Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ All I Have ❯ Because Of You ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

: Because of You :

“You guys throw wild parties,” Andy said hours later, carefully peeling off his beer label.

He was feeling buzzed and happy with a pocket full of money. Sam was off in the corner, teaching Larson and Ian how to throw curve balls in a simulation gaming console, while he, Adam and Bridgette sat at the small dining room table. All around them was an after-party mess; pizza boxes had been half-heartedly stuffed into trash bags, and bottles were stacked in rows on the counters, waiting to be trashed.

Everyone had gone home after the last fight, parting with loud disappointment with their money to the only two people that had cheered for the prisoner. As was predicted, GoDarun had been TKO'd by a fierce right hand in the second round.

“We're pussies compared to other guys,” Bridgette said on a droll tone, flicking aside a crumbled napkin. “But none of us are excessive partiers.”

“We can be kind of boring,” Adam admitted. “I think that's why we work well with each other.”

“Boring and workaholic can best describe the lot of us.”

“Here, my squad's known for their bashes. In fact, Ken Powers was throwing one at Teddy's house, the one on South 59th? I opted out. I didn't want to be one of those bastards arrested just for being there. The last time I went, I found myself hiding away in one of the crawl spaces underneath his bedroom with four other guys to avoid the cops,” Andy confessed, flicking his hair off his forehead once more.

“How could they not find you?”

“The cops don't have the tech we have. If someone was wearing our thermals, they would've found us easily.”

“I don't take you as a wild guy,” Adam said, studying him. “Or the type that'll hide.”

“I didn't want to be that guy calling for someone to help me make my bail before I could be issued an O.R.,” Andy said sheepishly. “When it came to either running off with the others or hiding or confronting the cops full on, I hid. And I wasn't proud of it. I spent five hours in that tiny crawlspace with these huge guys that hadn't even bothered to stifle their beer farts.”

“Gross,” Bridgette muttered.

“Ken is okay at what he does, but he lacks fundamental common sense when he's without uniform,” Andy then said. “People can get along with him—”

“A politicking pothead,” Bridgette scoffed. “You know that asshole gets away with his drug use by using his twin brother's piss to pass the tests.”

“Paul is the asshole. You can't say one word to the guy without having it shoved back into your face.”

“I actually get along with Paul,” Bridgette said wondrously.

Adam cleared his throat noisily. “Well. Some people can. Personally, I can't stand either of them. Who else is in your unit?”

“There's Jefferson, Kurt, Nathanial and the lead, Barry. She's pretty tough. She doesn't let Ken talk her out of her decisions or situations,” Andy said, thinking of the woman. “He tries. We've heard it all.”

“Cooney's okay when he knows what he's doing. But he's ready to retire—he's allowing Ian to make most of the decisions.”

“You guys…don't mind being bossed around by someone like him?” Andy asked, looking over at the person in question.

“I don't,” Bridgette answered.

“Except when we have to go out of our way to be this temporary social services squad,” Adam muttered, reaching up to pull at his gelled hair. “I don't like working with kids. They're so…little.”

“Kids are great,” Andy said, looking at him skeptically. “They say the most awesome things. And you can't help but feel ten feet tall when they're looking up at you like you're this mega-hero.”

“I'm afraid to step on one.”

“Adam's the first to make sure he isn't handling the ones we encounter during patrols,” Bridgette said, flicking a bottle the taller man's way. Adam caught it with a flattened palm. “But other than a few irritating things, I actually think Ian's a good candidate for climbing his way up the ranks. He's refused the desk tests when they're offered.”

“Sam's done so much better since he was assigned to your squad,” Andy said, picking at the worn wood of the table. “He's this gentle kid. A kid, really. His mother enrolled him because she married up to a man that didn't care for him.”

“He doesn't talk much. So I wonder how you know all this.”

