an. Mostly, because I love the idea of this pairing.
Rating: Solid T, a little racy but nothing explicit.
.
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Did you know about this?
She read the message from the lock screen, bit her lip in effort to maintain a straight face, and refocused her attention on the report she was typing. By her estimate, he'd last less than ten minutes before trying to call… he made it precisely seven.
"Thomas," she acknowledged. Her grin, wry.
"You didn't tell me her date was Clayton Swain!"
Sucking in air through her teeth, she answered, "I didn't? Shoot. Must have slipped my mind."
She could almost hear the pacing. "This isn't cute."
"You're right, it's closer to adorable—did he bring flowers?" Oh, what she'd give to see his face right now.
"He's too old for her!"
Tucking her chin, she willed the amusement from her tone. "Tom, it's a five-year difference… she's eighteen. A very mature eighteen, and he's a great kid."
"How long has this been going on?! I swear to god Sasha, if I find out—"
Ah. "She waited. I promise you she did, but she's had a crush on him since last spring. He didn't know. Diaz introduced them; they've been talking for a few months." Could feel him seething. "You'll be okay, he'll treat her right, you know he will."
"Because I'll end his career if he doesn't!"
Beyond her walls, she spotted Kara heading out for the weekend. "That's up to Mi—"
"Trust me—on this one—he'd side with me." Cut her off fast, and somewhere it registered that Mike would always side with him where daughters were concerned.
With a light exhale, she kicked back in her chair. "You're hardly a stranger to dating younger women, Tom… I was twenty-one when met."
"Which is old enough to drink. She's eighteen!"
"A legal adult. And how old was Cali? Twenty-six? Twenty-five?" It was void of any bitterness. She'd long since moved on from that entire debacle, but it was a winning point.
He groaned. "Can we not bring that up…"
"Tom, everything's okay. Of all the guys, at least she picked a good one. He's handsome in a nerdy way, and it's cute—be happy for them."
She could almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, probably braced against their kitchen island right now, silently accepting facts. Quickly, Sasha glanced at the time displayed in the bottom right of her screen, then to the dozen roses beside her penholder.
"Let me finish up here; I don't want to be late for dinner."
His tone was entirely different when he responded next, removed from its righteous flare. "Alright, drive safe. I love you."
x x x
Ashley tried to pay some attention to the movie, but it was near impossible because he was next to her. They were holding hands, and he smelled really good, and she was obsessed with his eyelashes and really everything about him. Then he shifted a glance and smiled. Her heart galloped from her chest. Nervous, she tucked the almost grown-out bangs behind her left ear and blessed the dark for hiding how deeply she'd blushed. Hoped the humidity hadn't ruined it already. Upon her wrist, she caught the scent of meticulously conserved perfume Sasha allowed her to borrow—for special occasions—it was Chanel but not No.5. Mom had worn that. Then she wondered if Clay had noticed. If he even liked perfume…
He'd told her she looked beautiful.
He bought her twelve roses.
She still hadn't recovered.
From that, nor the part where Clay was a perfect gentleman, and opened car doors, every door, and let her sit first and a bunch of stuff she'd deemed stupid until it was directed toward her. Before this date, she'd only seen him in person wearing uniform—the khakis she hated—and one time, Dress Whites at the post-war ceremony. Never understood before why the girls in school cared about that, but when Clayton Swain had taken center stage to receive a Navy Distinguished Service Medal, it had clouded her brain for months.
The movie somehow lasted both too long and not enough, not ready to be done with his company but scared he'd simply take her home. After all, he couldn't date 'Admiral Chandler's daughter', and it had taken weeks to convince him otherwise. That was all par for the course. One of the many burdens of being 'the man that saved the world's' child. What had shocked Ashley was Clay's insistence that it wasn't just Admiral Chandler but Sasha Cooper who'd end his life. Bewildered, he'd stared wide-eyed and agape when she descended into laughter during their video call, then text Sasha and asked if she knew Clay's graduating class rated her more intimidating than dad. Dubbed her the 'Ice Queen' and swore she could cut through anyone with a single look. In Ashley's opinion, Sasha was far more reasonable.
