I felt bad about it, too. He was a nice guy and all-not a borderline skinhead like the asshole my friend had brought last year. The sex hadn't been half bad either. But Jesus fucking Christ, the man could drink.
After tonight, though, now that he'd been slurring his words and wobbling on his feet right there in front of my new coworkers when he'd sworn he wouldn't, it was going to have to be addressed one way or another. By the time the cocktail hour ended, he'd been on his third beer, not counting the pre-gaming before I'd picked him up.
A couple of guys at the next table watched him. Then they glanced at me, brows pinched with what looked like sympathy, before turning their attention back to the CO. She'd been speaking for a while now, and for the life of me, I couldn't recall a word she'd said.
Wasn't this night off to a fantastic start?
Now I was out as seeing a man I was five seconds away from dumping. On the bright side, I wouldn't have to sweat over pronouns when I started dating someone with a lower blood alcohol content. Though my coworkers would probably all be confused as hell if I mentioned going out with a woman-I swore nobody at my last several commands had ever heard of bisexuality.
Eh. It was what it was. If they thought my closet had a revolving door, so be it. I just hoped nobody was a dick about me bringing a guy. So far so good, but there were a lot of people here. How they'd treat me in private-say, at the office on Monday-remained to be seen. Every command was different. Some of the guys at NAS Adams were on the conservative side. Some seemed pretty open-minded. The last CO was apparently marrying his boyfriend soon, and I hadn't heard anyone screeching about that, so I was hopeful. But still worried. Because God knew one queer coworker plus one homophobe could equal a seriously hostile environment. I knew too many people who'd learned that the hard way.
"Hey. Clint." Logan nudged me clumsily. "Earth t'Clint."
I shook myself. When had the CO stopped talking? Were all the ceremonies over?
I turned to Logan. "What? Sorry."
He laughed. "Space cadet." Gesturing over his shoulder, he said, "I'm gonna get another drink. You sure you don't want anything?"
Gritting my teeth, I said, "No, I'm fine." And you don't need any more either, especially if you're too drunk to remember why I don't drink.
He rose unsteadily and stumbled off toward the bar.
Scowling, I reached for my sweaty glass and took a drink.
A few years ago, I probably wouldn't have been quite so annoyed that Logan was getting this drunk. And I probably would've had a couple of drinks with him. On the other hand, a few years ago, it would've been a moot point because I would've been here with my ex-wife. Neither of us would've been drinking heavily anyway because it'd been one of a handful of nights each year that we'd rented a hotel room for some couple time while the kids had stayed with Grandma and Grandpa.
But those days were over, and my ability to drink myself senseless had played no small part in destroying my marriage, and-
I winced at the painful barrage of memories.
Have a drink? No, thank you.
He knew why I didn't drink, though, and he kept asking. Not only would he keep drinking himself stupid, he'd keep egging me on to join him. Aside from the shit inside my own head, Logan was the single biggest threat to my sobriety these days.
And somehow, I'd had to wait until we'd announced our relationship to God and everyone to realize I couldn't spend one more night with him. I couldn't-
"Clint?" That time, it was a voice that didn't raise my hackles.
I turned toward Commander Wil-Travis. Not at work. Call him Travis.
He lifted his eyebrows. "You all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah." I waved a hand. "I'm . . . I'm good, yeah."
He watched me, no expression at all to let me know if he was concerned, or thought I was an idiot, or maybe a little of both.
I took a swig of ice water and casually looked around to avoid Travis's blue-eyed scrutiny. If he thought I was an idiot, he was right. I was relieved that I didn't have to worry about whether people knew I was queer-it was the first time I'd ever done anything close to coming out, so that was a shaky plus. But I wasn't so sure I liked being the guy who was dating the cute-but-sloppily-drunk dumbass. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.
I twisted around to find him in the crowd. He was at one of the bars, having an animated conversation with someone who looked equally inebriated.
Maybe it wasn't a good idea?
Swearing under my breath, I turned back around. This was going to be a long night. Lord help us all when they opened up the dance floor.