“Sam will open up once you start letting him in. He can be too compassionate, and he can be too delicate. But he's handled what's been given to him so far. I think that if he continues to stick around the lot of you, who encourage him and watch out for him, he'll start to develop that tough hide.”

“You're half-brothers?”

“Same father. After he was doing with my mother, he moved onto his. Divorced, took on another wife, probably did the same to her. Far as we know, we're the only ones here in New Park that know of each other. I don't care for him much, and Sam doesn't even know him well, so…it was just some weird thing that we found each other the way we did.”

“I have a younger sister. Samantha. Goes to the private academy on the East Side?” Bridgette rolled her eyes. “Snotty as hell. Spoiled and annoying.”

“Sophia Darken Academy?”

“Yes. And, yes, she knows the bitch,” Bridgette added on a sigh, answering a question that Andy didn't even think to ask.

Andy looked at Adam. Adam gave an annoyed look. “Passage goes to the same school.”

“Anyway, I can't stand my little sister. There are times when I want to strangle her for her snooty, spoiled, helpless tactics. All she cares about are boys, makeup, and what social group she's with,” Bridgette continued. “I get to talking to her about what I do, and she wants to know what foundation I use while out in the field. I don't do that stuff, and, besides, when I was into that crap, nothing works. It all melts an hour into patrol.”

“Do you have siblings?” Andy asked Adam, glancing over at the shouts that erupted in the corner.

“Two. A younger brother and an older sister. She works for Spaceport One, and my brother's going to Sageville High. In the fall, he'll be transferring to the tech university,” Adam replied, thinking of his family. “My parents are still married. I stay in contact with them all the time.”

“My mom married this guy that works for the newspaper,” Andy said. “He's a bit of a prick. Tries to fish information from me, but what can you do? Military has everything bugged. She's okay until she's around him, then she's this helpless fish that needs to be guided through every decision she or he has made. It's a little revolting.”

“All of us has fucked up families, save for Adam, who's perfect,” Bridgette said, rising from her chair. “I'm heading home. My roommate's been going through my stuff and `borrowing' it. I'm going to body-slam her if I find she's taken something else of mine.”

“You go, girl,” Adam said, watching her walk over to the other trio, demanding their attention.

“She's like a little sister to you, huh?” Andy asked him, shifting in his seat to get closer to him, in order to hear him.

“She's…rough around the edges. But when you really need someone to act irrationally in a situation that doesn't make sense, she's your girl.”

Andy nodded slightly, finding that his eyes were seeing things in a slightly blurry manner. The more time passed, the more comfortable he felt being around these guys. They were completely different from those he was used to; more down-to-earth, lenient, and easy to work out conflicts without using their fists or obscenity-laced tirades. Drinking here was reaching an easy buzz, not a drag-out knock down fight to see who could drink the most hardcore within minutes of arrival.

He found himself fitting in without any trouble. And seeing that Sam was entirely okay with them made him feel at ease as well. It wasn't that he and Sam were close; but Andy had taken him under his wing from the moment they met, and he only felt the obligation to do so because of their connection. He never had siblings to take care of before, and the new feeling in doing so was easing the edge off his own day-to-day activities. He now had someone to talk to when he needed them, without being berated for being some sort of `pussy'. And he found his words were taken literally and helpfully, not blasted back at him for being bossy and pushy.

He looked at Adam, exhaling lightly. The taller man was a giant of ambiguity; it looked as if he didn't say much, but when he did, people took notice. He was attentive, observing the scenery with a studious sort of scowl, as if searching for trouble or discomfort among his group. He was also easy with his questions, learning about a person with words that didn't pry too uncomfortably. Andy found him easy to talk to, as if he could blather on and on and know that it'd be okay to do so.

It was also in that same track that Andy, with every beer he had, started to find the other man attractive. His eyebrows were distracting, but the rest of his hard, almost stony features were individually appealing. His eyes did things to Andy's stomach, making him self-conscious and more aware of himself than he ever felt before. His lips had a sensuous element to them, forming each word with an almost obscene amount of precision, forcing Andy to think of his quality of kisses. Andy liked the shape of his form, the weathered skin of his hands.