Then he'd told her something about Cuba, the time he'd believed Sasha would return and skin him alive—with vague redacted details—but he'd promised to tell her everything when permitted. Never before had Ashley been desperate to know more about what happened on 'missions'. She'd lived missions her whole life, but now she needed to know what happened in Clay's world, all the while understanding just that little bit more about her dad's.
He'd told her about his family. Two brothers, and parents, gone. Left him to discover he was immune.
She'd spent hours telling him about mom and grandpa. The cabin, Baltimore, Shaw, Greece…
And now they were walking.
Hand in hand, along the boardwalk.
She was glancing, drinking him up. His long sturdy legs clad in dark wash jeans. A white tee and light bomber jacket with a red flight tag on the zipper draping attractively from his much taller frame.
She wanted to kiss him.
Been imagining it for months but was too shy. Scared. It was a 'date' and he'd given her flowers, and they'd danced around doing more than holding hands. She'd flown in to see dad and Sasha… well, Sasha knew she was mostly there to see Clay because Sasha was normal. But Sasha had promised to make dad get over the part where she hadn't told him about Clay. There were other reasons for that, though. It was mostly because she didn't know what to call it. She wasn't his girlfriend—he wasn't her boyfriend. They were 'just friends' who seemed to video call every spare moment they got. Texted for hours. Talked about everything. Flirted.
She'd had a boyfriend before, one she'd loved but this all seemed deeper than that.
Clay squeezed her hand, "Are you cold?"
Ashley nodded. "Yeah kind of." The butterflies were out of control when he stopped walking and took his jacket off. Draped it around her shoulders and left her encased in warmth and that smell that was oh so good.
"Thanks," she mumbled, peering up at him.
"You're welcome," he whispered, his gaze flicking down the seven-inch height difference, to linger upon her lips.
He hadn't moved. He was close, close enough that she could rest her hands on his slim hips, so she did. And then he shifted closer, touched her face, and loomed down. Her heart was hammering so fast, he had to hear it. She pushed herself onto tiptoes, closing her eyes. Moved her hands to his shoulders and hoped they weren't shaking as his warm breath tingled across her nose.
His lips pressed against hers. Gently. Tentative.
She'd never felt so much from so little.
Then she went in again, firmer this time, swept his with her tongue and he let her explore. He was a good kisser, she realized. Not that she'd kissed many guys, only five, excluding Clay. But she was getting lost, caught up in everything that he was, better and more solid than anyone before, and it was getting heated and tingling throughout her body. His hands were roaming her, one lowering against the curve of her rear, and she thought she'd combust.
x x x
Both cell phones vibrated on the nightstand. Tom ceased trailing his fingers across the dip of Sasha's spine and peered at her from his pillow.
"That's either the 'I'm on the way home,' or the 'I'm not coming home,' text," Sasha said.
She could at least agree and sympathize with his reluctance to consider what his daughter was doing while they themselves were enjoying the afterglow. Sighing, she rolled, his hand now skimming her lower abdomen instead, and reached for her cell.
'Staying out. Be home tomorrow.'
Tom who was trailing light kisses against her torso, mumbled between them, "I don't want to know. Not until I'm done with you."
She smirked and fired back a quick acknowledgment in the group text that lit up his phone again too and then abandoned the device. Let him pull her until her body was deliciously clutched to the hard length of his. The drinks hadn't worn off yet, limbs warm, loose, and fluid and the familiar desire low in her belly skirting insatiable.
It was Friday. Sasha liked when Valentine's Day fell on weekends. There was nowhere for her to be but in Tom's arms tomorrow.
His tongue was against her pulse, capable hands stoking flames.
"I like this plan," she breathed before closing her eyes.