But these past months, after his visit with his mother, he’d come to realize that the house he’d grown up in had never really been a home. The idea that someone he knew had his feet so firmly embedded in the bedrock of home sort of blew Cash’s mind.
But Preston didn’t do words. He concentrated intently for a moment, and when he spoke, Cash could tell they would be his last words on the subject.
“It’s like whether or not he’s there next to you when you wake up, you know he’ll be thinking about you all day. Like every direction you face, you’re looking for your person. It’s how dogs like Preacher and Colonel know what they’re looking for before you even ask. Home. It’s not something you think about—it’s something you are.”
Cash’s eyes burned, and he realized Glen might not be the only one who didn’t get enough sleep the night before.
“That sounds like something to work for,” he said, his voice unsteady.
“You gotta mean it,” Preston said, and Cash just nodded. They didn’t say another word until the clerk at the counter called out their orders and it was time to go.
GLEN hadn’t moved, and Cash was reluctant to wake him up. He’d eaten a couple of his own tacos before another knock came at the door.
This time Spencer was there, trying his damnedest to look bored. When Cash opened the door with his finger in front of his lips, Spencer’s eyes went wide.
“You got him to sleep?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Drugs?”
“No!”
“Don’t get excited—I was ready to put Benadryl in his beer myself. Damien and I are going to go do recon in the boat—”
“But it’s night!” Cash protested, and Spencer tilted his head.
“You are so pretty. So pretty. Just a little doll.”
Cash glared at him. “Okay, smart guy—you two are big bad military men with a select set of skills and shit. I get it. Are you sure you don’t want me to wake Glen up?”
Spencer shook his head. “No, because he’s exhausted and you two got shit to sort. He can come to the island tomorrow.”
“What are me and Preston doing?” Cash asked.
“Ah, not just big brown eyes and fabulous hair—good to know.”
Cash wondered if you could really feel your blood pressure rise. “Ass. Hole.”
“Everyone’s got ’em; some even bottom,” Spencer said sagely, and Cash thought actively about physical violence.
“What. Are. We. Doing. Tomorrow.”
“You and Preston are going to market. There’s a little farmer’s trading stand about a mile down the road—and your friend and the other kids from Tranquilizer Piss’s little cult make the trip there a couple of times a week. We assume they’re boated in, but we don’t know where the boats dock, and we don’t know who the muscle is that brings them, and we don’t know if the kids are brainwashed or drugged or both. So you guys have your own recon to do. Glen will have more deets for you when he wakes up, but seriously, man. Rest up. Relax. Give each other hand jobs or do each other’s hair. Just help him be ready for tomorrow, deal?”
“I’ll do my best,” Cash said soberly, and Spencer nodded like he was relieved.
“Also, thanks for the rec at the taco stand. That was some very decent grub. I’m grateful.”
“You’re welcome,” Cash said, and damn Spencer for not being a complete dick. “I figure you guys are pretty carnivorous.”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah, but I understand the fish tacos are really awesome here.”
Cash gave him a hopeful smile. “I’ve got one left if you want it.”
Spencer sort of lit up. “Thank you, oh pretty one, thank you. I’ll put in a good word for you with Preston. He might not hate your guts by the time you guys go do your thing tomorrow.”
Cash darted inside, grabbed the food bag, and handed it to Spencer through the door. “What time are we up in the morning?”
“Town doesn’t get moving until nine or so. We’re meeting at seven thirty, and don’t worry—I’m on for chow.”
“That’s a deal,” Cash said. “Thanks, Spencer.”
“Yeah, well, keep being worth it.”
Cash closed the door quietly and felt like he’d won a victory over his own immaturity. He wandered back into the hotel room and thought wistfully of the ocean outside, and how he didn’t have a wet suit. One of the few things he could do was surf.
“You could have gone with them,” Glen said from the bed, and Cash started.
“That was so unfair,” he muttered. “I had no idea you were awake.”
“Well, still a little groggy. Gotta admit, the sleep was nice.” Glen rolled over and sat up, the comforter sliding down his still-glorious chest in the yellow light from the lamp.
Cash wanted to touch him, suddenly, and unlike those purely clinical moments of rubbing him down, this yearning was unabashedly sexual. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and reminded himself that Glen didn’t need his come-ons.
“Ready for some food?” he asked, very pointedly not looking at Glen’s chest.
“Yeah. Let me hit the head, wash my hands.” Glen shivered. “Put some sweats on. If we’re gonna spend the evening resting, might as well be comfortable.”
“We could walk on the beach if you want,” Cash said, remembering his earlier wistfulness. Walking on the beach at night with the man he wanted more than anything? Way to torture himself—but in a good way.
“Sure. After dinner.”
He disappeared and Cash flopped backward on the bed, suddenly out of breath. He was here to prove himself. Prove that he meant what he said. Prove he wasn’t all about a one-night stand. Prove that he could stay.
He was not, absolutely not, about jumping into Glen Echo’s arms and begging him for a hot fast fuck against a wall.
Or a long slow screw in rumpled sheets.
Or a medium-power bang bent over a table.
Or Please, oh please, let me suck your cock, Glen, because it was the best I’ve ever had.
Oh dear God. Cash wasn’t going to make it to the end here if he didn’t get a handle on himself—and with that thought came the very literal notion of taking off his pants and stroking himself naked so Glen had to take him.
Cash rolled off the bed in a hurry and set the food out on the table, going to the little fridge and getting the bottle of soda he’d bought especially for Glen.
Then he made the bed. Despite how on fire as he was right now for touch, he was going to need to make things look as innocent and virginal as possible; that is, if he didn’t want to embarrass himself and blow any chance he had for Glen Echo to take him seriously.
He was damned serious about winning Glen’s trust.
Rushing Waves
THE rush of the ocean was one of Glen’s favorite sounds—maybe because it was like the rush of wind on a parachute jump or in a Black Hawk when the doors were open and the air was trying to take the beast from your hands.
But it was as comforting as a maternal heartbeat to him, and walking through the darkness with Cash at his side was the closest thing he’d ever done to flowers and a candlelight dinner.