Because he was feeling so uncomfortable with noticing such things, Andy reached for another beer. It sucked being gay and surrounded by soldiers, for he knew he couldn't touch or appreciate any of them without the threat of being beaten to death.

“I think I threw my shoulder out,” Ian said with a complaint, walking over to the table and taking the chair Bridgette had left. “That game is really hard. Harder than real life.”

“You've never played baseball in your life,” Adam reminded him.

“Well, if I did, I'm sure I would have broken something, because, damn.”

“You throw like a girl.”

“Don't tell Neilson. She might try to show me how the proper way,” Ian said with a grimace, massaging his shoulder. “Murphy, you good to walk home by yourself?”

“Sam lives nearby. He walks with me,” Andy answered absently, staring hard at his beer bottle.

“Well, I'm about a hundred and twenty dollars poorer, today,” Ian declared, sitting up in his chair. “I can't believe that guy lost.”

“It was all a matter of mechanics, actually,” Andy said, peeling the label off his newest bottle. “Go was fast and quick; his footwork is excellent. But Mortimer had plenty of time to fight off potential killers on F4 for nearly three decades. Old as he is, he's still very spry and very experienced.”

“It's so sucky that you and Walker split the bounty,” Ian said, almost in disgust. “I could have used that for awesome things. Like, a new black shirt.”

“Lay off the black shirt!” Adam said in exasperation.

“I still can't find it. I'm absolutely missing it. Here, I could have won something if I had that shirt.”

“Sounds like an old argument,” Andy said, studying the new expression on Adam's face. It seemed as if he only got animated whenever Ian was around.

“It started this morning. Airhead lost his shirt. And a sock. Which Larson found in the sink.”

“Which was a crazy place to lose it. I didn't do the dishes last. And the Laundromat's nowhere near our kitchen sink.”

“Airhead.”

“You're an okay guy, Andy. We'll have to call you over if we throw something else,” Ian then said, crossing his arms in front of him as he leaned on the table. “You kept the two party poopers occupied.”

“It took all I had,” Andy joked, glancing at Adam.

“Neilson's the main one. Getting all grabby with the guys from 03,” Adam said, picking at an eyebrow with absent action.

“I swear he was saying `no', but she wasn't having it. Oh my God, can you imagine her picking out a guy and taking him home for the night?” Ian asked on a laugh. “The dude's probably terrified he'd never return alive. Hah!”

“I see you haven't disappeared with anyone,” Adam said, Andy glancing at him again, detecting something in his tone.

“Eh. There…I just wasn't interested in any of them. I mean, you can only get these soldier gals so much for so long…it's like using the library when it comes to them. You check `em out once, and realize they've been checked out many times before.”

“That is a disgusting analogy.”

“It's like a college campus out here. Everyone hooks up with somebody, yet that somebody's been with this one person that's been with that person…it gets old. So I look outside, browse the new book section. But, not to say that I'll deny if I find an interesting book with a good cover.”

Adam snorted. “Ian likes the kids' books.”

Flushing, Ian frowned at him. “I am perfectly capable of finding myself in the grown-up section.”

“The kiddie books with two words to a page and an expensive cover.”

“I like adult books.”

Lost, Andy wasn't sure what they were talking about. He kept picturing the military library within the center of base, trying to picture Ian standing in the rows. Then he brightened. “Oh! The spoiled heiress!”

“Oh my God, you're telling the new guy lies about me already!” Ian exclaimed.

Adam gave Andy a surprised look, but he answered, “I didn't. Neilson did. Take it up with her.”

“Neilson talks shit, but she only does it if prompted. Plus, I know…I know she's all on me. Uncomfortable as that situation is, I know she wouldn't bring it up for the life of her,” Ian mumbled with an embarrassed flush of his cheeks.

“She didn't look away once tonight,” Andy said.

