I'm Straight Right

  I’m Straight, Right?

  Romeo Alexander

  Books Unite People

  ROMEO ALEXANDER

  Published by Books Unite People LLC, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 by Books Unite People

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Editing by: Jo Bird

  Beta reading by: Melissa R

  Contents

  1. Dean

  2. Sloane

  3. Dean

  4. Sloane

  5. Dean

  6. Sloane

  7. Dean

  8. Sloane

  9. Dean

  10. Sloane

  11. Dean

  12. Sloane

  13. Dean

  14. Sloane

  15. Dean

  16. Sloane

  17. Dean

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  1

  Dean

  Taking a deep breath, Dean sucked in the sharp smell of disinfectant. It was a smell he still found it difficult to adjust to after months of living and fighting in the desert, but the scent of safe civilization was comforting all the same. It beat the smell of dust and sand by a long shot, and the quiet of the medical wing was ultimately preferable to the sounds of distant gunfire and the occasional moan from one of the occupied beds. And it was definitely better than huddling behind a crumbling wall while you tried to staunch the bleeding wounds of a dying man.

  It didn’t hurt when the sound of the waves and wind could be heard in the distance through the open window. The ocean was only a few minutes from the clinic, and Dean was fond of walking there after his shift ended. The stretch of sand was far more pleasant when accompanied by the sight of water crashing against it. The ocean was the only thing that made the hauntingly familiar feel of sand under his feet bearable, and even then, he hated the gritty feel of it as he walked.

  A shuffling sound nearby brought him out of his reverie. Turning in his chair, he looked to find another member of the medical staff poking about in one of the supply cabinets. Troy had only been stationed at Fort Dale for about three months, half as long as Dean. In the short time they’d spent working together, Dean had found himself growing to like the man. He was a little odd, but he was careful in his work and was good company during the long stretches the two men spent together in the clinic.

  Troy looked up, catching Dean’s eyes. “What’s up?”

  Dean cocked his head. “What are you doing?”

  “Inventory.”

  “Inventory was already done this morning.”

  Troy shrugged. “I’m doing it again.”

  Dean snorted. “Bored?”

  “If I don’t do something, I’m going to start going crazy.”

  Dean almost wished he could say the same, but in reality, he’d learned to appreciate the peace and quiet while it lasted. Sure, being assigned to a secure base wasn’t the most glamorous or exciting of positions, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being shot. The months he’d spent on deployment in the Middle East had taught him the value of a little serenity.

  Dean leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. “Well, unless you’ve been pocketing things, you’re not going to find any difference. We haven’t had anyone come in today.”

  Troy sighed. “I know. Hard to believe we don’t even have an exam scheduled...no fights to deal with or anything.”

  Dean chuckled. “Please, I don’t want another day of dealing with the aftermath of fighting, last Saturday was bad enough.”

  A casual observer might think Friday night would bring out the fighting since many of the people stationed at the fort went out for the evening. In Dean’s time at the base, however, he’d discovered it was usually the morning or even the afternoon of the day after that brought about the most issues. It was only when everyone was hungover and grumpy that the issues started setting everyone off.

  “I was almost convinced we’d been getting more fights,” Troy said.

  Dean shrugged. “Goes in spurts. Some months, you can’t walk around here without tripping over someone getting into a fight, other times, everyone seems to be behaving themselves.”

  Troy wasn’t being totally paranoid, though. Dean, too, had noticed an uptick in the occurrence of fights, both on and off the base. It wasn’t quite enough for Dean to wonder what might have got into the water, but it was enough to catch his attention.

  “It’s no different out in the field,” Dean continued.

  “You’d think people would want to get along better in the middle of a warzone,” Troy said, setting his tablet aside.

  Dean chuckled. “And you’d be wrong. Sure, when you’re under fire and fighting for your life, everyone gets along. When you’re back at camp, though, all bets are off. Sometimes things happen out in the field that don’t get settled till you’re safe and sound.”

  “With fists.”

  “And a lot of cursing.”

  Troy shook his head. “Never going to understand that.”

  “You joined the wrong government organization then. Cram a bunch of guys together and the testosterone is going to fly. When it does, that’s where we come in. Either because someone decided to settle a problem by throwing a fist, or because a few geniuses got the bright idea to dive into a pool from a second-story balcony,” Dean said with a grin.

  “Didn’t someone do that last week?” Troy asked.

  “Yep, forgot to aim for the deep end. Dumbass is lucky he only bumped his head instead of snapping his neck. God looks out for drunks, toddlers, and privates trying to show off, I swear,” Dean said with a shake of his head.

  Troy glanced over Dean’s shoulder. “What are you up to anyway?”

  “Pretending I’m going over the appointments for the week, and resupplying.”

