Afraid to Fly (Anchor Point #2)(33)

At least this uniform fit better since I wore it more often. The jacket fit much more comfortably than the other one, and also managed to hide any extra pounds I might've put on. Winter weight and all that.

Dressed and ready to go, I went downstairs to the kitchen. Kimber was in her pajamas and making herself some dinner, and since the table was covered in notes, pens, books, and her laptop, it looked like she had her night planned out.

"You going to be all right tonight?" I asked.

"Of course." She put a plate of Hot Pockets in the microwave. "I need to catch up on some homework anyway before things get busy at work."

I fussed with my sleeve. "So you really don't mind if I take Clint to-"

"Dad." She smiled. "You don't have to take me along to everything."

"I know, but I can still get a ticket for you too if-"

"Dad." Kimber rolled her eyes. "I'm not going with you on a date, for God's sake."

"Not even as a chaperone?"

She groaned. "Especially not as a chaperone. And besides, things are about to get crazy at work because the new software releases on Monday." She pointed with her fork at the pile of homework. "I need to finish that."

"All right. But if you do want to go to the next event, all you have to do is say so."

"I will." She hesitated, but then smiled and hugged me gently. "And thank you again for taking me to the ball. It was nice to be able to party without looking over my shoulder."



       
         
       
        

I held her tighter. "Anytime, kiddo. And you can always come to stuff with us."

"Maybe." She pulled back. "But you guys are still in that gross googly-eyed stage, and I don't want to be there for that."

"Really? Gross googly-eyed stage?"

"Just saying."

"You're full of it."

"Whatever. I saw you two at dinner the other night." She made circles with her thumbs and forefingers and put them over her eyes like mock glasses. "Googly eyes, Dad. I saw them."

I huffed and was about to fire off a comeback, but the doorbell rang. "Since you're so bored, would you mind getting that?"

"Sure." She disappeared down the hall.

"Gross googly-eyed stage," I muttered to myself as I tugged my sleeve again. "Please."

Down the hall, the door opened, changing the air pressure in the house.

"Hey!" Kimber said. "Look at you!"

My heart skipped. I hadn't seen him in this uniform yet.

Clint laughed shyly. Even from down the hall, I could hear the sharp click of his dress shoes on the hardwood.

And when he appeared in the kitchen doorway . . .

Oh. Wow.

Like me, he wore dress blues. Basically a dark-blue suit and tie with gold stripes on the sleeves and his ribbons on the left side. He must've had a hell of a rapport with the base tailor-the jacket and trousers fit him just right to make my mouth water. His cover was tucked under his arm, and his dress shoes gleamed enough he could've signaled an aircraft with them.

Holy-

"See, Dad?" Kimber patted my arm. "Gross googly eyes."

"Shut up." I gently shoved her away as my cheeks burned.

She snickered. "Aww, come on. You guys are cute. Oh! Let me get a picture!"

"Really?" I eyed her. "Shouldn't you wait until we put on the corsages?"

Clint chuckled. "Well, I didn't bring one, so I guess that's prom-date fail."

"It really is." Kimber clicked her tongue. "Shame on you. He's been looking forward to that corsage all day."

"And on that note," I said. "Let's go." But I paused, and turned more serious. "You're good for the night, right? You don't need-"

"Dad. Relax. I'm going to finish a paper, and then catch up on House of Cards."

My jaw dropped. "What? You're watching it without me?"

"I won't erase them."

"But . . . that's our show!"

"And you're going to a party." She made a shooing motion. "Go." 

"She's obviously your kid," Clint said. "I can see where she gets her smart-ass genes."

"Hey! I resemble that." I grabbed my wallet and keys off the counter. "All right, let's get out of here before you two completely gang up on me."

They both laughed, of course.

"Come on, you." I nudged him toward the door. "Let's go."

"Have fun, you kids!" she called after us.

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" Clint asked under his breath.

"Remind me why I let you two meet?"