“She likes the socks with sandal look,” Adam added.

“Have you seen my feet? And shut up about the Neilson thing. That's…that's embarrassing.”

“What's embarrassing about it?”

“Just…just shut up.”

“Better than the kid books, that's for sure.”

“Enough with the library reference! I'm sorry I brought it up!”

“Who's going to the library at this time of night?” Larson asked, aghast as he walked over, Sam right behind them.

“Tell them, Ian.”

“Never mind, Lars.”

“We're discussing Neilson's infatuation with Peters,” Adam said with a smirk.

“So you finally noticed!” Larson exclaimed. “Took you half a decade.”

“Shut up about it.”

“But why were you talking about the library?” Sam asked, giving them a confused look. “You were talking about books.”

“This is a grown-up matter,” Larson said, swinging an arm around his neck. “Once you're of age, we'll include you into our secret codes and meanings. So what were you guys talking about?”

“If I'm old enough to manage a full-size assault rifle, why aren't I old enough to handle some secret meaning?” Sam asked in exasperation.

Larson shoved him away. “Let's not get technical! We're all a little drunk here, and with questions like that crowding our buzz, we'll be sober before we even know it!”

“I'm just asking!” Sam exclaimed, but he chuckled. “You ready to go, Andy? These old bastards need their beauty sleep.”

“I just won't apply my face-firming mask on while everyone's still here,” Larson said, flinging a limp wrist their way.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay,” Andy said, rising from his chair and deciding that he could hold himself still without looking like a fool. He looked at Adam. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Come out from the med building more often.”

“Hang out with us anytime,” Larson said, ushering them out the door. Once they walked out into the cooling night air, he slammed the door shut behind him and roared for a rematch.

Sam looked at Andy as they walked down the front cement steps to the sidewalk. “They're a bunch of okay guys. Aren't you glad you ditched the studies for one night?”

Andy shrugged, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and thinking of how Adam's facial expressions had changed at the approach of his best friend. “Sure. Real glad.”

The next day Adam awoke with a sense of dread. With his bedroom window open, he could hear the sounds of drill sergeants pushing their unfortunate groups of newbies through early morning physical training. There was the monotonous sound of someone's forgotten alarm going off somewhere in the neighborhood, and the low tones of a man talking to somebody on the phone. The air was cool, thick with the city's pollutants. Rapid-fire weapons burst into action somewhere in the firing ranges, faint and distant.

But as he blinked sleep from his eyes, he found himself glaring at the wall, his hands clenching into fists as the remnants of the dream started to fade away. It wasn't often he had dreams about men he couldn't touch, but when he did, he often felt sullied and disgusted. The one he had been having involved Andy, and he felt appalled at himself for even venturing in that direction. He'd just met the guy, and his first thoughts of the older version of Sam had been of casual appreciation. He had a soft spot for blondes, especially those that slightly resembled his best friend.

But he'd never thought to think of Andy in that way; considering he had an older version of Sam's face, and Adam thought of Sam as a younger sibling. The revolted feeling in the pit of his stomach only intensified as he thought of the medic, forcing him to reject the notion of going back to sleep. He sat up, wiping at his eyes and frowning at his morning wood, figuring the dream would stay just that. The reminder of it made his boxers stick uncomfortably to him, and he gave a disgusted mutter about it as he stood.

He used the bathroom, showered and dressed, listening for any indication that his roommates were awake as well. But it had been nearly four in the morning when they finally retired the gaming remote that they'd been using for the holographic baseball game they'd been playing, so Adam figured they wouldn't get up until later. He was in the midst of whipping up some oatmeal and an egg sandwich when Larson stumbled out of his room, clutching what looked to be a gaming console under one arm.