  Troy sighed. “Probably a good idea. I don’t need old man Winter coming down on my ass about not having enough supplies again.”

  Dean frowned. “Don’t call him that. General Winter is probably in better shape than you, despite being twice your age.”

  “He’s also a hard ass.”

  “Only to people who are a pain in his.”

  Troy stuck out his tongue. “Kiss ass.”

  Dean rolled his eyes, choosing not to dignify that accusation. While it was true he had a great deal of respect for General Winter, the man he not only reported to but the man who was in charge of Fort Dale, he didn’t see it as brown-nosing. He was the youngest general Dean had met, being only in his early forties, and probably the youngest he’d heard of as well. Anyone capable of earning a high rank at such a relatively young age was more than worthy of respect in Dean’s eyes.

  Troy plopped himself down on the edge of the desk. “How long do you have?”

  “Another hour,” Dean said, glancing at the clock on the screen.

  Troy groaned. “I’m pulling a double.”

  “I did that pretty much all last week, you’ll manage to survive it, I’m sure,” Dean said.

  “What are you doing after you get off?”

  “I’ve got a dinner date.”

  Troy’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh? So I take it you and what’s his name worked out pretty good then?”

  Dean scoffed. “Marco and I worked out three weeks ago and have been working out ever since, where the hell have you been?”

  “Apparently not in the loop,” Troy said, scooting forward.

  Dean groa
ned, looking around the small space in the hope of finding something to distract Troy. It was ultimately futile, as there wasn’t even one person in any of the small, curtained off cubicles for Dean to send Troy off to check on. The entire building was empty except for the two of them, and Troy didn’t look as though he was going to be dissuaded from being nosy.

  “Are you guys serious yet?” Troy asked.

  “After a few weeks? What is this, high school?” Dean asked dryly.

  Troy snorted. “A few weeks is a perfectly reasonable amount of time to get to know someone well enough to say if you want to commit to something more serious or not.”

  “Not when you’re constantly working double shifts, which to be fair, Marco and I both do,” Dean pointed out.

  Troy screwed up his face in thought. “True, I guess you are pretty busy. What’s he do again?”

  “Tech consultant. He landed a nice position at one of the security companies further inland.”

  “Oh, smart, and makes good money. Damn, you’re in business if he’s good looking too.”

  Dean did not want to be the one to tell Troy that Marco was, in fact, quite handsome. Troy made it his business to be involved in everyone else’s business, and for some reason, particularly took a great interest in their love lives. The others working in the clinic were usually safe, either because they already had a steady relationship, and thus weren’t all that interesting to Troy, or because they didn’t give him as strong a reaction like Dean did.

  “And what’s Sloane think about this?”

  Dean frowned. “What’s Sloane got to do with it?”

  Troy raised a brow. “I mean, the guy’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

  It was true, he and Sloane had met in boot camp, and from that point forward, the two of them had been close. Fate itself seemed to conspire to keep the two of them around one another, making sure they were transferred to the same bases. Even when Dean had been deployed, Sloane had ended up deployed to the same desert outpost as him, though on an entirely different squad. They were never quite assigned to the same team, duty, or anything too close, but they were never too far from one another either. It had been a relief, though not an unexpected one, when Dean had arrived at Fort Dale after his deployment, only to discover Sloane was already there.

  “Yeah,” Dean said simply, forcing his jaw to relax.

  “Well, unless you guys have a different kind of relationship than what other people call friendship, I imagine he’d have an opinion on it.”

  Dean shrugged. “Not really.”

  Troy snorted. “I find it hard to believe that Sloane doesn’t have an opinion. The guy’s got an opinion on everything, and it’s usually a foul one.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” Dean told him.

  “Am I wrong?”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  Dean tried not to let Troy’s eye roll get the better of him. Sloane wasn’t necessarily the easiest person to get along with, but his best friend had a good heart. It just happened to be buried beneath a foul attitude and an even fouler mouth. Many people were willing to look past the surly expression that was normally planted on Sloane’s face, with at least half of them willing to do so because of the man’s looks. Having known Sloane for almost six years, Dean was pretty sure his friend had no idea how attractive he was. What Sloane did know was his looks tended to lure people closer to him, much to his irritation.

  “Anyway, he doesn’t know,” Dean said.

  “Wow, don’t you guys share like, everything?”

  Not everything, though that wasn’t from a lack of wanting to on Dean’s part. In the early days, he would have happily shared a bed with Sloane. Even in the early days of boot camp, Sloane had been big, and his time serving had made him into a veritable slab of muscle. With pitch-black hair, flashing green eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and a low, rough rumble for a voice, Dean could unashamedly admit to himself that Sloane was sex on two legs.

