GENRE: Gay Spicy Romance
LENGTH: 12,787 words
RATING:

After Shawn Connors returns from the war, he's facing life with an injured leg and a changed perspective on what it really means to be a solider and to fall in love.

Shawn Connors had no illusions about the war. But after injuring his leg in a blast, he goes home to his sister's in Maine and isn't prepared for the reality of his return. As everyone around him gets married, promoted, or moves on with their lives, Shawn is left drinking alone at a bar on a Thursday night.

His best friend had warned him that life after deployment would start to feel like a high school reunion, but as Shawn meets a stranger at the bar, he begins to think that his life is more like a high school movie instead.

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

“Another one?” the bartender asked an hour later. Shawn glanced at the clock, and then the perimeter of the bar. People were playing pool, but it wasn’t the same group as before. The football game crowd had cleared out and the gay couple was gone. It was still a while before last call, though, so Shawn didn’t move. There would be plenty of opportunities for cabs. Probably nothing to worry about.

“Sure. Why not?”

The bartender gave Shawn a half-smile he chose to believe was genuine. When Shawn reached into his jacket to pay, the bartender held up a hand.

“No worries. It’s been covered.”

“Covered?” Shawn held a hand on his wallet.

The bartender gestured down the counter. The man from before, with eyes like Pete’s, gave a small nod. “He’s been trying to pay for the last few, but your friend got those. He says he knows you and was patient enough to wait.”

Shawn’s heart skipped in his chest. He knew he had never seen the man before. And obviously, it was impossible to see Pete again. Shawn gave another hurried glimpse at the stranger, shoving away all the stories he had heard from some men overseas about ghosts and regret. This was not Pete coming back to haunt him, he reminded himself, and focused his gaze on the stranger. He wore a black T-shirt under his large bomber jacket. His hair was dark and curly, but shaved at the sides. He had a sharp chin and jawline, but softer features around his eyes. When the stranger raised his glass and gave another small nod, his expression was almost tender. Almost as if they really were friends.

Shawn scanned his memory for everyone he could recall. He flipped through his high school yearbook in his mind, then the random jobs he had worked for the few years before enlisting. He tried to remember the face of every guy he had fucked in a bar late at night, but still came back with nothing. This man was new, but familiar in the way a song’s beat could be without ever knowing the name.

“Well okay then,” Shawn said aloud. “Thank you.”

Shawn thought for another couple moments whether or not to go down and see him. To strike up a conversation, no matter how short. If you were buying drinks for someone in a bar, it had to mean one of two things: you wanted to fuck or you wanted to talk. Since this wasn’t a gay bar, Shawn figured it had to mean only one thing. He lingered his hand on his cane for some time, before he finally pushed off and made his way around the bar corner. The man’s eyes lit up seeing him approach, and he pulled out a stool for him.

“Thanks,” Shawn said. “You’ve already been so kind, I figured I had to come say hello.”

When Shawn’s cane dropped down by his stool, he felt any confidence he had disappear. The man picked the cane back up and then placed it next to Shawn’s seat without comment.

“No worries about the beer,” he said. “It’s cheap. They give a discount here anyway.”

“That’s ... good.” All conversation fell from his mind. He forgot how normal people interacted who didn’t already have a shared memory that brought them together, like with Robert or Sheila. Then again, how successful had those conversations been? Shawn shook his head and busied himself with drinking.

There was sudden cheering at the pool tables, now much closer to where they sat. From this angle, Shawn could see the bathroom door in the bar, a different set of TVs, and some booths in the back that used to be perfect for making out in. There was no magazine or book in front of the stranger, so he wasn’t one of the college kids that came in here to read. His phone was close by, an alarm set to a countdown, but everything else was innocuous.

“So ... do I know you?” Shawn asked.

“Maybe. Depends on where you were. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“What?”

“I’m wondering what war you were in,” the guy clarified. He turned to Shawn now, studying him under the low light of the bar without pause. His eyes were a lot darker than Shawn could recall. No longer like Pete’s but all his own.

“How did you ...? Were you listening in when my friend was here?”

“I don’t have to listen in. I can tell.”

“Because of the cane?”

“No,” the guy said right away. He leaned forward and extended his hand. “I was in Iraq -- so I guess it takes one to know one. I can’t really tell you why I know ... but I know. I got just back six months ago. I’m Damon.”