“This baby kept me up all night,” he said, heavily nasal. Adam winced at the sight of his general horrid appearance. “Think of this; we input and record our voices onto this recorder, and it'll then track down our approximate physical location each and every time we use a phone, or are picked up by store security measures, or by unregistered phone, meaning pay phone, borrowed civilian phone, or even just stopped at a damn stop light in the middle of New Park's Central train station. Doesn't that just sound so…fantastic?”

Adam studied him. “How many beers had you have?”

“I dunno. What's your point?”

“Have you been treating it with more beer?” Adam then asked after sniffing him.

“I can't let that stuff go to waste!”

“You're wasted. And it's…six o'clock in the morning.”

“Hair of the dog!” Larson said, leaning on the counter, still clutching the console to his chest. “I'm going to vomit. I need a sub.”

“…Sandwich?”

“No, a replacement! Count me out, coach. I can't go on anymore. Oh, ugh, you made eggs this morning? Here I thought you just cut a huge one.”

Adam frowned at him, deliberately setting his egg sandwich where Larson could smell it. As expected the other soldier lifted his head with a shudder, dropping his console and covering his nose. He then hurried upstairs and slammed the bathroom door shut. Enjoying his breakfast in silence, Adam studied the dropped console and wondered if it really worked.

Ian stumbled out of his room, dark blond hair sticking up on one side. He was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He nearly tripped over the console as he seated himself across from Adam. “What was that banging noise?”

“Lars.”

“Damn it. He was still drunk?” Ian asked, looking pissed at the very notion.

“Quite.”

“Damn. We had a bet going. Whoever gets up first had to finish off the rest of the stash. Oh well. I guess he won. I owe him a six pack. I'll probably get him that non-alcoholic stuff and slap on old stickers over the labels. Try to fake him out. Help me peel these stickers.”

Adam snorted as he finished off his sandwich. “That's something you're going to have to handle yourself. I'll not involve myself with something so childish and scheming.”

“It's clever. I'm a clever guy. God. God, why do you have to eat oatmeal in the morning? Couldn't you have waited, like normal people, to eat that scummy stuff later on?” Ian grumbled as he fished his cellphone from his cargo shorts pocket and examined his text messages.

“I'm not like normal people. So…did you like Sam's brother?” Adam asked, inwardly berating himself for letting the question slip out without thinking on it.

“I could barely tell them apart physically, if one weren't shorter than the other,” Ian answered, tossing his phone onto the table top, where Adam could see that he'd been texting a girl with a devil girl icon. Without meaning to, he felt himself growing irritated at the noted times they'd contacted each other, visible times of their return and receive texts only minutes apart. “Both of them are quiet. But you could see that Andy has Sam all under his arm. His body language told me that he values and appreciates Sam like some doting older brother. Sam is comfortable with him, and there's no indication of discomfort in their family ties. At the same time, Andy kept himself guarded the entire night. I think it's because he's self-conscious with either the fact he was hanging with us, or because he wants to hide something from us. I haven't talked to him enough to see what his personality's like, but he seems the quiet type that would hold back than give, so it surprised me that he accepts Sam the way that he does. It makes you wonder, though; we're clumped together based on compatibility scores received in our simulation assessments, so for him to be with 43, you have to wonder just how his qualities extend beyond his withdrawn personality.”

His cellphone vibrated with an answer, and he reached for it, mumbling, “Maybe he's a passive-aggressive personality. Maybe he's just shy. Whichever, I didn't feel threatened by him.”

Adam uttered a sound to indicate that he was absorbing what had been said, and sipped at his milk. He thought the same thing, but felt differently based on the one-on-one talk he'd had with Andy.

“I only asked if you liked him or not,” he said.

“Oh! Oh, hah, here I am with my assessment, but, yeah, I think I would if I spent more time around him. I like that he gets Sam to open up,” Ian answered, absorbed in his texting. “That kid has so much potential to be the greatest at what he does.”

Adam finished off his oatmeal. “Who are you texting?”

“Oh…Oh, just some…some girl.”

“All night?”

“I can't not answer when she texts me. I just…I just have to answer this and I'm done.”

