forget his fucking name if he wanted to. It took a look, a smile, a hit to the chest of the man’s deep laugh and deeper dimples, to make Oak go completely tongue-tied.
Another beer appeared in front of him. He stared at it.
“Don’t even think about it, man.” Sommerset was already claiming the frothy mug.
Oak wrapped his hand around it to stop him. Sommerset’s smile disappeared. “Seriously. You can’t drive as it is. Neither can I.”
“I know. We’ll walk,” Oak decided.
“I’ll drive you,” Captain Peterman said.
“He’s my kid. I’ll take them both home,” John protested.
Peterman shouldered in to the bar table they stood around. “You and I both know that even off the clock, I can’t throw back beers with the guys. I can’t be one of them anymore.”
Oak could hear the smile in Peterman’s voice, and he resisted the urge to look, choosing to take a long drink of his draft.
“The three of you will have to drink my beers for me, and I’ll drive you all home,” the captain finished.
Four fresh mugs appeared on the table. Oak was shocked to see the beer he’d been holding was now empty. He reached for his fourth mug. There were perks to being the former captain’s kid and the new captain’s friend.
Sorta.
There was also a shit-ton of disadvantages. Especially when you lusted after your dad’s former partner. It had been bad enough wanting Peterman when he came over to the house for dinner, during Oak’s teen years and not being able to do anything about it.
Then there was growing up and joining the force. More than just his dad’s partner, he became inter-office taboo. But no, why stop there? Why not promote the object of his desires right into the most unobtainable position on the planet—oh, say, captain—and put him in the same office day in and day out where Oak couldn’t help but see him. And it wasn’t as if a captain ever left the office. No, he was there overseeing. It fucking increased the hours in a day Oak had to pretend the man didn’t turn every one of his hormones into raging drones drawn to the cliff of self-destruction.
Kill him now. Just kill him now. God, his life sucked. Maybe he should put in for a transfer.
“Take it easy, kid. I think you’ve already reached your limit,” Peterman told Oak.
Peterman’s upper arm brushed Oak’s shoulder. Oak bit back a groan behind the rim of his mug. A warm hand closed over his and pushed the mug to the tabletop. He made the mistake of looking up into Wyatt’s dark blue eyes. Since when had the captain grown fuzzy eyes and a halo around his head? He reached a hand up to touch the halo and patted Peterman’s head instead.
“Slow down. There isn’t a race to drain the tap,” Peterman murmured only loud enough for him.
Ah, but Peterman didn’t realize that there was a race for drowning his libido before it took a turn he couldn’t come back from. “I know what I’m doing,” Oak slurred. “Sure, ya do.”
He swung his head around. The room took a minute to settle. “Hey. Where’d dad go?”
“He’s in the john,” Sommerset told him. He giggled madly. “John’s in the john. God, that’s funny shit right there.” He laughed harder. “Shit! Ha! Funny shit in the john where John is. I’m a fucking comedian.”
“Right, it’s time to go, boys.”
“Not done, boss,” Oak argued.
“You’re not only done, you’re roasted and served up in beer sauce.”
Oak smirked. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink too.”
“Not a sip.” Peterman grabbed the upper arms of both men. “Let’s go before you find a way to call in sick tomorrow.”
“I have days saved up,” Oak told him.
“So you’re going to call in and leave your partner without a wingman because you drank like a fish one night? You aren’t who I thought you were,” Peterman countered.
“Yeah.” Bright words of wisdom from Sommerset.
“What—I mean, who—did you think I was?”
Peterman spared him a look as he manhandled them through the crowd
Another beer appeared in front of him. He stared at it.
“Don’t even think about it, man.” Sommerset was already claiming the frothy mug.
Oak wrapped his hand around it to stop him. Sommerset’s smile disappeared. “Seriously. You can’t drive as it is. Neither can I.”
“I know. We’ll walk,” Oak decided.
“I’ll drive you,” Captain Peterman said.
“He’s my kid. I’ll take them both home,” John protested.
Peterman shouldered in to the bar table they stood around. “You and I both know that even off the clock, I can’t throw back beers with the guys. I can’t be one of them anymore.”
Oak could hear the smile in Peterman’s voice, and he resisted the urge to look, choosing to take a long drink of his draft.
“The three of you will have to drink my beers for me, and I’ll drive you all home,” the captain finished.
Four fresh mugs appeared on the table. Oak was shocked to see the beer he’d been holding was now empty. He reached for his fourth mug. There were perks to being the former captain’s kid and the new captain’s friend.
Sorta.
There was also a shit-ton of disadvantages. Especially when you lusted after your dad’s former partner. It had been bad enough wanting Peterman when he came over to the house for dinner, during Oak’s teen years and not being able to do anything about it.
Then there was growing up and joining the force. More than just his dad’s partner, he became inter-office taboo. But no, why stop there? Why not promote the object of his desires right into the most unobtainable position on the planet—oh, say, captain—and put him in the same office day in and day out where Oak couldn’t help but see him. And it wasn’t as if a captain ever left the office. No, he was there overseeing. It fucking increased the hours in a day Oak had to pretend the man didn’t turn every one of his hormones into raging drones drawn to the cliff of self-destruction.
Kill him now. Just kill him now. God, his life sucked. Maybe he should put in for a transfer.
“Take it easy, kid. I think you’ve already reached your limit,” Peterman told Oak.
Peterman’s upper arm brushed Oak’s shoulder. Oak bit back a groan behind the rim of his mug. A warm hand closed over his and pushed the mug to the tabletop. He made the mistake of looking up into Wyatt’s dark blue eyes. Since when had the captain grown fuzzy eyes and a halo around his head? He reached a hand up to touch the halo and patted Peterman’s head instead.
“Slow down. There isn’t a race to drain the tap,” Peterman murmured only loud enough for him.
Ah, but Peterman didn’t realize that there was a race for drowning his libido before it took a turn he couldn’t come back from. “I know what I’m doing,” Oak slurred. “Sure, ya do.”
He swung his head around. The room took a minute to settle. “Hey. Where’d dad go?”
“He’s in the john,” Sommerset told him. He giggled madly. “John’s in the john. God, that’s funny shit right there.” He laughed harder. “Shit! Ha! Funny shit in the john where John is. I’m a fucking comedian.”
“Right, it’s time to go, boys.”
“Not done, boss,” Oak argued.
“You’re not only done, you’re roasted and served up in beer sauce.”
Oak smirked. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink too.”
“Not a sip.” Peterman grabbed the upper arms of both men. “Let’s go before you find a way to call in sick tomorrow.”
“I have days saved up,” Oak told him.
“So you’re going to call in and leave your partner without a wingman because you drank like a fish one night? You aren’t who I thought you were,” Peterman countered.
“Yeah.” Bright words of wisdom from Sommerset.
“What—I mean, who—did you think I was?”
Peterman spared him a look as he manhandled them through the crowd
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