Rough Terrain (Out of Uniform 7)

“Your favorite?” Rooster smiled back, a lazy grin that made Canaan’s stomach all warm and wobbly. “Guess I can give it a whirl.”

Canaan rang him up, and since Sage was still busy with the other three and there wasn’t a line, he started the drink for Rooster, fetching the cold brew coffee from the fridge.

“Big plans this weekend?” he asked while he made the drink.

“Working out with a friend tomorrow. Gonna film some new moves.”

“Please tell me you put those clips online.” Thinking fast, Canaan grabbed a blank stamp card and a pen and thrust it at him. “I’ll fill a stamp card for you if you give me your handle.”

“Well...” Rooster’s eyes shifted to his friends, who were deep in conversation. “Navy doesn’t exactly approve of me being on social media...”

“Not gonna tell a soul,” Canaan promised. “I just like workout videos and fitness pics.” And how.

“Yeah?” Rooster gave him an appraising stare, one that had Canaan damn near preening. “That so?”

“Yup.” Canaan set the blender going and returned to the counter. He filled a stamp card and waved it at Rooster. “So how about it?”

“Okay, okay.” Rooster scribbled something on the other card and pushed it at Canaan. Their fingers brushed as they traded cards, thick callused fingers rubbing against his, and Canaan swore his toes curled from the contact.

“So how about you?” Rooster asked as Canaan poured his drink into a purple plastic Smoothie Palace cup.

“How about me what?” Canaan was still busy celebrating getting his username and felt a little punch-drunk on the contact to boot.

“Big plans?”

Here was the opening Canaan had been waiting months for, and no way was he missing it. “Dunno. I get off at nine. Wanna help me find trouble?”

“You make that offer to all your customers?” Rooster studied him intently, and Canaan straightened his spine, trying to pass whatever test he was giving him.

“Just my favorite ones.” The more honest answer would be just you, but Canaan didn’t want to seem too desperate, so he kept his voice light and easy. “How ’bout it?”

“Rooster!” Bacon called out before Rooster could answer. “Come on. We’ve got that meeting in ten.”

“Sorry. Gotta head out. Thanks for the card.” Rooster gave him a smile but no answer before hurrying over to join his friends.

Crap. That was most likely a firm no, which was what Canaan deserved for crossing the line between flirty and inviting with a customer. But it sure as hell didn’t stop him from looking up the guy’s social media when he took his break a couple of hours later. He’d worked hard for that intel—including using one of his allotted free drink cards that he usually reserved for when he screwed up an order—and he wasn’t going to turn down some prime viewing material.

And Rooster was good. His parkour-style workouts where he went through homemade obstacle courses were mesmerizing. There was no mention of SEALs or even San Diego on his social media, and his PhillyFit handle further obscured his deets. That and he was always in civilian clothing. Usually shirtless, thank you sweet Jesus, showing off pecs that could double as Hummer hubcaps. Tons of selfies too—him posing in various mirrors, commenting on his physique with adorable little quips like “Only angle I really like my abs” or “Think I’m finally getting the triceps definition I wanted.” Humble brags from a guy who clearly believed in treating his body like a temple, and Canaan was all about worshiping at that altar.

He was deep into Rooster’s videos when his phone rang. Damian. Who could never just text like a normal person, but had to call.

“Yeah?” He paced away from the back door.

“You on break?”

“Yep. Only have a few minutes.” That Damian knew his schedule would be more disconcerting if they hadn’t known each other for well over a decade. And it went both ways. Canaan knew that Damian and the rest of the band were in Spain this week, finishing up their latest European tour. He hadn’t done the time zone math, but Damian’s languid, slightly hoarse voice said that they’d just wrapped a show and he was kicking back with a drink in a hotel somewhere. Once upon a time, that voice had done things to Canaan’s insides, revved him up, but now all it did was make his back muscles tighten.

“That’s fine. Just wanted to call to confirm we’re still on for the trip. Kelly is making the final arrangements with the wilderness tour company, and they want firm numbers. So you are bringing someone, right?”

“I... Not sure. Do I have to?” He wished Kelly could have been the one to call him—this whole camping expedition with Canaan’s old band was Kelly’s idea, and he was infinitely easier to deal with than Damian, who had all sorts of rules and requests for what should be a chill weekend.