He just laughed again.





This was going to be a long, long night, and not only because military functions could be tedious as hell or because there was a lot of liquor flowing. No, it was because the man walking in with me was insanely gorgeous, and he was in his dress uniform.

On the right physique, these uniforms were utterly hot. And Travis . . . well, Travis had the right physique for damn near anything. He was hot in PT gear, for God's sake. I doubted there was anything he could put on that wouldn't make my mouth water.

In his dress blues, though? Sexy. As. Hell.

On the way in, after he'd tucked his cover under his arm, Travis slipped his hand into mine. We exchanged glances, and both grinned. I wondered if it gave him as much of a thrill as it did me, being able to walk into an official military function with a boyfriend. I wasn't even nervous this time, because it didn't feel like a huge mistake. On my way into the Navy Ball with Logan, I'd nearly turned back three times because my gut had said no. Nothing felt wrong this time.

I had a flicker of panic that a picture or a rumor might make it back to my ex-wife, but I pushed the thought away. We didn't have any mutual friends at this base, and the photographer's mates were pretty good about asking before posting photos on social media. It would be fine.

We grabbed drinks-a Coke for me, a beer for him-mingled with coworkers and the odd acquaintance from another department. Slowly, we made our way around the ballroom, which had been decorated to the gills with fake holly, red bows on evergreen boughs, and a huge Christmas tree lit up with white lights.

And, of course, there was the pile of presents at the front of the room.

"Good lord." Travis gaped at the enormous mountain of gifts. "Did MWR rob a fucking bank this year?"

"Kind of looks like it, doesn't it?" Morale, Welfare, and Recreation always managed to pull together an impressive cache of giveaways for the Christmas party, but even some of my larger commands hadn't come up with this much.

In between several gaming consoles, there must have been half a dozen laptops, and they didn't look like the cheap-ass ones I'd seen down at the Navy Exchange. Some good-sized flat-screen TVs. An enormous display of gift cards. High-end electric shaving kits. A few gift baskets.

The grand prize was, as always, a gigantic television. In this case, a sixty-inch HD plasma screen.

"Wow." I shook my head. "A few more years and they're going to be giving away IMAX screens at these things."

Travis chuckled. "Now I feel old as fuck because I was about to say back when I first started coming to these things, the grand prize was one of those giant CRTs that took twelve people to move."

I burst out laughing. "Oh my God. I remember those. I had to help move a few of them too."

He nodded. "Yeah, same here. Never did win one, though."

"Nah, me neither. Those are a pain in the ass. Wouldn't have minded getting picked for something like that, though." I tilted my Coke toward the plasma screen. "Hell, I'd still like one of those."



       
         
       
        

"Same here."

"Maybe I'll buy one eventually. Especially since they don't cost more than my car anymore."

Travis laughed, which still, even after weeks of sleeping with him, made my heart skip.

We mingled some more, and at one point, stopped at the bar so Travis could get a glass of wine and I could get another Coke. It didn't bother me at all that he drank, especially since I'd never seen him have more than one or two in the course of an evening. A couple of beers if we were out with the guys from work. A glass of wine with dinner. Nothing more. It never showed, either. I'd never once heard him so much as slur, and he always walked as steadily as he ever did.

As for me, I wasn't even all that tempted to drink anymore. Definitely not socially-a few bouts of alcohol poisoning in rapid succession had killed any taste I had for the stuff. The only reason I'd kept drinking after that-or was still sometimes tempted now-was in the name of sweet, sweet oblivion.

And I didn't need that tonight. No, I was pretty content to be absolutely aware of what was going on, because what was going on was I was walking amongst my coworkers with my hand in Travis's.

A few people did double takes, but didn't seem hostile. Just surprised. Others talked to us like nothing was out of the ordinary-especially people from our own offices who had been reading between the lines for a while now.

There were a couple of dirty looks, and I thought I saw some people whispering behind their hands and shaking their heads. No one said a word to us, though.