Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Chapter Fourteen
Ding. Spencer’s email chimed with a new message right as he was about to put the finishing touches on a piece about a blind runner doing the LA marathon. He almost didn’t click over to the email window, but...it could be his agent. After his meeting with Naval PR, he’d taken his epiphany about the story he wanted to write and drafted a proposal for his agent to look over.
But a second glance at the message notification showed that the sender was scorpion_bait. Del. Bacon. Whoever he was to Spencer these days, he was damn important, and it had been a while since his last message, making Spencer far more antsy than he liked. His pulse sped up even before he hit Open.
You were smart to avoid a transport flight home. I’m staring down twelve hours in a C-130J but I can honestly say I’ve rarely been so excited about jumpseats and exhausted teammates. Ready to be home for a few weeks, regroup. Speaking of... How would you like some company? A long drive sounds like the perfect way to reward my truck for waiting patiently for me. I could be there Thursday early evening if you want, or later on in the weekend if you’ve got plans Thursday. I’ve got some leave to burn. Or maybe you’re not interested at all, which is cool too. I’m sure I can find some trouble to get in closer to home ;) But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing you again.
Got a plane to catch,
Del
This was where Spencer should say he had plans. He had Flor’s party Friday night, not that Flor would care if he brought a guest...
But this was insanity. Better to tell Del he was busy. Like permanently busy. Let him get drunk and laid back in Coronado.
But then Spencer’s brain bombarded him with images of some faceless person kissing Bacon, getting all that intensity he brought to bed, getting to call him Del, lips tracing those intriguing tattoos, fingers holding him close, throat moaning because of his relentless touch. And damn, but he wanted it to be him. Wanted to be the one to light Del up, get to see his private self. Wanted to cook for him, watch his face when he tried the wine, run to the grocery so he could make him the meal he’d described. Spoil him a little, because he deserved that, and maybe he could pick up a decent lay back in Coronado, but they wouldn’t know that, wouldn’t know what he’d been through.
In the end, he dashed out a quick reply before he could overthink it.
Thursday works. I’ve got a party for a friend on Friday night, but we can cross that bridge once you’re here. I’ll put the wine in to chill, and plan on cooking for you Thursday, but don’t worry if traffic is terrible—I’ll wait to start until you’re here. I’d tell you to not speed, but I heard all your friends teasing you about how you drive like the devil’s chasing you, so I figure it won’t do any good. Be safe?
See you soon,
Spencer
He attached a link to directions for his address. Of course, he spent the next twenty-four hours second-guessing the email, especially when there was no reply. But there was also no news from his agent, and with that story officially on the back burner, the conflict of interest alarm in his brain was down to a gentle beep and not the insistent shriek it had been on the mission.
Thursday he was close to emailing again, calling it off, claiming work or some such, but then he didn’t and suddenly it was almost five and the lobby was buzzing him to let him know he had a visitor. He hit the button to send him up, and then Del was there, at his door, whole and in one piece and exhausted-looking with tired eyes and a slow smile, and all he could do was open up—on so many levels—and hug the guy.
“Hey,” Del said several long moments later when Spencer released him to shut the door. He was in civilian clothes—first time Spencer had seen him casual—and he managed to make jeans and a T-shirt advertising a mud run sexy as fuck, the way both clung to his muscles. And surprisingly, it wasn’t hard at all to think of him as Del now, not Bacon. Here, alone like this, he was Spencer’s—even if only for a short time—and staking his claim to him with the name they’d both been using in email simply felt right. He stretched as he looked around Spencer’s condo. “Pretty swank place. Was worried that the door person was going to turn me away. Never been in an apartment building with a front desk before.”