I really need to let out this uniform before next year. Can't breathe.
"Dad?" Kimber tilted her head. "Why are you blushing?"
"Blushing?" I sputtered. "I am not."
She eyed me as she sipped her own beer. "Let me guess-you're hot because of your uniform."
I glanced down at my jacket. Goddamn. I'd had an alibi right there and didn't even think to use it. "Um . . ."
"Now you're really blushing, Dad."
"Shut up," I muttered, and took a drink.
"I'm just saying."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I elbowed her playfully. "You're just saying-"
"Hey, Commander."
Fraser's voice sent my heart into my throat. Good thing I hadn't had a mouthful of beer right then, or it would've wound up all over Kimber. Or Fraser.
Schooling my expression, I turned around. "Hey, good to see you."
"You too, sir."
I shook his hand, smiling despite my pounding heart. "We're technically not at work. Call me Travis."
He gulped, like he wasn't sure what to do with the informality. "Oh. Okay." He glanced down, probably realizing our handshake had lasted a few beats too long, and withdrew his hand. "I guess call me Clint, then."
So Lieutenant Commander Fraser was really Clint, a guy who had a boyfriend and looked incredibly hot in his dress uniform. Yeah, that was going to make things easier around the office.
His eyes darted toward Kimber, and to his own date, as if he wasn't sure who should introduce who first.
I cleared my throat. "Well, um . . . This is my daughter, Kimber."
"Your-" His eyebrows jumped a bit, but he quickly extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."
She smiled as they shook hands. "Hi."
"Hi." He let her go and gestured at the guy beside him. "This is Logan. My . . ." he hesitated, "date."
Logan glanced at him, as if he wasn't sure how to respond to the hesitation over the nature of their relationship, then drained his beer bottle.
Clint shifted his weight, avoiding eye contact for a moment. Beside him, Logan rolled his eyes. I couldn't help wondering if Clint's hesitation a moment ago had been because he was second-guessing how out he wanted to be-that ship has sailed, my friend-or if there was some underlying issue between him and his "date."
Finally, Logan turned to Clint. "I'm going to get another. You sure you don't want one?"
Clint's lips tightened, and he shook his head as he muttered something that sounded like, "You know I don't."
Logan gave a quiet, semidrunken laugh, nudging Clint with his shoulder. "Back in a minute." He didn't wait for a response, and headed for the bar. And despite how early in the evening it was, he was already noticeably unsteady on his feet.
Clint watched him go, and slowly pushed out a breath. "Sorry about . . ." He glanced at Logan's back. Lowered his gaze. Shook his head. "Anyway. Um." He coughed and looked around. "Looks like this command puts on a decent ball."
I nodded, scanning the room again while I willed my pulse to come back down. After a moment, I turned to him. "Don't get your hopes up about the food, though."
"Get my hopes up?" Clint laughed, crinkling the corners of his eyes and sending my heart rate right back up into the stratosphere again. "This isn't my first command. Trust me-my expectations are as realistic as yours."
Chuckling, I brought my beer up to my lips. "Good. Then you won't be disappointed."
He started to say something, but hesitated and shifted his gaze away. If I wasn't mistaken, some color rose in his cheeks.
Beside me, Kimber smothered a laugh.
I glared at her, and she quickly gestured with her beer bottle. "I'm going to go mingle."
"Okay." I fished my wallet out of my trouser pocket. "Here. In case you need a refill." I shoved a five in her hand for tips and shooed her away, and she shot me a mischievous grin and-when Clint still wasn't looking, thank God-a wink. Then she was gone.
And I was suddenly alone with the guy who worked five offices down from mine-not that I'd counted-and had a boyfriend or "date" or something who'd gone off to get a drink he probably didn't need. The silence lingered uncomfortably for a moment, but Clint finally met my gaze and spoke.
"So, how do you think we did on the inspection?"
Normally, I hated shoptalk at functions like this, but sometimes it was a godsend. What better fallback for some socially awkward guys-gay and drooling or not-who couldn't figure out what else to talk about?