“Have I met her?”

“You ate already? Ugh, I wonder if we still have some pizza left over,” Ian then said, flipping his phone closed and rummaging through the pizza boxes still sitting on the counter nearby. “I had the most awesome score last night, and Lars deliberately lost the game so that it wouldn't record. I'm going to have to go for a rematch later today. You have any Icy-Hot? My shoulder's all wonky.”

Adam lifted his eyebrows, recognizing that he'd been ignored. He finished his milk. “Sure. In my rack upstairs.”

“Awesome. Hey, tell me if you're going somewhere. I want to go, too. I need to work on my sock tan,” Ian muttered, walking back to his room, withdrawing his cellphone once more to examine a sent text.

Adam absorbed the sudden silence of the kitchen, feeling the sense of awkwardness overwhelm him. Looking over the table, he saw a flash of memory; Andy looking at him sideways, lips pulled into a thin smile, blue eyes squinting with the effects of a heavy alcoholic buzz. It was at that moment when remnants of the dream came back to him, and he flinched, as if physically afflicted. He cleared his dishes from the table and busied himself with the cleaning in order to stop thinking so much.

Six foot four, with smooth chocolate skin and a low voice inflicted with calm and control, Malcolm Jensen was their stealth officer. He had a way of disappearing into a scene without the magic of stealth technology and also had a way of manipulating such devices so that he remained undetected until the last second. Larson swore he was the world's last ninja, constantly surprised at how stealthy the man was when approaching their unaware perpetrators. Handsome, with light eyebrows, hazel eyes, high cheekbones and close cropped hair, Jensen had a quiet sort of personality that made Adam comfortable once around him.

Their limited history was a typical sort for their time; with the Race Wars having pushed a majority of the minorities into a segregated state, various nationalities and races had been mistreated badly enough to scare away many talented recruits from the military. Jensen was one of the few that had fought for his rights to be included, and had endured many verbal and physical abuses to get to where he was today. Once grouped with 58 back in Academy days, he had been treated coldly; Adam, Ian and Bridgette had been comfortable with their majority status only, having grown up with the notion that they were the superior status with their skin color.

It was only with the amount of time that they'd spent together that the three started to open up to him, and while there were bumps here and there due to their differences, all of them found middle ground. He was eventually accepted, and their mistreatment with cold silence and physical jabs at his conditioning had stopped.

But as a result, Jensen held himself back, carefully weighing his words before he could allow himself to join in with friendly banter or a casual comment. Because of this, he was viewed as a quiet personality when it wasn't really so.

Sitting with him, Adam watched the social activities take place on the base's main quad, where the social branches of their offices were located in minimal security areas. It was family day, and on the quad were various sporting games, booths and barbeque treats. Both of them were seated on one of the benches that faced the action, both of them satisfied with a lunch they'd picked up almost minutes earlier.

“Mine couldn't make it,” Jensen said, squinting at the fray. He used his chin to indicate the families of DJ soldiers that were in the midst of the crowd, exhilarated just to be with their absent family member. “Too long of a drive.”

“Couldn't fly over?”

“Nah. Momma hates flying,” Jensen said with a chuckle. “What about yours?”

“I see too much of them,” Adam admitted. “Not that they're bad, it's just…sometimes its best if we stay out of each other's way.”

“How was the fight last night?”

“Disappointing.”

“Heard you met Sam's brother.”

Adam didn't know how Jensen knew such things without being there, but figured Larson had given him every detail. But then again, there were definitely times when Jensen knew of things without anybody really knowing how he did.

“Andy. Murphy, from 43.”

Jensen squinted again, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Dressed in casual jean shorts and a tee that offered a New Park bordello slogan, he thought over his next few words while Adam took one last look into his Styrofoam container, certain he'd missed a treat.

“What'd you think about him?” Jensen then asked.

“Quiet.”

“Like you?”

“No.”

“Opened up without a drink?”

