Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

BEAN

My stomach was in a thousand knots as I watched Zayd take a bite of my fish taco. Had I gotten it right? The right amount of sriracha was hard since it was such a personal preference. I tended to add too much heat, probably because Tameron’s spicy cooking had fried my taste buds.

I once watched him put half a jar of cayenne pepper in his chili without blinking an eye. I faked an upset stomach and ate a sandwich because that level of heat would’ve eaten straight through my stomach lining.

But hopefully, the cotija cheese in my tacos would balance it out. I loved the crumbly texture, and it wasn’t as salty as feta cheese.

Zayd’s face lit up. “Oh, this is good,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

I breathed out, my shoulders relaxing. “Yeah?”

“What fish did you use?”

“Tilapia, but you can make it with any firm white fish.”

“This is so going on the menu.”

Did that mean I was hired? I wasn’t gonna ask, but surely he wouldn’t be so rude as to steal my recipe without hiring me, right? “Thank you.”

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Talk to me about your medical issues. In as far as you’re willing to tell me.”

I took a deep breath. “I have a traumatic brain injury due to an accident when I was in the Army. It results in a lot of minor issues, like occasional dizziness, headaches, and irritability, but the biggest challenge is my faulty memory. My long-term memory is fine, but my short-term doesn’t work well, so I have a hard time retaining new information.”

Zayd slowly nodded. “Like recipes?”

“Sure, but mainly names, faces, appointments, things like that.” I held up my little black book. “This is my only way of remembering things. I have to write everything down. If I don’t, I won’t remember. Like Heath, I only remember his name because I practiced it a hundred times on the ride over. And he’s been to our house often enough that I should remember his name, but at times, it still eludes me. And if I run into you in another context, like in the supermarket or something, I may not recognize you.”

Zayd’s eyes widened. “Wow, that must be a massive pain in the ass.”

“It is.”

“Will it get better?”

I sighed. “Maybe, but there are no guarantees. I’m still being treated, but…” I grabbed my notebook and flipped to the medical tab, scanning what I’d written down. “There hasn’t been much improvement in the last few weeks…according to my notes.”

“I’m sorry. That’s a big adjustment to make.”

“It is, and like you said, it’s a pain in the ass, but I’m learning to live with it.”

Zayd leaned forward. “Let me start with this. You’re hired. You’ve shown me you can cook, Heath is vouching for you, and I want to support veterans, so there’s that. Now that we have that out of the way, tell me how your brain injury will affect your ability to do the job. What are some accommodations I can make to help you?”

Unexpected tears formed in my eyes. I wasn’t a crier, but this level of empathy and understanding was unexpected. “Sorry. I need… Sorry. That’s…” I took a deep breath, willing myself to regain my composure. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. The job offer, but especially your willingness to help me.”

He put a quick hand on my arm. “I’d like to think it’s nothing more than human compassion and kindness, but you’re welcome.”

“Can I get back to you on that question? I’ll need to think about this a little more and maybe ask Nash.”

“Nash? Oh wait, that’s your former officer, right? Heath told me you guys live together.”

We’d never call a first sergeant a commanding officer, but Zayd couldn’t know that. “We do. Nash is… was our first sergeant, and he’s been a big help for me. We all help each other. It’s that rare brotherhood, you know?”

“I’m glad you have that support system in your life, especially while you guys are all going through such a transitional period. Anyway, let me know what I can do and when you can start. I’ll set up the paperwork and send you the mother of all emails with stuff to read and sign. No rush. Welcome to our family, Bean.”

I took his extended hand. “Thank you. I’m excited to start.”

“Good. For now, why don’t you relax and have a soda before you head back?”

I wasn’t gonna say no to that, so Zayd headed back to his spot behind the bar while I did exactly as he said and relaxed, sipping from the Coke he handed me.

The bar had filled up with people, so I was happy to sit in the back at a high-top table. The windows were all in the front of the bar, so it was a bit dark, but I didn’t mind. Bright light tended to give me headaches, so this was perfect for me to sit and let it all sink in.

I had a job. Holy cannoli, I had a job! I sent a quick group text to the others, and they immediately responded with congratulations.

Maybe now I wouldn’t feel like such a loser. Of course I knew deep down I wasn’t a failure, but it was hard to feel good about myself when I was sitting home all day doing nothing. Now, I could contribute both financially and societally in the broader sense. It might not be at the same level as serving, but it was an honest job that I could be proud of, especially considering my limitations.

Well, and even more if you considered I’d only taken up cooking after my accident. Nash had told me to find a hobby or he’d find one for me, and he hadn’t been kidding. The man was petty enough to force me to learn to crochet or something, so I’d picked cooking. Much to my own surprise, I liked it.

“Is this seat taken?”

