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)
“Who’s talking about my prize recruit?” Paul swept into the room. If anything, Paul was more eager to win over Wes than he had been to get Dustin to join the team. Wes’s rep as an operator was that good.
“I said I’d think.” Wes laughed. He and Paul had talked on the phone a few weeks ago. “I’m still researching a few bomb squads in the area—”
“They can’t pay you what we can,” Paul said emphatically. “And the two of you? Out in the field together? You’d be a great team.”
That was Dustin’s private dream, one he was working very hard not to give voice to, but he’d sure as heck be thinking about it when he blew out the candles later. He loved his new job, finding in it the opposite of all the things that had driven him crazy about the military the past few years. Gone were all the regulations and the umpteen levels of oversight. Hell, he even liked the travel because it kept him from missing Wes too much during these long months of cautious behavior. His clients were diverse, the work interesting, and the only thing better would be Wes along for the long flights and lonely nights in hotel rooms and Wes by his side, getting in and out of sticky situations.
But if Wes wanted to work with one of the several bomb squads or explosives companies headhunting him, Dustin would support that too—Wes had more than earned the right to go after whatever future he most wanted.
“We’ll see.” Wes’s eyes twinkled with some genuine amusement. “And the only input I’ve had on the DC real estate is that it better have room for a grill.”
“You grill?” Dustin’s father asked. “I’ve been grilling my famous burgers for U of O tailgates for years. Thinking about entering them in one of those contests.”
“Yeah? My dad does contests.” Wes’s smile got more real, and they were off to the races, talking about meat and spices and football while Dustin tried hard not to breathe an audible sigh of relief.
“Relax,” Paul said in a low tone as he herded Dustin into the kitchen. “Let’s get you a beer. Your man’s going to do just fine.”
My man. They weren’t using the word boyfriend publicly or anything, but man, did Dustin like the sound of that. And never had he been more grateful for the unwavering support of his family and friends than during the difficult transition to civilian life and the long months of waiting to be able to be more open with Wes.
“So,” Apollo said, handing him a beer as he entered the kitchen. “You came. He came. Your dad’s still here, upright and all, I take it?”
“They’re talking barbecue.” Dustin laughed at himself as he took a swig of the beer. He’d told his parents a few months ago that he was bisexual, and while his father had made some predictable noises about family names and other stuff that Dustin had expected, he’d seemed to mellow to a quiet disappointment—the sort of thing where Dustin could tell he wasn’t the happiest, but he said all the right things, said he was happy for Dustin and that he still loved him.
“Food,” Apollo called out to the living room, and everyone filtered into the kitchen and dining room to eat, buffet style.
Dustin filled a plate with lasagna, salad, and big hunks of garlic bread. He was trying to decide where to eat when his dad came up to him.
“I’ll say one thing. That Apollo sure can cook.” His father’s plate was even more loaded than Dustin’s own.
“Dylan sure knows how to pick ’em,” Dustin said mildly.
“I’ve been invited for pulled pork when you get settled out east. Maybe we’ll need a family cook-off.” His dad laughed at his own joke, a nervousness to the chuckle that wasn’t usually there.
“Wes told you to come visit?” Dustin was more hung up on that than anything else—he’d been the one pushing for more socialization and openness. Wes had seemed content to stay holed up forever.
“He did. Think he feels bad, taking you so far away.” His father shrugged. “But that’s what frequent flyer miles are for, right? Lord knows we’re already racking them up for Dylan. Don’t mind doing the same for you.”
“Thanks.” Dustin’s throat felt thicker than old wool socks. “You’re cool with...everything?”
“I still wouldn’t turn down a grandbaby or seven. And if that man turns you into a... Panthers fan, we’re gonna have words. Especially if this is the Seahawks’ year.”
“I’m sure it is.” Dustin nodded. “So you...like Wes? Apart from his football loyalties?”
Another shrug, another nervous chuckle. But his dad used his free hand to pat Dustin’s biceps. “He’s gonna keep you fed. He makes you blush like a schoolgirl every time you say his name. I’m not... This hasn’t been easy for me. But you’re happy. That’s what matters. Simple as that.”