A Marine and a Gentleman(3)
“Yes, sir. That is my intention.” It didn’t matter that James didn’t wear a uniform or that he only carried the rank of private to Brenden’s lieutenant, the doc possessed presence and dedicated his professional life to helping Marines—on and off active duty. That alone earned him respect.
“Good.” James patted his shoulder. “Lauren and I will see you for dinner with the guys on Friday, yes?”
“Yep, I’ll be there. I can’t wait to meet the woman turning Logan into mush.”
They both grinned at that. Logan Cavanaugh, a rough and tough leatherneck with a bad ass reputation, tamed by the woman he and Zach shared. A sight Brenden would pay money to see. The pair were closer than brothers. They’d grown up together, served together, and when Logan’s career shattered in an attack, Zach followed him out of the service and worked to keep his recovery on track. That they fell for the same woman didn’t surprise him. That they were making a go of their unconventional relationship—it impressed him and deserved his respect.
“If you end up having a plus one, just shoot me a text so I can let Lauren know. God help us if we disturb the feng shui of her seating arrangement.”
They laughed again and Brenden headed out. He debated wearing his uniform, the classiest thing he owned for the dinner with Liam, or just going comfortable.
Comfortable won out. He had some stops to make before his date and just a few hours to get it all done, but he whistled all the way to the borrowed truck.
***
Liam stepped out of the rental car and handed the keys to the valet. The Dallas nightclub was not at all what he’d expected. Heavy wooden doors offered a gothic touch to the façade. A red canopy stretched out to the circular drive, matching carpet that led to the doors. A doorman dressed in a nineteenth century, double-breasted coat, top hat, and tails held out his hand for the card from the mysterious 1Night Stand service.
“I think I’m going to wait out here. It’s a beautiful night.” Sliding the card back into his wallet, he walked along the curb to a quieter spot away from the foot traffic and arrivals—and, unsurprisingly, no departures. It was just after six-thirty in the evening, local time. After renting the car at the airport, he’d bypassed his hotel to come straight to the club. He hadn’t decided whether he planned to stay the night or not, no matter what he agreed to with the 1Night Stand service.
Even the name brought a half-smile to his lips. The woman who sent him the three emails offered an uncanny and accurate assessment of his situation. At the end of the day, the forwarded request from Brenden prompted him to say yes.
Extracting a cigar from a case in his inner pocket, he trimmed the end off of one and lit it. The fragrant tobacco filled the air and calmed his mind. He handled power lunches and dinners every night of the week. As a professional banker, he knew when businessmen tried to bullshit him or when they had a plan.
He knew how to say no.
He always knew when to say yes. Reading people for a living wasn’t pretty work, but it proved lucrative.
Another couple arrived, huddled together and dashing up the steps as if it were cold. The forty-five degree temperature and dead still air were hardly cold to his Boston-forged blood.
Why Dallas? Liam would’ve preferred to meet Brenden at home, at the Tipperary on the Green, to toss back a pint for old times. But no, Brenden invited him to the cow town in the middle of the country where big boots, big steaks, and big boobs seemed to be everywhere.
Big hair, too. He eyed the next couple arriving. It looks like the 80s threw up on her. He puffed the cigar and kept his acerbic opinion quiet, but the distraction helped.
Thirty-two years old and on the ropes over an invitation to drinks. The drinks aren’t the problem. Come meet the guy I’ve lusted after for over half my life and spend the night with him? Yeah, nothing to be nervous about.
He’d never suspected Brenden was gay—he never exhibited any ‘signs’ or ‘traits’ as the locals used to call them. The Marine didn’t behave queer, effeminate, or different from any other jock in their heavily Catholic neighborhood. But they had moments—a handshake here, a laugh there—always too ephemeral for Liam to grasp onto.
My best friend….
Frankly, Brenden Fitzpatrick was a best friend, savior, and bodyguard all rolled into one sexy as hell, fit package. But he’d never responded to the flirtatious gestures, negatively or positively. He gave him shit. He watched his back, and he beat the hell out of guys who gave him a hard time.
He stood up for him—even to his Marine father who didn’t approve of his son hanging out with a queer. He’d been there whenever Liam needed him—until the day he went for OCR training and left their Boston neighborhood.