  Once Dean got to know Sloane better, the sexual element of his thoughts had eased a little, though the feelings had never disappeared completely. The more he’d come to see of Sloane, both ignoring the grumpiness, while also knowing when to cut through it with bite of his own, the more his feelings for Sloane had changed. Lust and desire for a friend had grown into an intensely close friendship between them, and eventually, something Dean could only call love. Everywhere they went, people around them commented on their bond, and Dean could easily have seen himself spending the rest of his life with the man.

  Except, Sloane was completely, utterly, and hopelessly straight.

  “I’m not going to go running to him every time I go on a date,” Dean finally told Troy, turning away from him to face the computer.

  Troy leaned back, as though sensing he was treading on dangerous ground. “Look, I know what I said a minute ago, and I mean it, Sloane is a grumpy fuck who’s just as willing to knock you over the head for looking at him wrong as he is to ignore you completely when you try talking to him. But, he’s not like that with you, and heaven help anyone stupid enough to talk shit about you when he’s within earshot. The dude is really protective of you, and he obviously gives a shit. Just seems like something you’d tell him.”

  Dean took a breath, pushing away the familiar, but faint pang of longing. How many times had he seen the same behavior from Sloane in the past, and hoped it meant there was a chance for them? The nights Dean had spent, analyzing each and every thing Sloane said and did that day, hoping for a sign, looking for a clue that his dreams might come true. It had taken him years to learn how to move past that, keeping hold of his close bond with Sloane at the same time, that he could only now ignore the feelings and move on with his life.

  Hence, his budding relationship with Marco.

  “Well, that’s exactly why I haven’t told him anything about Marco just yet. I don’t need him getting stressed out because I’m dating when I don’t even know if it’s going to be anything serious,” Dean said, opening the spreadsheet once more to keep himself busy.

  “But you’re going to tell him if it does, right?”

  Dean glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “For someone who doesn’t appear to like Sloane very much, you do seem worried about him.”

  Troy wrinkled his nose. “Look, if he ends up getting pissed off, everyone around him is going to suffer for it, and probably the people around you too. I just don’t want to get punched.”

  Dean smiled sweetly. “If you were worried about that, you wouldn’t constantly be sticking your nose in my dating life.”

  Troy hummed, holding his hands out before him. “I promise that I shall endeavor to maintain a more professional and respectful relationship with you from here on out, and I shan’t inquire any further.”

  Dean looked unimpressed. “Uh-huh, until tomorrow, or more likely, when a new question hits that tiny brain of yours.”

  Troy’s eyes widened. “Speaking of…have you guys screwed yet?”

  Dean picked up a nearby binder and smacked Troy across the knees. “Out, go scrub the bathrooms, find cobwebs, walk into the ocean, I don’t care, out!”

  Troy darted out with a laugh before Dean could find something to hit him with in earnest. Dean glared at his retreating shadow before returning to the computer. He swore, one of these days, he was going to find a way to keep Troy quiet for at least ten minutes a shift.

  His attention was pulled toward his phone, where it blinked its silent alert. Opening the screen, he smiled softly at Marco’s name above the text notification. The man was confirming their date in a couple of hours, and Dean tapped back his response. They were going to some Thai place Marco was apparently a fan of and swore up and down that Dean would like it, right before the hot food burned him out. Dean, who adored spicy food, took that as a personal challenge and was looking forward to the little competition they were going to have.

  Dean had no sooner set the phone down than the thump of the doors to the clinic being thrown open jerked his
head upright. His heart hammered, and he only managed to unclench his fist when the sound of annoyed cursing could be heard along with footsteps. Troy appeared in the doorway, rolling his eyes.

  “Shot himself,” Troy grunted.

  Dean stood up. “What?”

  “With a bag round,” Troy added.

  “A...those bags of beans...for practice? How did...never mind,” Dean said, pushing past Troy to deal with whatever soldier had just stumbled through their door.

  Just another day.

  2

  Sloane

  “Look at the ass on that one.”

  Sloane grunted at the words but gave no further reaction. His thick fingers tapped at the screen of his phone as he typed out a message to his youngest sister. Why she felt he was the one to come to when she was having boy troubles was beyond him, but he couldn’t very well ignore her when it sounded like she was half a step away from hysterics. Sloane would have happily dealt with the problem in person in his own way, but he was pretty sure he’d end up in jail if he terrorized a fifteen-year-old boy who probably didn’t know his head from his ass, let alone how to treat a woman.

  “Seriously, look, before she’s gone!”

  Annoyed, Sloane looked up to see what all the fuss was about. His eyes fell on a woman jogging past the front gate, nearly out of sight. Sure enough, she was wearing what Sloane thought were probably yoga pants, though he wasn’t quite sure those were the best choice for a jog.

  His companion elbowed him. “See?”

  Sloane leaned away, giving Private Simmons a glare. “Yeah, great.”