runaway brain.
“I was saying Mattress Today should still be open. We could probably pick something up tonight if we find something you like in stock. Worst case, we order it and it’s a couple of days.
” It was obvious he wasn’t keen on the second possibility, but at least he was content with the overall solution.
“Sounds like a plan.” I smacked his ass because I really couldn’t help myself–like have you seen this man’s ass? Then waltzed out the back to where he’d parked his car, listening to him mutter behind me.
Ten minutes later, which according to Marc should have been five, but “fuck all of this traffic and where the hell had it come from?”, we were parked in a vacant lot in front of a very sad—very closed—Mattress Today.
I didn’t need Marc to say he was unhappy or even see it on his face.
His displeasure grew, filling the car until it felt like it was pressing against the windows while he stared absolute daggers at the small, faded sign in the window that read: PERMANENTLY CLOSED.
To make matters worse, I had absolutely no idea how to fix it.
I’d already subtly tried to search for other mattress stores nearby, but the next closest had closed two hours before, and the other was far enough that it’d be closed by the time we got there.
I, for one, valued my life and chose not to disclose this information, which I was positive Marc was already well aware of.
The leather of the steering wheel creaked as he tightened his grip, and I realized he was doing box breathing.
It was a common enough technique for anxiety, among other things.
Hell, I’d used it a fair share of times myself.
It was effective. I desperately wanted to support him, to be there for him, but the sheer press of his anxiety was starting to make me claustrophobic.
If I didn’t get out of the car soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.
“I’m gonna stretch my legs for a few minutes,” I said, pushing open the door. When the most he responded was a slight nod, I opted to text him as well. In hindsight, probably should have done that before I’d shown up at his place unannounced. Though in my defence, I didn’t know it’d be unannounced.
It didn’t take long for the tension in my body to ease once I had fresh air filling my lungs.
Considering my reservations about being in the Deep South for any extended period, Fairhope was kinda nice.
There were already plenty of places I wanted to explore that had nothing to do with Marc or Marc’s body.
I chuckled to myself and shook my head as I meandered my way back to the car.
Jesus, I really couldn’t help myself, could I?
Was I this bad with other men or women I’d lusted after over the years?
Before I could reach any sort of conclusion, I spotted the man of my confusion.
He’d also vacated the car, and it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if it was for similar reasons, and was leaning against the driver’s side door.
He glanced up as I came closer, and my heart broke at how defeated he looked.
This guy needed a fucking break, or at least a damn hug.
He opened his mouth, and I immediately held up my hand.
“Please do not apologize. None of this is on you. It sucks how things change, but that’s the military for you.
What do you say we let this day end already and get some food?
” He brightened slightly, and I took the win for what it was.
“I think I spotted a Domino’s on the way here.
We could grab a pizza and some beer. Take ‘em back to the shop.” I hiked my thumb in what I was pretty sure was the right direction.
Marc scrunched his nose and I swear to fucking God it was so adorable I almost squeed a little.
“I’m all for dinner,” he said, opening the car door, “but if we’re getting pizza, it’s going to be good pizza. Get in, loser, we’re going to Ravenite, which I know for a fucking fact is still open.” He gave me a wide grin as I slid into the passenger seat, which I happily returned.