Page 32 of Proof Of Life

Pumping faster, I work his cock like I would my own, stoking the flame in his blood, until he grasps my wrist, almost halting me as he urges me on. He’s just making sure I don’t stop—not until he comes. And when he does, he gasps my name like a plea and spills over my fist. I can feel the warmth of his seed and can’t help but imagine what it tastes like.

It’s the first time I’ve ever had that thought about any man, and it’s sobering.

How long can I leave my hand on his cock before he asks me to move it?

I’ll never know because he goes soft in my grip, and I realize he’s fallen asleep.

I check my watch again for the thousandth time. “Two hours. Two fucking hours we’ve been sitting here.”

“Welcome to the Army. Hurry up and wait.” West taps his pen against the booklet of Mad Libs. “Give me a noun and an adjective.”

“Cannon and hairy.”

He grins, and it’s sexy as fuck. I can’t stop noticing these things about him lately. The way his smile lifts higher on the right corner, how he arches his left eyebrow but not his right.

“Reminds me of that guy in Kabul. You remember him?” he asks, cracking up. “He was in charge of the mortars, and he was hairy as fuck.”

I chuff and shake my head, trying not to smile, but it’s difficult the longer I stare at him. The shit he remembers… but he can’t recall what we ate for dinner yesterday.

“All right, give me a number.”

“Fifty-two. You know, we could be out of here today.”

“It don’t work like that. You know that. They might say we’re done, but even then, it can take weeks. The papers come in the mail.”

“Yeah, but if the med-boarding process is over, we can fucking leave. Fuck the papers. They’ll get there when they get there.”

West fills in the blanks in his notepad, and when he looks back up at me, he grins. “I’m ready to get the fuck out of here right now.”

“You can thank me anytime for making sure they believed it was accidental that you went for a swim with weights tied to your chair. Otherwise, I’d be going home today, and your ass would still be under observation.”

“Thank you, master of the bullshit. I know you hated lying about it, but being strapped to a bed in Womack wasn’t going to help me.”

He’s got his prosthetic on today, and though he’s still getting used to walking in it, I look at him and think for a second how easy it is to forget that he’s not complete, like he used to be. With his long legs dressed in BDUs, his boots on, he reminds me of the team leader he used to be.

“Okay, here’s what we’ve got. The clown and the cashier had the cannon ready to shoot out fifty-two hairy guinea pigs into a kiddie pool full of Jell-O.” He reads from the notepad, and when he glances up at me, smiling, he’s confused by my blank expression. “What?”

“You need a fucking psych eval.”

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” he insists, tucking the pad away. “Riggs! Hey man, what’s up?” West flags Riggs as he passes by.

“Gentlemen, how are you?”

“Just waiting for our final decision from the PEB. Fingers crossed today is the day.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. The Physical Evaluation Board is going to medically retire both of you. I’ve seen your files. When you’re finished here, come see me. I've got something I want to talk to you both about.”

Two and a half hours later, we step into Riggs’s office.

“Well, gentlemen, how’d it go?”

“You’re looking at two retired old men,” West teases.

“Hundred percent disability,” I add.

West pushes me playfully. “Man, you got eighty percent. Don’t try to one-up me.”

“Wardell, you need to apply with the VA right away. You’re far from done with your rehab. You have a long way to go. I’m talking years. And I’m not gonna let you give up and get lazy.” He tosses a brochure across his desk.

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