Valor on the Move (9 page)

As Shane took a bite, Rafa anxiously shoved a piece of bread into his own mouth. The tomatoes and cheese tasted good, and the basil chiffonade looked almost professional.

“Mmm. This is excellent. Delicious.”

“You think?” Rafa beamed.

“Absolutely.” After a few moments of eating, Shane nodded at Rafa’s shirt. “Why so dressed up?”

“This?” Rafa glanced down at himself. “This is my usual.” He’d tried on four nearly identical button-down shirts before finally going with the one he wore.

Shane didn’t comment, instead taking another bite of bread and tomatoes. He made a little satisfied noise low in his throat that threatened to transform Rafa’s tingling arousal to a full-fledged hard-on.

Rafa cast about for something to say. “Did you always want to be in the Secret Service?”

“No.” Shane sliced another ravioli in half.

“So what did you want to be?”

Eyes on his plate, Shane smirked. “An astronaut. But who doesn’t?”

“Me. I think I’d throw up in zero gravity. I love food too much to risk it.”

This time, Shane chuckled—a rumble that nearly had Rafa gripping the side of the counter. Shane checked his watch.

No, don’t leave yet.
“I’m going to Australia next year,” Rafa blurted. “After the inauguration.”

Shane seemed to ponder it for a few moments, leaning his hip against the counter as he scooped up more tomato mixture with a piece of bread, the goat cheese oozing. “Why Australia?”

“It’s stupid. You’re going to laugh.” Rafa fiddled with a pot lid. Why had he said anything? He almost felt like he was outside his body, watching this surreal conversation unfold.

“I won’t.” Shane said it with his usual gravelly voice, but there was something else there too. An underlying tone of compassion, perhaps?

“Okay, well…there’s a Cordon Bleu in Sydney, and other cooking schools. And in Australia hardly anyone will recognize me. I could go to Europe, but Australia’s always seemed…I don’t know. Magical somehow. Like another planet, as far away from DC as I can get. I can finally learn to cook from real chefs, and…”

Shane waited.

Rafa swallowed hard. “I’ve always dreamed of something else too.” He forced out a breath, the words tumbling with it. “I want to surf. It’s stupid, I know.”

“Surfing’s not stupid.”

Rafa chanced a glance at Shane, who was smiling. In fact, his eyes were twinkling, and he was smiling so widely there were matching creases in his cheeks. “You don’t think so?”

“I grew up surfing. It’s the thing I miss most about California.”

“Really? You can surf?” Electricity zinged through Rafa.

“I could. Been a long time now.”

“Where did you live in California?”

“Orange County. The regular burbs, not the gated communities. Laguna Beach was a couple of bus rides away. I practically lived there in the summer.”

Rafa loved listening to Shane talk. There was something pleasing about his rumble-y voice, and he wanted to hear more. “That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to learn. I was obsessed with surfing websites as a kid. Did you have brothers and sisters? Did they surf too? My family always thought it was a weird interest considering I grew up in central Jersey.”

“I was an only child.” His expression tightened, and then he cleared his throat and didn’t say anything else. He checked his watch. “I should get back down there.”

Rafa was dying to ask more questions, but he also didn’t want Shane to leave because he was being too nosy. “I tried it once in Atlantic City and wiped out big time.” The humiliation washed over him, dulled by time but always there. “Someone recorded it on their phone and it went viral. I haven’t tried again.”

Shane frowned. “You shouldn’t let what people think stop you.”

With an incredulous laugh, Rafa filled the sink to scrub the pots. He liked cleaning up when he cooked; it was good practice for getting a job in a restaurant when he moved to Sydney. “I try not to, but…”

“Easier said than done. I get it.”

“I just wish I could try it without people watching. I miss being outdoors so much. When I was a kid, sometimes I’d go camping with the neighbors. My parents never understood why I’d want to. I mean, Camila Castillo de Saucedo does not
camp.
”

Shane laughed. “No, I don’t imagine she does.”

“But I always loved it—being under the stars and having a campfire. Even just going hiking for an afternoon. It would be so amazing to go for a walk by myself in the woods, or the mountains, or along a beach—anywhere, really. And actually be alone. Like,
completely
alone. No one else for miles, or at least no one in eye-shot. To have the freedom to just walk wherever I wanted without agents trailing me, or people taking pictures.” He quickly added, “But I know you guys are just doing your jobs. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or whiny.”

