Chapter 15
Marc
Our foray into the French Quarter was… surprising.
The most surprising of which was that I couldn’t decide which part was the most surprising.
Okay, that sounded twisted even in my head, but it didn’t make it any less true.
First, there was the run. Enough said there.
Then there was… after the run. Better not to think about that too long, or I’d end up in a state…
again. Plus, there was lunch and, well, everything after that.
Even a few days later, it was all I could think about.
I was positively enamored with the way JD took pleasure in some of the simplest things, and found myself going out of my way to leave him little treats to make him smile.
Yesterday it had been a kitschy little souvenir of a brown pelican sitting atop a sign that read “Fairhope, AL”.
I’d put it on the side table by his rucksack and caught him smiling at it later.
The day before that, it had been a bag of freeze-dried Jolly Pops he’d put back from the Fairhope Sweet Shop.
I was also pretty sure he’d been too distracted by the plethora of candy to clock that the store was veteran-owned and had a kick-ass “Sweet Freedom” t-shirt where the American flag was made of candy, because I doubt he’d have left without it.
Bless that man and his incurable sweet tooth.
Today’s gem was going to be a visit to the local indie bookstore, which we’d somehow missed, despite it literally being around the corner from the French Quarter.
He’d made an offhand comment the other day about his tablet breaking on his last deployment and how he hated reading on his phone.
Problem. Solved. This was why I went into logistics, people.
Of course, when I told Alex about it, she sent me a string of articles about penguins and something called “pebbling”.
It was both illuminating and depressing as hell.
At least JD’s version of flirting made sense—assuming that’s what he was doing every time he made me squirm and hot under the collar.
Mine was more relatable to flightless birds.
“Did I not make the coffee strong enough?” JD asked from where he was leaning against the opposite counter in the kitchen.
I shook my head, barely retaining enough presence of mind to register the question. I really needed to stop letting my thoughts wander around him.
“Okay.” He stepped forward and set his empty cup on the counter beside me. “Something on your mind?”
That got my attention. My head shot up, and I met his gaze, but the heat from the last time he’d asked me that question wasn’t in his eyes.
Doubt swirled in my chest. Was it something I’d done?
More likely it was something I hadn’t. It was always something I hadn’t.
I didn’t pick up on sexual cues as quickly as most people seemed to.
I didn’t know if that was due to a lack of skill, practice, something inherently wrong with me, or what.
Whatever it was, it inevitably bit me in the ass.
I’d thought for sure he’d kiss me that day in the Quarter and I’d fucking wanted it.
Had I read that wrong? Was I supposed to kiss him?
Was it not like that at all? Was that intense morning after our run yet another fleeting moment and I’d gotten all twisted up over nothing…
again? My face heated with embarrassment as I stared into his stunning blue-green eyes that were almost the exact shade of the clear water on the coast. Why did this always happen to me?
Why couldn’t I be normal? I’d let my stupid feelings get warped into my ridiculous hero worship and now—
“Marc, I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that?”
I blinked at him in confusion. He gently squeezed my bicep, and I glanced down at his muscular grip and saw my coffee cup sitting beside his. That was weird. I didn’t remember putting it down.
“Eyes back up here, baby boy.” The soft command in his voice had my gaze automatically returning to his face. “Good. Now take a deep breath with me.”
I did as he said, surprised to find it hurt.
“Now let it out through your mouth.”
The air escaped in a big rush, as if it couldn’t leave fast enough.
He chuckled lightly and rubbed my arm. “Try a little slower on this next one. Follow me.” We breathed together until it stopped hurting, though I wasn’t sure how he knew that. “Better. How do you feel? Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“You have a lot of freckles,” I blurted.
A grin split his face. He released my arm and stepped back. I came damn close to demanding he put his hand right back where it had been, but even with all of my weirdness, I knew that wasn’t right. “You seem rather preoccupied with my freckles,” he said, arching a copper eyebrow.
