"Yeah, I hear that."
We both laughed again, then picked up our menus. We'd been here enough times we both had the menu memorized, but once in a while, the powers that be mixed things up. Today, it was the usual fare, so I ordered a salmon wrap while Paul-ever a creature of habit-got the steak salad with an extra side of balsamic vinaigrette. As long as I'd known him, he'd done that-when he found something he liked at a restaurant, he'd order it over and over until the end of time.
After the waiter had brought our drinks and taken our orders and menus, Paul folded his hands on the table and gave me an odd look. "So. Who is she?"
I blinked. "Who's who?"
He rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. I'm not as dumb as I look. Spill it."
"But I-"
"For fuck's sake, Travis." He chuckled and ticked off the points on his fingers. "You've been busy as hell lately. You've been grinning like a fool ever since you walked in today. The floating hearts around your head are practically visible from space. And if I'm not mistaken"-he gestured at my neck-"that's a bite."
"What? Where?" I tugged self-consciously at my collar.
He snickered. "There isn't one, but you're blushing, so . . ."
"Asshole."
"Come on. Tell me."
It wasn't like he would let it go until I told him, and I'd been guilty of prying Sean's existence out of him when they'd first started dating. Fair was fair.
"Well . . ." I scratched the back of my neck. "First of all, he's not a she."
Paul's eyes widened. "Really?"
I snorted. "Oh, like you're surprised." We'd slept together enough times in our younger days, he was the last person on the planet who could claim surprise that I was with a man.
"I'm just . . . I can't remember the last time you actually dated a man." He grimaced apologetically. "I mean, besides . . . um . . ."
"Well." I shifted in my chair, heart sinking because I could read too easily between the lines. "Dion and I never really dated anyway." More to myself, I added, "That was part of the problem."
Paul chewed his lip. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."
"It's all right." I rolled my stiff shoulders. "And I mean, you're right. He's the reason I've never had a relationship with a man." I pushed out a breath. "Which is stupid. It's been ten years, for God's sake."
"It's not stupid," Paul said quietly. "I can't imagine anyone could go through that and not be affected by it for a long, long time."
I winced, but didn't speak.
Paul went on, his tone soft and cautious. "Things are going well with this guy, though?"
"Yeah." I managed to smile. "They're going really well. My limitations haven't scared him off." I laughed. "Guess that's promising, right?"
"Sounds like it. So when do I get to meet this guy?"
"Well . . ." My humor faded. I absently tapped my knuckle on the table. "I don't know. I mean, he can deal with my back. But that's one mine in a very large minefield. The novelty of navigating that bullshit might wear off before I have a chance to introduce him to my friends."
"Travis." Paul sighed. "You're not the basket case you think you are."
I arched an eyebrow. "Uh, yes. Yes, I am, and he knows it. And he knows the how and why of the physical stuff." I traced a finger through the condensation on my glass. "But . . . I haven't told him about Dion." Fuck. All these years later, and just saying that man's name still hit me in the chest.
Paul held my gaze. "You think you're going to?"
"Eventually. Maybe?" I sighed. "I don't know. That's kind of a heavy thing to put on someone I haven't been seeing for very long."
"It is." He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "But it's a big piece of who you are. At least when it comes to . . . um . . ."
"To getting involved with men?"
Paul nodded.
I couldn't argue with that. No one had ever left an imprint on my life as indelible as Dion. I'd never fallen in love with any other man quite as hard as I had with him, and ever since, every sexual and nearly romantic interaction I'd had with a man had been colored by Dion's death. Losing him had left me terrified of getting that close to someone else, because I could not go through that kind of loss twice. It was ridiculously irrational, especially since I hadn't had as much trouble getting close to women, but there it was. The day I'd watched them put Dion in the ground, a wall had gone up around me that no man had ever stood a chance of getting past.
My mind went down this road every time I had more than a one-night stand with a man. The fact that he and I were colleagues and passed in the halls a million times a day didn't help. When things inevitably went to shit, there'd be no avoiding each other.