“You don’t. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a detail twenty-four-seven. It would drive me nuts. You’re everyone’s favorite because you’re so good about it.”

Rafa looked down at his bowl, his ears getting hot. “Really? That’s nice to hear. And you guys have always been cool. But man, I can’t wait until I can go out by myself. I have a huge list of stuff to do in Australia. Hiking and swimming, and finally learning how to surf.” He realized he was grinning like a fool just thinking about the freedom. “Anyway. Sorry, I’m talking your ear off.”

“I don’t mind. Makes the night shift a lot more interesting.” Shane checked his watch again. “I really should get back, though. Thanks for this. Nice to have a home-cooked meal for a change. You really are very good at it.”

“Your wife doesn’t cook?” He went for a casual air and failed miserably.

Shane brought his bowl and cutlery to the sink. “No wife. I’m gay. No husband either. With the job, I tend to work long hours and travel at a moment’s notice. Not conducive to serious relationships.” As if he’d said too much, he quickly backed away. “Thanks again.”

Oh. My. God. Did he just say he’s gay? And single? Am I dead? Am I in heaven?
“Um…yeah. Good. Great. I mean, you’re welcome.” His brain buzzed.
Get it together! Say something!
“Oh, what about tomorrow? I have so many things to try. Please? You’d be doing me a big favor.”

Fiddling with his sleeves, Shane didn’t look at him. “I’ll try. You did really good work tonight. Thank you.”

With that, he disappeared into the little corridor, and Rafa listened to his quiet steps until there was only silence once more.

“Holy shit.”

His mind replayed the last minute in his mind, and yep, Shane had said it. He’d said he was gay. And he’d said it like it was
nothing
. Even though lots of people supported LGBT rights nowadays…it still wasn’t nothing. At least not to Rafa. There were a lot of people who still thought it was wrong, and even though
he
knew it wasn’t…the idea of saying it so easily was boggling. He wondered if it would ever be so simple for him.

Wow. Shane was gay. His wet dream fantasy man was
actually gay too
. Shane had undoubtedly had sex with men. Like, for real. It had happened. A lot. Images flashed through Rafa’s mind, and blood rushed south.

Grinning, he hurried with finishing the dishes so he could go back to his room. There was nothing wrong with fantasies, right? Didn’t hurt anyone. Rafa reminded himself that Shane was only being nice, but he may have even whistled as he worked.

“Hey, Kendrick.” Harris nodded as Shane reached the top of the stairs on the main floor. His detail partner, Raul Guzman, nodded as well.

“Anything to report?” Shane asked.

“Nope,” Guzman replied. He ran a hand over his short black hair and whistled softly. “This kid is boring as hell.”

Harris smirked. “You’d rather be flying to Vegas with no toothbrush and just the clothes on your back?”

Guzman held up his hands. “You’re right. After his sister’s detail, I shouldn’t complain. You know the story, Kendrick?”

“I’ve heard bits and pieces.”

Guzman shook his head. “Ten o’clock at night, almost time for a shift change. Virtue up and jumps in her car and heads to the airport. No notice, no nothing. We’re scrambling to make sure we can keep her secure at the terminal. And of course we have to go with her to Vegas. It was my wife’s birthday the next day. I didn’t get home until three days later.”

“The glamorous life of the Secret Service,” Harris said. “Travel at a moment’s notice, unpaid overtime, and not enough money to deal with the bullshit. Especially now that they’ve slashed our benefits. Land of the free, and home of the overworked and underpaid.”

Shane wondered when Harris had started getting bitter. Would that be him in ten years?

“All right, we’ll leave you to it, Kendrick. Haven’t heard a peep from the mouse. Have a good one.” Guzman gave Shane’s arm a slap, and he and Harris disappeared downstairs.

Shane sat in the wooden chair in the corner and wondered what Rafa had made for him to taste. The kid really did seem to have a flair for food, although Shane had admittedly never had a picky palate. Still, he found himself looking forward to it. Which he really shouldn’t have been, since it wasn’t in his job description to be Rafa’s guinea pig in the first place. But what harm did it do if Rafa was safe?