Moments after Logan stumbled back to the table, a waiter came by to send us up to the buffet.
"All right!" One of the guys from Travis's department stood, rubbing his hands together. "Chow time."
"About damn time." Travis winced as he rose, and his daughter said something I couldn't hear. He gestured dismissively. With his other hand, he gingerly rubbed the middle of his back. Then he twisted like he was trying to loosen up a crick, and followed her toward the buffet. I hadn't known him long, but I'd never seen him walk without a limp, and it seemed more pronounced tonight. His daughter motioned for him to go ahead of her as they joined the line. As I watched them-surreptitiously of course-I swore she was deliberately positioning herself so anyone squeezing past them would bump her and not him.
It wasn't unusual to see service members with visible pain, especially if they'd been in for any length of time. Being a commander, he'd probably been in at least a couple of years longer than me. Plenty of time to get battered and beaten by the nature of the job. And since he had wings on his uniform, he'd been a pilot at some point in his career. Maybe he'd ejected. God knew every flyboy I'd ever met who'd survived an ejection walked a little uncomfortably at times.
I pulled my gaze away from him so no one would catch me staring. Wasn't that what I needed-bring a guy to the ball, realize we were a huge mistake, and then get caught ogling another man. Yep, this was going to be a great night.
The buffet line moved quickly for once, and we made it to the table lined with chafing dishes. For as drunk as he was, Logan managed to load up his plate and make it back to his seat without incident. I didn't know if that impressed me or annoyed me. Nothing made it harder to tell someone "you've got a drinking problem" like evidence that he could function fine when he was intoxicated. My ex-wife could attest to that one.
As I sat down with my own plate, Travis caught my eye over the rim of his water glass. He glanced at Logan, then back at me, but said nothing.
Jesus.
I had expected to feel conspicuous tonight, but not like this. Being out was fine. Sitting with the drunken idiot I needed to dump, across from the man I'd sell my soul to sleep with? Crap. Clearly it should've been a pre-ball sign when I'd been getting steadily more frustrated with Logan while fantasizing more and more about Travis. Who I had known would be here tonight.
No, I had not thought this through.
Except he had a daughter, so he was probably straight. Except that assumption made zero sense because I had three kids and I was anything but straight. The only things I knew about Commander-about Travis was that he had an adult daughter and wasn't wearing a wedding band. So basically, I knew nothing about him. Aside from the fact that I'd been wanting him since I'd transferred here.
Fuck my life.
Avoiding eye contact with anyone, I picked at my food. It was decent, all things considered-I'd been to some military functions with food that was barely fit for human consumption-but any appetite I'd had was gone. How much longer was I assigned to this command? Would it be pathetic to start prodding for a transfer to someplace where this Navy Ball hadn't happened?
Yeah, it would be. And I wouldn't. Especially since I was probably the only one here who'd care about any of this after tonight. But goddamn, in this moment, it sure felt like the reasonable, rational thing to do.
I reached for my drink and cautiously glanced around the table. Logan was chatting with Wolcott's wife, who was almost as drunk as he was. Everyone else was caught up in their own conversations-in between shooting the two drunks irritated looks-including Travis and his daughter, who were talking about something with Stevenson and her husband.
Discreetly, Travis took something out of his pocket and looked at it under the edge of the table. I thought it was a smartphone, but his phone was next to his drink. And whatever was in his hand had a couple of thin wires coming off it. His daughter glanced at him, concern pulling her eyebrows together, but neither of them said anything.
Then he shifted, grimacing, and put the device back in his pocket. As he did, his eyes met mine, but we both quickly broke eye contact. I thought some color appeared in his cheeks. In this light, though, it was impossible to be sure.
Travis returned to his conversation, and I returned to chasing a piece of . . . beef? Well, it resembled beef, anyway, and I chased it around my plate with my fork.
Logan nudged me. "I'm going to hit up the buffet for more. You want anything?"
"No, I'm good. Thanks."