Or if he were suddenly gone, there'd be no avoiding his absence.
I shuddered.
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yeah." I took a deep swallow of ice water and held on to the glass for something cold to center myself. One of those PTSD coping methods I'd learned years ago. As my pulse slowly came down, I said, "You know, maybe having you meet him wouldn't be a bad idea. At least then you can smack me upside the head if there's some huge red flag I'm not seeing."
Paul shot me a look. "And you really expect me to believe that you'd listen to me if I pointed one out?"
I laughed. "Fair, fair."
"I'll do my best though," he said. "Tell me when and where, and Sean and I will be there."
"Okay. If we're going to do dinner or something . . ." I hesitated. "PRT's a week from Wednesday, so we're both going to be eating like birds until after weigh-ins."
"Put that on the list of things Paul does not miss about the Navy."
"Asshole," I muttered. "Anyway, after Wednesday, we'll both be ready to eat."
Paul grimaced. "You gonna be walking after?"
I shifted, ignoring the spasm in the middle of my back. The Physical Readiness Test was the bane of my existence, and I'd be living on Motrin, ice packs, and prayers for a day or two after, but it was a necessary evil. "Okay, maybe we should plan for the day after PRT."
"Good plan." He tapped his fingers beside his glass. "You think you'll be okay for the PRT this year?"
"Don't have much choice, do I?"
Our eyes locked. Yeah, I had a choice, but we'd talked about this before. He'd even tried to persuade me onto an elliptical when he was my CO, but . . . no. Even if the elliptical was, on paper, the same as a run, everyone knew it didn't look that way to the boards who determined our promotions.
I'd given in and had a few PRTs waived entirely in the past, but waiving three in a row for the same reason would put me in front of a medical board and my career on the chopping block. If I waived this one, it'd be my luck the next would fall on a day when I could barely get out of bed. So I didn't dare waive a PRT or half-ass it on the elliptical unless I absolutely couldn't run it. As long as I could stand up unassisted on Wednesday, I'd get through it.
Just thinking about it made my stomach turn. Even though I wasn't drinking at the moment, I was tempted to have a cigarette, but not around Paul. For one, he still struggled with his own cravings from time to time. For another, he'd give me endless crap about it and probably threaten to call my mom and tell her I was smoking again. He was kind of a dick like that.
So I held off on the cigarette and shifted the conversation into a direction that wasn't so bumpy. As we talked, though, my stomach was still in knots. I was more nervous about the prospect of a double date than I should've been, but sometimes it was weird to be with Paul and whoever I was dating. We'd never dated, but we'd slept together a few times. Our friendship was intimate to say the least.
Now that I thought about it, I wondered if he approached sex as gingerly as I did these days. Back then, we'd been rough and unbreakable. A couple of aircraft carrier landing mishaps later, we'd both been given a literal crash course in our own mortality. Ever since, the thought of rough sex made my breath catch for very different reasons than it had in my twenties. I hoped it wasn't the same for Paul.
Oh hell, of course it wasn't. He wouldn't be marrying someone twenty years younger than him if he couldn't at least hold his own in the bedroom. I wanted to believe sex wasn't that crucial, but I was too cynical-and had been dumped too many times for being a disappointment in bed-to believe it.
So, I was thankful that age and injuries hadn't stopped Paul from finding the love he'd always deserved.
And I wished I wasn't too damned cynical to believe I'd ever have the same thing.
Even with Clint.
It was that time of year again. Time for everyone in the Navy to prove to the powers that be that we were in shape. Time for the physical readiness test. The PRT. The Periodic Required Torture.
The push-ups I could cope with. Sit-ups made me want to throw myself headlong into a jet intake. Or curl-ups, as they were cruelly called-the last thing a man with back problems wanted to think about was anything that involved his spine and "curling." But I could get through them.
The run, though. God . . . the run.