Besides, it wasn’t a bad way to spend some of the long hours of the night shift. There was no rule that said an agent couldn’t enjoy him or herself sometimes. He’d spent plenty of pleasant hours on the ranch in Montana protecting former president Hamilton. Fortunately, the biggest threat there had been a gopher hole the former first lady had stepped in, leading to a badly twisted ankle.

He wondered if Rafa had been able to find the old surfing book he’d recommended. Shane wished he still had his copy to lend, but it had gone in the fire. The twist of pain and guilt knotted him up for a few moments, dull and familiar. As it receded, he considered whether he should check the Amazon marketplace for it. But no, it wouldn’t be appropriate to buy a book for his protectee. Still, it was nice to talk surfing again. Rafa had no practical experience, but he was far more up to date on the current state of the sport than Shane was.

When Rafa appeared ten minutes later, he smiled anxiously as he wound one of the strings on his navy hoodie around his finger and scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the carpeted runner on the stairs. “Hey. I’ve got a seafood lasagna in the oven. Béchamel sauce. I thought in the meantime, I’d go bowling. And you’d have to come with me, obviously. I mean, if that’s cool.”

“Of course. You know you’re free to do whatever you want.” Shane realized that must be why Rafa was in casual clothes and not his usual buttoned-up, neatly ironed outfits. His hair was still slicked, though.
Too bad he won’t let his curls down.
Shane blinked at the strange thought. Why should it matter to him how Rafa wore his hair? Although he couldn’t help feeling it would do the kid some good to let go a bit.

Rafa led the way downstairs to the basement bowling alley as Shane radioed their new location to the office. As they walked by the open door, one of the agents on the night shift inside gave him a nod. There was a two-lane alley in the basement of the office building near the West Wing that Shane had heard hosted tournaments between White House staffers and the Secret Service, but here in the residence there was a narrow room with a single lane.

Rafa opened the door and flicked on the overhead fluorescent lights. “It’s kind of lame, huh?”

Shane blinked. He’d been to almost every room in the White House, but not this one. “It’s very…patriotic.”

His nose wrinkling as he smiled, Rafa sat in one of the molded plastic chairs and untied his shoelaces. “When we moved in it was painted this gross coral color, with big cheesy bowling pins on the walls. So my dad asked Henry to get it repainted, and I guess his instructions were something like, ‘imagine what would happen if an American flag puked all over the room.’”

Shane couldn’t hold in his burst of laughter, and Rafa’s smile grew wider. Shane surveyed the stars and stripes painted over the walls—red, white, and blue everything. There was even an eagle taking flight at the end of the lane. “Sounds about right.”

“What size are you?” In his socks, Rafa crouched in front of a wooden cubby holding about twenty pairs of bowling shoes in various sizes.

“Oh, I can’t bowl. You go ahead.”

Rafa didn’t look up from the cubby. “You can’t as in, bowling is beyond your capabilities, or you can’t because you’re not supposed to?”

“The latter. If there’s an emergency, I can’t run out of here in bowling shoes. You go ahead. I’ll keep score.”

“The computer keeps score.” He stuffed his feet into shoes. “Come on, you can just do it without the right shoes. I won’t tell. Hardly anyone uses this bowling alley anyway. It’s no fun to play against myself.”

“Don’t you have any friends who could come over?”

Blinking, Rafa dropped his head. “I guess. Not really. Sorry, I know I’m bugging you.” He jammed his palm against a button on the wall, and the bowling alley came to life, the mechanism at the end resetting the ten pins and the computer screen on the wall flickering on. At a console on a little table, Rafa typed in his name and hit enter.

Shit. Shane hated seeing Rafa’s shoulders hunch like that. “That’s not what I meant. You’re not bugging me at all.” What the hell. “All right.” He walked to the console and added his name. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Rafa smiled tentatively. “Yeah? Okay. Cool.” He picked up a green globe and moved to the edge of the alley. Holding the ball up in front of him, he breathed silently for a few moments. Then he took three steps and gracefully unleashed the ball, his legs bending and his arm arcing up, his shirt pulling over lean muscles. The ball slammed into the pins, sending all ten scattering. He pumped his fist and spun around. “Beat that, old man.” His smile faltered.

Shane realized he’d been staring, and he could see the worry on Rafa’s face as the kid likely wondered if he’d gone too far. But Shane picked up his own ball and strode by him. “Watch and learn, Grasshopper.”

“Grasshopper?” Rafa’s nose wrinkled. “Is that from something?”