Page 9 of Coming Clean

Connor

I fumed as I drove back to my apartment. What the hell was Sabrina doing? She knew, didn’t she? She knew I was gay and that Jeremy was pushing all my buttons. There was no other explanation for why she was so eager to get Jeremy to go out with her, or rather with us.

Jeremy mentioned that he loved the play before she invited him.

So what? She’s trying to set me up.

When we’d both parked at my apartment complex, I jumped out of the car. “What were you thinking?”

Sabrina smiled, all innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Asking Jeremy to go with us tomorrow?”

“Us? You said you wouldn’t go. I asked him to accompany me and my friend.”

I scowled at her. “That’s beside the point. He’s a client.”

“No fraternizing with the clients? Is that a rule now?”

“I…”

“Even if it is, does it really include inviting them to a free public performance of Shakespeare?”

“Dammit!” I hated when she talked sense. Now I’d probably given myself away.

“He really bothers you, doesn’t he?”

“What do you mean?” I doubted I was fooling her.

“He’s like your polar opposite.”

“What? Smart? Educated? Understands poetry? Yes, I guess he is.” Jeremy couldn’t be more wrong for me.

“No, you asshole. He’s soft and clumsy and quiet.”

Was that really what she thought, that I didn’t like him? Had she not guessed, not seen the way I couldn’t take my eyes off Jeremy? “I’m quiet.”

Sabrina quirked her mouth and raised a brow. “Only when you’re pissed.”

“No, I’m pissed off right now, and I’m definitely not quiet. In fact, I’m doing everything I can not to yell at you.”

Sabrina studied me much too closely. “Why don’t you want him there?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I…” I couldn’t tell her the truth, but I was tired of making up lies. “I don’t know.”

“You still planning to come?” she asked.

“You told Jeremy I’d pick him up, so?—”

“I can pick him up or ask him to meet us there instead.”

I didn’t want Sabrina to pick Jeremy up. I wanted to do it, no matter how foolish it was. “No, I’m coming.”

“Just to prove him wrong?”

I shrugged.

“Promise me you won’t say you hate the play just because you’re stubborn.”

I frowned. Did Sabrina really think I was that petty? Was I? “I won’t, but I just don’t see the sense in all that fancy talk.”

“And maybe you still won’t after tomorrow night, but maybe something Jeremy says will make it click for you. I’m just glad you’re going to be there.”

"Yes, yes, I need to get out more.” Maybe this excursion would get Sabrina off my back.

“Right. Glad I didn’t have to say it.” Sabrina gave me a cheeky grin.

“I’m not sure why, since you love saying it.”

Her expression softened. “No, what I would love is seeing you smile.”

“I smile plenty.” I did, didn’t I?

“When the clients expect you to?—”

“That’s not the only?—”

“And when you’re proud of something you’ve accomplished.”

Sabrina had a point. Most of the time. But not today. Today I’d smiled a lot because of Jeremy. But Jeremy was a client, and I couldn’t seem to admit I was gay no matter how friendly the community, Sabrina, or anyone else was. Why the hell had I agreed to this?

“You okay?” Sabrina asked.

“I… yes, just tired.”

“You should be,” she said as we unloaded equipment from her car. “Or maybe today was easy for a Marine.”

“Hell, yes. I could clean ten houses with one arm tied behind me, run twenty miles, and then do a thousand push-ups without breaking a sweat.”

“Ha!” Sabrina waved in the direction of my apartment door. “Go get some dinner.”

I picked up the vacuum and bag of cleaning supplies. “Fine.”

“I’ll see you and Jeremy tomorrow.”

“Six o’clock at the amphitheater. I got it.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll find it.”

“Just don’t try to sniff it out with your super tracker skills or something. Use GPS like a normal person.”

“Very funny,” I said. “Jeremy can just tell me.”

“Goodnight!” she called.

Marines do not get nervous. How many times had I tried to convince myself of that in the last week?

I wanted to believe it, but the fluttery feeling in my chest as I drove to Jeremy’s house the next evening told me otherwise.

Sabrina was wrong about me disliking Jeremy, but I was uncomfortable around him.

Jeremy seemed uncomfortable too, or at least flustered.

And the way he looked when he was flustered was…

distracting. Would I even be able to keep up a conversation with him on the drive to the theater?

This is a bad idea. I’m only going to want him more.

He wants you, too.

He likes looking. That doesn’t mean anything. If he talked to me for long, he’d change his mind. I’m nothing like him.

Then maybe tonight will cure you. Maybe his love for Shakespeare will be a turn-off.

For someone else that might have been the case, but I was certain that seeing Jeremy excited about the play was only going to make me crush harder on him.

When he talked about things that excited him, the increased pace of his words and the brightness of his eyes made me want to grab him and kiss him senseless.

Something about the way Jeremy got worked up over little things made me certain he’d be that enthusiastic in bed, warm, bright, flushed, and…

Fuck! When had I cared about any of that?

All that had mattered in the past was a willing partner to shove my dick into.

The sex had been fast and furious, a wild rush to get off while the fear of discovery hung over our heads.