“I… well…” I stiffened my spine and pushed my shoulders back. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s more of them than people around here,” I finished with a huff, putting my fists on my hips for emphasis.
There was a brief pause, then he tilted his head back and let out a rich belly laugh.
The sound melted away the last of my anxiety as a smile split my face, and I absolutely did not stare enraptured at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.
He slowly sobered, using the heels of his palms to wipe the corners of his eyes.
“I swear to God, Marc, the shit that comes out of your mouth.” He ruffled my hair, and I made a strangled sound of indignant protest, which of course made him laugh. “Never change, baby boy.” He winked and stepped further away while I struggled to get my brain to reboot.
That was flirting, right? Winks almost always meant flirting. At least in this context. I was like eighty-five percent sure. And he’d called me… My poor, floundering brain did another record-scratch. Wait a damn minute.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?” JD asked, stretching his absurdly long arms overhead and causing his shirt to ride up and reveal a strip of copper-dusted pale skin.
“Shop.”
“What was that?” he asked, dropping his arms.
I shook my head. Jesus Christ, Marc. Pull yourself together. “I figured we’d haul the last of the large items to the dumpster, drop off some more things at the shelter, then hit up Page and Palette.”
The way his eyes brightened told me I’d chosen a good pebble today. “That’s awesome. I’ve been meaning to get back into physical books again. I wonder if they’ll have any of my favorite indie authors in stock.”
“You’ll have to show me who they are.”
He gave me a dubious look. “They’ll be queer books.”
“And?”
He rolled his eyes. “Gay, Marc. They’ll be gay as fuck. Because I like to read queer romance, and though I happily read all colors of the rainbow, I’ve been jonesing for some gay romance.” He gave me a look that I could only interpret as a challenge.
I raised my eyebrows, still not sure what the issue was. Who was I to judge what a man liked to read in his spare time? I couldn’t even tell when I was genuinely attracted to someone. “So… smut?”
His gaze darkened, and I knew too late that was the wrong thing to say. “No. While some of it might be purely PWP—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He rolled his eyes. “Porn without plot.”
I frowned and muttered to myself, “Isn’t that most porn?” Though apparently not quietly enough, because JD chuckled and his demeanor lightened significantly.
He ran a hand over his head. “I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have come at you like that. A lot of people like to label anything gay as smut or erotica if there’s sex in it, and I’m used to having to defend or hide my reading choices.
So, yeah. Sorry.” Abashed was not a good look for JD, and I wanted to punch every asshole on the planet who’d made him feel bad for reading a damn book—smut or not. Who fucking cared?
“That sucks, man. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that. I hope you know I would never judge you like that.”
He took a deep breath that expanded his impressive chest and let it out slowly, while nodding his head. “I do. Yeah. So,” he clapped his hands, a grin spreading across his face, “let's chunk some junk so we can grab some food and find some reads.”
The junk hauling took even less time than I expected, which meant I was that much closer to having the flower refrigerators installed.
God, I couldn’t wait to be surrounded by flowers again.
They were my happy place. Not that seeing them outside wasn’t great and all, but it wasn’t the same as actually getting to create with them.
And maybe a small part of me wanted to show JD why I wanted to do this, that I was really good at it.
Lunch was a quick affair, though I was pretty sure that had more to do with JD’s impatience to get to the bookstore.
We still hadn’t made it to McSharry’s, but he was right; we had the entire summer.
There was no rush. Plus, I still needed to take him to the beach at some point.
Now that the shop was finally getting close enough to open, there was more that required professionals and needed us out of the way.
Plenty of time to tackle all the things I wanted to show him.
Not that I had a list… or not one that I planned to tell him about.
We finished our grab-and-go sandwiches from Rae’s Kitchen—another veteran-owned business—as we walked up to the impressive entrance of Page & Palette. JD paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the two-story, orange-brick facade.
“What’s up?” I asked, following his gaze.
“I still can’t get over the ironwork here. Somehow it manages to be completely random but totally in place beside modern buildings.” He shook his head in wonder.