So we discussed the inspection, and I focused half my attention on that and half on playing it cool. Not letting him see how much he'd flipped my world on its ass simply by showing up with a man. Except what difference did it make? It didn't matter if he was gay when he was obviously spoken for. Unless there really was some trouble brewing between him and his date.
I tamped that thought down. I was not an opportunist who'd swoop in the second someone's relationship ended. It was an absolute certainty that I'd be thinking about him later with a hand on my dick, but it wouldn't go any further than that. Damn what few scruples I had.
As we talked, I sipped my beer, and for once, didn't feel the need to go outside for a cigarette. I only smoked when I drank, and that itch for nicotine was definitely there beneath my skin, but I didn't give in because I didn't want to go outside. I had a moment to talk one-on-one with Clint-not-Lieutenant-Commander-Fraser. The cigarette could wait.
Someone tapped the microphone at the front of the room and announced the cocktail hour was over. Everyone took their seats.
And wasn't it just my luck . . .
Clint and his date sat down at my table.
Every Navy Ball went through a series of traditions. The chaplain's invocation. The oldest and youngest Sailors in attendance cutting the cake together. The acknowledgment of the unoccupied table setting to remember the POWs and MIA who weren't with us. After eighteen years, I'd pretty much memorized the routine.
Tonight, it all seemed miles away. Something happening in some other reality while I sat here, surrounded by people and somehow feeling completely isolated as I shifted my gaze from one coworker to the next, wondering if things would be different on Monday.
There wasn't much I could do about it now, but I still wasn't sure if this had been the best way to come out to my new chain of command and coworkers. It had worked for a buddy of mine at my last base. He'd come to the Christmas party with his now-ex-thank-God-boyfriend, and aside from a few double takes, no one had really missed a beat. After that, nothing had changed as far as I'd been able to tell. Aside from quietly making bets on when he'd cut the loud-mouthed, sexist, racist son of a bitch loose-three weeks, it turned out-everyone had treated him the same way.
Hopefully the same would be true for me after tonight. I hadn't come up with any other realistic or more subtle options for letting my coworkers know I had a boyfriend. Work it into a conversation? Put a picture on my desk that made it clear we were a couple? Make some big awkward announcement? I should've just mentioned him in passing and let people do the math.
But no, somehow, showing up with a man and letting it simply be known had been the best idea. No one really seemed to notice or care, so that was good. If anything, they were giving Logan the side-eye, but I thought it had less to do with him being male and was more about the bottles he'd been damn near deep-throating in rapid succession.
Slow down, idiot. You're shitfaced before anyone else is even buzzed.
One thing was for sure-if my coworkers were taking bets on when I'd kick Logan's drunk ass to the curb, I wanted to know so I could get in on it. I was this close to done with the guy, and dinner hadn't even been served yet.
Which . . . hurt. I was angry with him tonight. We'd talked about this. Just one time, could he take it easy? But no. He'd been drinking since before I'd even picked him up, and we both knew he'd keep drinking until the beer ran dry.
I sighed, heart sinking. I liked the guy. I really did.
The longer I sat here, though, the more it felt like the last straw. I didn't-and couldn't-drink, and being around him when he was drunk was a problem. We'd fucking talked about this, damn it. He'd promised he'd do better, especially tonight.
And now here we were.
This must've been how my ex-wife had felt on more occasions than I cared to admit. There were only so many times a person could hear This is the last time-promise! from someone with booze on his breath before enough was enough.
Naturally, the straw would break the camel's back tonight. At the Navy Ball. As I was introducing him to my coworkers as my boyfriend. First time since my divorce that I was in a relationship. First time in my life I was in a relationship with a man. It had felt good to think about going someplace public together. About saying, I'm with this person. It was like I was taking a huge step and moving on with my life. Now, instead of being out of the closet, all I could think was I wanted out. Of this room, of this ball, of this goddamned relationship.
I took a long drink, wishing it was alcoholic, and that stopped me in my tracks.
Oh dear God. Yes. If being with Logan made me want to drink, then he needed to go. Like . . . soon.
Sorry, Logan. You fucking blew it.