I’d fucked in storage closets, bathrooms, filthy alleys, back rooms of bars that weren’t much cleaner, and even once over a desk in an unoccupied meeting room.

Every encounter had been about getting off, about a need that had built too high not to attend to it.

Like the rush that came with the danger of a mission, sex had fed a need.

Sex with Jeremy would be about more than how hard I could fuck him, or how quickly I could make him come. Dammit, now I was getting hard just thinking about Jeremy’s pale skin and what it would be like to touch and taste him when he was stretched out naked in bed.

When I rang the bell at Jeremy’s house, I was grinning like a loon because I remembered Jeremy sliding across the floor in his ridiculous socks.

Would Jeremy wear them again? I doubted it, since he’d seemed embarrassed by them.

He’d probably wear the hippie sandals he’d worn the day before.

Since when did I even notice other guys’ shoes?

In the military, the only time I paid attention to shoes were when my blisters got so bad I knew I was bleeding, or when I had to shine parade boots—I’d been damn sure no one’s boots looked better than mine.

If Jeremy wore those silly socks, I wouldn’t feel so intimidated or so like an idiot for not understanding what the fuck was happening on the stage.

He opened the door a few seconds later, wearing sandals as I’d expected, jeans, and a t-shirt from Wentworth College.

It was faded and worn like it had been through the wash a hundred times or more.

It must have shrunk a bit, or else Jeremy had been working out, because it was tight across his chest and shoulders, showing off defined muscles I hadn’t realized were there. Jeremy took good care of himself.

“Hi.”

I realized I’d been staring. What had Jeremy said? “Um… hi. Sorry. I was… distracted.” Don’t talk anymore.

Jeremy smiled. “That’s okay. I usually am, especially around you. Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

He’s flirting with you. Respond to it.

I can’t.

You can face down an enemy who’ll do anything to achieve his goals, but you can’t flirt with a man you desperately want?

Yes. That’s… yes.

“I’m almost ready. I’m just going to grab a sweater and a blanket. It gets cold out there by the end of the play.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” I said. “I didn’t think about that.”

“You want to borrow a sweatshirt? I have a few that are big on me. I think they would fit you.” Jeremy’s gaze skimmed my shoulders and then dropped lower for a fraction of a second before he met my gaze again, cheeks reddening.

He wants you. “That would be great, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Jeremy gave me a shy smile and dashed off. I was still standing on the doorstep, so I moved into the foyer and shut the door.

I was ridiculously excited about wearing Jeremy’s sweatshirt.

How old was I anyway, thirteen? I couldn’t help it though.

Would it smell like him? I hadn’t dared get close enough to really analyze Jeremy’s scent, but his bedroom smelled lemony-fresh like summer.

Would Jeremy smell like that too? I could imagine him in the middle of a summer day, lying naked in a meadow, sated and flushed after…

What the fuck? I had to stop this. He and I weren’t going on a date, not that I’d know what to do if we were since I’d never actually been on one unless taking a girl to prom as a favor to make her ex jealous counted. I didn’t want to date Jeremy anyway, even if I could.

You’re such a fucking liar.

Jeremy returned then, carrying a hooded sweatshirt along with what appeared to be a collared cardigan he’d stolen from the set of a 1950s TV show.

I was tempted to check it for elbow patches.

It would make almost anyone else look like a douche, but Jeremy would look sexy as hell in it.

Fucking Hell. Was I going to start having fantasies about Father Knows Best sweaters?

Maybe I did need a shrink. But since none of them had been able to do anything for me after my last mission in Afghanistan, I didn’t trust they could cure me of my new obsession with soft-skinned poets and hipster clothes.

I took the offered sweatshirt, and Jeremy grabbed an enormous picnic basket from the hall table. I’d packed a few ham sandwiches and an apple. Obviously, our ideas of a picnic were not the same. Was that a bottle of wine sticking out of the basket?

“I’ve got plenty to share,” Jeremy said. He must have noticed me staring at the basket. “I wasn’t sure if you were packing anything or not, and since you offered to drive…”

“Sabrina offered for me to drive.” Those words came out more resentfully than I meant them to. Jeremy’s smile faded. “Not that I minded or anything,” I added, hoping to salvage the moment. “I appreciate you packing extra food for me. I brought some, but nothing that fancy.”

“Oh, it’s not fancy, really. It’s just some meat and cheese and crostini. And some mustard and chutney to go on it. And a pint of berries and a pound cake I made this morning. I’d been craving one.”

I stared, almost too stunned to speak. “You bake too?”

Jeremy’s cheeks turned even redder. "Yes. I spend so much time in my head that it feels good to work with my hands on occasion. I make my own bread most of the time, too.”

“That’s… I love pound cake, and your food is way fancier than mine.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’m happy to share.

” Jeremy really didn’t seem to care how different we were; he’d never said anything to make me feel inferior.

I wasn’t just some jarhead to Jeremy, and that meant a lot.

I wasn’t used to men like Jeremy—wealthy, intelligent men—treating me like an equal.

Some of the clients I cleaned for were awesome, but there were others who treated me like I was there to serve their every whim.

Not that I’d mind serving a whim or two of Jeremy’s.

The man wasn’t only hot; he continued to impress me more every time I spent time with him.