I was startled and looked up into a pair of blue eyes. He was cute, with that same silver-fox vibe Nash was developing, though he was much more of a bear than Nash. Some silver streaks in his dark hair and plenty of wrinkles around his eyes. He had to be Nash’s age. Early forties, if I had to guess. Which was my type, apparently. I hadn’t even known I had a type in men, but here we were.

Dagnabbit, he’d asked me a question. “Yes. I mean, no. Yes, you can sit there. No, it’s not taken. Sorry.”

The guy chuckled lowly. “I was going to take the chair and sit at the next table over since it’s empty but doesn’t have chairs, but if you’re up for company, I’m not gonna say no to that.”

Oh boy, had I read that wrong. Suave. Very suave. Not. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you rescinding your invitation?”

Oh man, I was messing this up badly. Stupid brain. “I’m not. I would love it if you’d join me.”

Aaaand that had sounded weirdly formal, but too late now. Judging by the smile on his face, he didn’t mind too much. “I’m Jarek,” he said, extending his hand.

I almost knocked over my Coke as I took it. “Bean.”

“Your name is Bean?”

“My name is Merrill, but everyone calls me Bean.”

“Ah, okay. And you prefer Bean over Merrill?”

Huh, no one had ever asked me that. “I do, but thanks for checking.”

Fiddlesticks, I’d already forgotten his name. Something with a J, right? Jack, maybe? If I played it cool and avoided using his name, I’d be fine.

“What brings you here, Bean?”

Should I tell him about my new job? Probably not smart until I’d signed all the paperwork and made it official. “I was in the neighborhood and needed a break.”

“Same.” He sighed. “It’s been a shitty week, and I needed to get out of my house.”

“Tell me about it.”

He leaned forward. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a cook.” I was allowed to say that, right?

“A cook or a chef?”

I chuckled. “A cook. I’m nowhere near a chef. Just a guy who was able to make his hobby into a job. And you?”

His face tightened. “Don’t ask. Long story, but I was fired, so I’m still figuring out the next step.”

“I’m sorry. I know what that’s like.” I tapped my dog tags. “Been there, done that.”

“Army?”

“Yeah. Ten years.”

He slowly nodded, his face softening again. “That’s a long time. Transition can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. Still isn’t. But I’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will.” He leaned forward, his eyes searching mine in a way that made my stomach swoop. “At the risk of you kicking me out, is there a possibility here? Between us, I mean?”

My mouth was suddenly drier than the sandbox I’d spent too much time in. “Possibility?”

“I felt some sparks…unless I was mistaken? In which case, I will happily back off and continue chatting.”

Oh, crud, this was happening. How did I navigate this? Set expectations, Nash had told me. Be clear about what you want and what you don’t want. “Erm, yes. Sparks. There are definite sparks.”

His mouth curled up in a sexy smile. “Oh, good . Seems I haven’t lost my touch yet. I get the feeling you don’t have a lot of experience with this?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘this.’ I don’t have experience with men. Which I probably shouldn’t say because it’s not cool and even less sexy, but just to set expectations. And I’m not interested in a relationship. I have too much to deal with already. But I did recently accept that I’m bi, and I’d love to explore that part of me. Also, I ramble when I’m nervous.”

He put his hand on top of mine, and dang, my belly did multiple somersaults. “I like honesty, even if it comes in rambling form. Makes things so much easier. And for what it’s worth, I’m not looking for anything other than sex either.”

Sex. There it was, that word that still sent a wave of guilt through me. Ten years since I’d left my parents’ house and, with it, the strict religious upbringing they’d enforced on me, but I still hadn’t been able to let go of it completely. The guilt had rooted so deeply inside me that it had become my constant companion.

Sex was a sin. Technically, the Bible didn’t give a ranking for sins, but the church sure as heck did, with sexual sins ranking at the very top. Premarital sex was bad, cheating was worse, but homosexual sex was the worst. Unless it was a pastor or elder who’d gotten caught in a sexual sin. Then, it was “a moment of weakness in the face of the devil’s temptation.” Riiiiight.

I squared my shoulders. “I’d like sex. With you. If you want.”

Someday, I’d learn how to be smooth about this. Today was not that day.

But the guy—why couldn’t I remember his name?—didn’t seem to mind, as his smile only broadened. “Then we’re on the same page. Do you live close?”

“No, I’m forty-five minutes out. You?”

“Five-minute walk. Would you be okay with that?”

“Y-yes.” With trembling hands, I reached for my phone and unlocked it. “Can you type in your address here so I can text it to a friend?”

His smile was stuffed with approval. “Absolutely.”

His fingers were swift as he put his address in, and then I sent it to Nash with a quick line.

Hooking up. Will text when I’m done.

His reply was instant.

Proud of you. Have fun. Be safe.

I closed my phone. “Lead the way.”