“Not really. Was already drinking by the time we got there.”

“How about later?”

“Why the thirty questions?” Adam asked, furrowing his brow.

Jensen glanced at him, absently rubbing his recently shaved chin. He then gave an amused smile. Shifting in his seat he said, “Ian already tell you what he thinks of him?”

“Yes.” Adam touched his hair to make sure it was still in place. Irritated at the waves that had made it out of their gelled cage, he fiddled with it for a few moments before realizing Jensen had more to say. He looked at him, noting the faraway expression on the other man's face. Jensen was a handsome man; Adam found himself appreciating his features a little more often than he preferred to do. Larson openly admitted that his looks were something to comment out loud about, gay or straight.

“Good kid. Good grades. Powers has nothing but good to say about him,” Jensen then said, as if hearing the mental prompting of Adam's thoughts. “Both of them. But they hate how soft he is.”

“This is something I need to know?”

“He over studies because he has overwhelming thoughts,” Jensen said carefully, furrowing his brow.

Adam blinked, then squinted behind his sunglasses, wondering why Jensen just didn't say what he wanted to say point-blank. But at the same time, he enjoyed the cryptic run-around, because his words always made him think a little more.

“I guess there's too much thought on the matter,” he mumbled.

Jensen smiled briefly, flashing one snaggletooth that he didn't want to fix, based on it being `character'. “The med building's always open. You know. To people that want to use it. Or for a quiet place to hide away in when things are…wonky.”

“It's Monday. Classes are in session.”

“But not tonight.” Jensen looked at his watch, then squinted out at the activities on the quad. “It's open for all over studious students `round elevenish.”

“You're trying to say something, and I'm not getting it.”

“How late did Peters stay up texting that girl?”

Adam frowned. When he'd left the house, Ian had still been on his phone. “You're fucking psychic, aren't you?”

“You all think I don't see or know things because I don't talk about them right out.”

“Hmm.”

Jensen shifted again, wondering if he should approach another food vender. He allowed Adam some time to think about his earlier words, wondering how to break it to the older man in that he knew exactly what it was that was troubling him. But he figured he'd approach it another time, with another tactic. With the seed planted, though, he'd just have to wait and see.

“He won't tell me who it is,” Adam then said, feeling irritated once more.

Jensen absorbed his words, noting the tension in his tone. He had to nod to himself, to affirm to himself just another example of what he'd suspected long ago.

“In due time. When he can't hide it anymore, he'll tell you.”

Adam frowned again. “I feel like I have to give you offerings, or tithing, or something.”

Jensen laughed quietly. “When you're in a position like mine, you have a lot of time to think. And observe.”

“I'll buy you another plate. After you tell me who it is.”

Jensen straightened in his seat, standing to swipe at his jean shorts. Thinly athletic, his steps were clumpy sounds with his bright white shoes as he moved away from the bench. “I could always be wrong,” he then said, bending to pick up his Styrofoam container to throw it away. “He could have already met someone else.”

Adam furrowed his brow for a moment, trying to think of a time when Ian had done so. But he knew almost everything he did; and he knew they hadn't met anybody new lately. He gave a frown as he followed Jensen to one of the trash containers. “Cryptic, man.”

Jensen wrinkled his nose and said nothing else on the matter, instead pointing out a couple of women that were looking their way and smiling. Distracted, Adam followed his gaze, but turned away, uninterested in the banter that was sure to come as the women approached them.

“I've got things to do today,” he muttered.

“You don't have the time to talk to chicks?” Jensen asked him, a touch of innocence in his tone as he glanced at him.

Recognizing the tilt, Adam glanced at Jensen, feeling a shot of cold run through him. He about faced once more, feeling the other man's hazel gaze on him, looking for indication of some meaning from him. Realizing how vulnerable he felt, Adam introduced himself first, to the women that immediately started to blather upon reaching them. Feeling that Jensen was distracted himself by the women that opened up to him warmly, Adam started to relax.