Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Fair enough.” Wes’s expression went unreadable, eyes dark and stormy, jaw firm enough to chisel marble. “Lead the way?”
“Just like that?” Dustin had expected more pushback. This fast compliance had little in common with the mouthy, assertive man online who didn’t take any of Dustin’s BS.
“They’re waiting, right? Let’s not give them reason to get impatient. Or suspicious. God knows we can’t risk tarnishing your stellar reputation, Lieutenant.”
“Wes—” Dustin tried to stop him, hating the bitterness in Wes’s voice, but Wes was already striding down the hall, forcing Dustin to catch up.
“We’re in here,” Dustin said once he reached Wes’s side. He led Wes—Lowe into the small office, which felt twice as claustrophobic as usual. To the LT and the senior chief, he said, “This is Petty Officer Lowe.”
Wes’s uniform displayed his E-5 rate of Petty Officer Second Class. That he was enlisted was a kick in the nads, and Dustin wasn’t joking about the fraternization rules—he was an officer and senior team leadership to boot. There would be hell to pay, even for a close friendship, and he absolutely couldn’t risk that with any of his enlisted men. Not that he’d ever once been tempted before Wes. Fuck. This fucking sucked, and even as his mind raced, he forced his expression to remain neutral.
The senior chief, who did a lot of the managing of the enlisted men, went over a bunch of mundane things like Wes checking into the barracks—Lowe, Lowe, Lowe. He can’t be Wes. Not anymore. The senior chief’s words faded away, replaced by an awful buzzing in Dustin’s ears and a crushing weight on his chest.
When Dustin was fifteen, the family dog had been hit by a car, and his father had given him a stoic “real men don’t cry” lecture about handling his grief. Dustin felt similarly adrift right now, the loss of his friend slamming into him, knowing that he had to stay strong, that he couldn’t afford to fall apart. But this wasn’t just an inconvenience. It meant never again could he be anything more than Wes’s superior officer. No more late-night chats. No more...anything. From this moment forward, whatever he’d had with Wes in the past was dead.
* * *
Wes wanted off this carnival ride and a redo on the entire past month. They were walking from the office building to meet the team—the one he absolutely did not want to be on—before a scheduled beach run and he’d managed to hang back next to Dustin, letting the senior chief and the LT get in front of them.
It was still early—Wes had been on a red-eye from Virginia and then straight to the base. No time for food even, and apparently same as his old team—the one he missed like crazy already—the LT liked getting administrative stuff out of the way before the sun even came up. This LT looked to be right around Dustin’s age and a serious hard-charger. Wes had met his type before—straight As in school and at the Academy, BUD/S a piece of cake, sailing up the ranks and wondering why the hell it wasn’t so easy for everyone else. He was shorter than Wes, but stocky with an assertive voice that carried even as they walked, and he bantered about coffee with the senior chief.
“We need to talk.” Wes kept his voice pitched low but firm, no room for arguments as he spoke to Dustin for the first time since the hallway.
“Not here.” Dustin’s tone was all officious indifference, and Wes wanted to shake him, remind him who he really was. But who knew? Maybe the guy Wes had thought he’d known was all an act, and this was the real Dustin. Which was exactly why they needed to talk.
“Fine. But soon. Today.” Wes kept his head straight ahead, didn’t allow himself the luxury of looking at Dustin. If anyone observed them, they needed to be seen making bland small talk, and Wes wasn’t sure that his eyes could keep up the ruse if he looked into Dustin’s face. Every time he saw him, he kept flashing back to DC. Dustin laughing. Dustin nervous. Dustin’s head thrown back in passion. Dustin sleeping. All sorts of faces that seemed at total odds with this tough-guy lieutenant who was making it very clear he wanted nothing to do with Wes.
Well, fuck that noise. Wes wasn’t done with him. He had a shitload of anger to work through here, anger that had only increased every moment they’d been in the LT’s office together.
“Message me when we’re off duty. And you’re alone,” Dustin lectured him in a low voice like Wes was seriously going to call him in the middle of the chow hall or something. Wes was not an idiot here, although apparently he’d been a fool, thinking he could trust Dustin, even a little.