We spoke little as we left the bar and headed out. My heart was racing and my hands were clammy. I was actually doing it. I was finally getting my first experience with a man. All I could do was hope I wouldn’t mess it up.

Oh, wait. We hadn’t talked about what we were going to do. Would he expect anal? I’d done some research—funny how I had no trouble remembering those facts—and most articles had said it wasn’t required, that hand jobs or oral would be fine. Though that wasn’t much better since I didn’t have experience in either.

I cleared my throat. “Just so you know, I may need some…coaching. Preferably in the form of detailed instructions.”

The guy pressed his lips together like he was suppressing a laugh. “Like a manual?”

“A manual would be epic, but I highly doubt you have one. But just…” I sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, so you’ll have to tell me if I’m doing something wrong, okay?”

“What did you do in the Army?”

Huh? I wasn’t expecting that one. “I was an ordnance specialist, leader of an ordnance team.”

“Ordnance. That’s…?”

“Weapons and ammunition.”

“So you had a very important job.”

“Yes, sir.” I winced. “Sorry. Hard habit to break.”

“No harm done. So if you’re used to working with ammunition, you must be good with details.”

I used to be, but I left that part out. “Yeah, I am. Very meticulous.”

“Then you’ll have no issues, I promise. Sex isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Just do what would feel good to you, pay attention to signals and body language, and you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry to be?—”

“Don’t be. Don’t apologize. It’s all good.” He pointed at the front door. “We’re here.”

My nerves quadrupled as I followed him inside, taking off my shoes when he did. What was I supposed to do now? Kiss him? Wait, was kissing even part of a hookup? I was still catching up on watching all the movies I had missed in my upbringing, but we had watched Pretty Woman the other day, and she’d been clear kissing was off-limits.

Then again, she’d been a hooker. Right? I was a little fuzzy on the details. Oh well, I’d have to let him take the initiative and follow his lead.

“Can I get you another drink?”

“Erm, no. Thank you. I’m good.”

He stepped closer, his blue eyes soft. “Nervous?”

“What gave it away?”

He curled his hand around my neck and gently drew me in. I willingly took the hint. “So maybe we jump right into it?”

“Jumping sounds good.”

“Kissing sounds better,” he said, and then his lips were on mine and my whole world shifted. His lips were firm, a little chapped. Very different from Natasha’s. As much as I didn’t want to compare, it was inevitable. Her lips had been full and soft. Also very wet. For some reason, her kisses had always been sloppy—not something I’d found particularly sexy.

But I loved this. His tongue slipped into my mouth and found mine, and after a second of remembering how to do it, I responded. My belly tingled and a little shiver ran down my spine. His hands slowly slid south, caressing my back, then gently cupping my butt.

He was an inch or so shorter than me, so the logistics were easy. No struggle with a height difference and everything was well within reach. I followed his example and let my hands rest on his butt.

Ass. It was called an ass.

If I wanted to have sex, the least I could do was get over myself and use the appropriate anatomical terms.

He had a really nice b—ass. Nice and round, with a little jiggle to it, but firm underneath when I squeezed.

A little tug on my shirt made me lose my line of thought, and I froze. My brain came to a screeching halt and a wave of dizziness overcame me.

Where was I? What was I doing?

It only took a second or two to reorient myself, like my brain needed a quick reboot.

“Bean?” he asked softly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You seemed to go all tense.”

Of course I had to pick a guy who was way too observant. “I promise.”

“Okay. Just wondered if you maybe wanted to take off your shirt.”

Oh, of course. That was why he’d tugged it. He had to think I was completely clueless. But when I peeked at him from underneath my lashes, he was smiling at me and not in a negative way. More like a soft smile, almost an indulgent one. Definitely one that had patience and kindness. He had a nice smile, and I liked how his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

Shirt. I whipped my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor.

He chuckled. “Better.” He made a low hum. “You’re in fine shape. Very attractive.”

“Thank you.” I only now realized he’d taken his shirt off as well. That meant I should also say something nice. The good news was that it wouldn’t be hard. He wasn’t as muscled as I was, but I loved his round curves and his black-and-silver chest hair that made him look distinguished. “I like your body as well.”

Had that come out right? I really needed to do some more research into flirting. Though fat lotta good that would do me when I wouldn’t be able to remember anything without looking in my little book.

His smile widened. “I’m glad to hear it. Wanna move this to the bedroom?”

“Yes.” For once, I had no trouble answering. Easy question.

“Good.”

When he stepped back, I grabbed his hand. “Am I doing it right so far?”

I hated to be so insecure, but I’d rather that than mess it up to the point where he kicked me out.

He moved in closer again and kissed me gently. “Very right.”

“Yeah?” Joy bloomed inside me.

He took my hand and slowly placed it on his…

He was hard. His penis. Very, very hard. Iron pipe hard.

And I had done that to him.

Son of a nutcracker, I could do this.