Semper Fidelis
anyone’s favorite show, regardless of their intelligence level. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of a potential boyfriend.”
    “Boyfriend, huh?”
    Zach’s phone started to ring and he flipped it over. “Why the hell is my boss calling me on a Saturday?”
     
    * * * *
     
    Galen had been back on base for three days, but Casey’s time was dominated by intense live-fire exercises during the day and he was wrecked by nighttime, so it was Saturday afternoon before they had a chance to talk. Galen was in his room at the Sleepy Tortoise Lodge, Xbox controller in hand, when Casey finally showed up at his door. He paused the game and went to the door.
    Casey had dark half-moon circles under each eye and he was listing to his left, but he grinned and lifted up the cardboard case in his hand. “I brought the beer. You provide the story.”
    Galen welcomed him in, shut off the TV and kicked back on the couch as Casey threw him a cold one. “He’s way out of my league, like Christie Brinkley and Billy Joel level out of my league.”
    “That good-looking, huh?”
    “You have no idea.”
    “So you’re the Billy Joel.”
    Galen nodded. “But taller.”
    “And not as musically inclined. How was the sex?”
    Galen blew out a long breath. “Fucking unbelievable.”
    “But you haven’t talked to him since he left that next morning. What’s the problem?”
    Galen bounced his foot where it rested on his knee, unable to sit still. He’d been able to shut out how he’d fucked up when he could focus on other things, but now that he was verbalizing it all for Casey, he realized just how right he was that a guy like Zach would never be into someone like him for more than just one night. Yes, he hadn’t called Zach, but Zach hadn’t tried to text or call him either. “I don’t know why I can’t get this guy out of my head. The sex was amazing, yeah, and it wasn’t like we talked about anything more. It’s just…”
    “What?” Casey prompted.
    “After… I couldn’t help but wonder if there could be something more.” Galen thought about how they’d laid in bed talking about the upcoming Marvel movies, Zach’s drone-building hobby, and the Synthfad IED project for hours, until Zach had fallen asleep in his arms. He’d known then he was fucked. “I’d like to get to know him better, you know?”
    “Actually talking helps that process, man.”
    “I know!” Galen sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees, looking over at Casey, who was smirking at him like the idiot he was. “Why the hell would anyone so together want me, though? I’m constantly on the move, have a ridiculously dangerous job and then there’s the whole fucking geekdom thing. I have an Iron Man costume that I don’t just wear for Halloween.”
    “Don’t forget it has actual armor.”
    “Exactly. Actual armor, for fuck’s sake. Who’s going to put up with that?”
    “I do.”
    Galen smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, but you don’t touch my willy.”
    A knock came on the door, startling Galen. He set his beer bottle down and opened the door to find a private in full uniform. “Staff Sergeant Welc?”
    “Yes.”
    “CO needs to see you in his office.”
    Galen peered over his shoulder at Casey. His best friend shrugged.
    The private looked over both his shoulders to make sure the hallway was clear, then leaned in to whisper, “I hear Synthfad’s got a new IED drone to be tested in the village. If anyone can beat it, it’ll be you, Magneto.”
    He nodded. “Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”
     
    * * * *
     
    “You got your test.” Zach’s boss hesitated for a moment on the other end of the line. “But we’re talking nontraditional R&D.”
    “How nontraditional?” Zach asked.
    “An unofficial dogfight at Twentynine Palms tomorrow. You versus one of the Marines who’s been working on the IED study.”
    “Dogfights are an Air Force thing,” Zach clarified.
    His boss huffed in frustration. “Does it

Similar Books

R My Name Is Rachel

Patricia Reilly Giff

Storm Prey

John Sandford

Cowboys Mine

Stacey Espino

Heat Wave

Judith Arnold

The Reaches

David Drake

Ghost Story

Jim Butcher