Can't Say Goodbye

can’t say goodbye EDEN FINLEY contents 1. Brady 2. Kit 3. Brady 4. Prescott 5. Kit 6. Prescott 7. Brady 8. Kit 9. Prescott 10. Brady 11. Kit 12. Prescott 13. Brady 14. Kit 15. Prescott 16. Brady 17. Kit 18. Brady 19. Prescott 20. Brady 21. Kit 22. Brady 23. Prescott 24. Kit 25. Brady 26. Kit 27. Prescott 28. Brady 29. Prescott 30. Kit 31. Brady 32. Prescott 33. Kit 34. Brady 35. Kit 36. Brady 37. Prescott 38. Brady Thank You Also by Eden Finley Can’t Say Goodbye © 2023 by Eden Finley Cover Illustration Copyright © Natasha Snow Photographer: Wander Aguiar Edited by One Love Editing https://oneloveediting.com All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to: Eden Finley - permissions - [email protected] disclaimers This is a work of fiction. The positions held by Kit at the Pentagon are used in a fictitious manner or don’t even exist. Operations/missions and navy protocols are all made up and do not reflect the real US Navy’s policies. And because I usually try to make my disclaimers humorous, Saxon James is the worst person in the world. But I love her anyway. Also, if it’s in a disclaimer, it means it’s true. It’s like the internet. CHAPTER ONE brady Anytime my best friend asks to go fishing, my answer is always yes. Because Felix Andrews doesn’t mean on a boat. In the ocean. And he definitely isn’t hoping to catch tuna. Nope. He’s on the hunt for a SEAL of the navy variety. Felix and I discovered Bottoms Up in Coronado our sophomore year and have been back on many occasions. It’s the closest gay bar to the navy base … port? Whatever it’s called. It’s always packed with seamen, as Felix puts it. Felix and I share an appreciation of bigger guys, but my obsession doesn’t stop there. I like older guys. Someone who wants to look after me instead of the other way around. Felix leads me out to the dance floor the second we enter the bar because he knows how to get attention, and in what he’s wearing—midriff top, tight pants—there’s no way he’s not turning a few heads. He puts on a show like he usually does, basically using my body as if it’s a pole and he’s being paid to dance up on it, but I’m not complaining because it has the desired effect. Men cut in, dancing with him, dancing with me, dancing as a group … It’s intoxicating being in the middle of a sweaty manwich. On occasion, I’ve been taken home by more than one guy. I’m not sure if group sex can be called a kink, but if it is, it’s the biggest kink I have. What’s better than one dick but two? Or, as my gaze catches on two guys at the bar, their long muscular bodies facing the dance floor, military-grade haircuts, what’s better than one SEAL but two? One of them has lighter hair, the other a rich brown to go with his tanned olive skin. The dark-haired one meets my eyes, and his lips quirk. One looks like a typical military dude—huge and domineering—while the one smiling my way looks less scary, but they’re both bulky and gorgeous. The bigger one is all hard features, and that’s the sexiest thing to me. I break eye contact with them and go back to the guy I’m dancing with, a twink who’s obviously here for the same reason we are. That’s the only problem with Felix and me using each other as bait. I sometimes get the attention of others who are like him. It’s not that I’m turned off by smaller guys, it’s just that I have a type. And the two guys at the bar are my type. With any hope, they’re into three-ways. I lean in and say in the guy’s ear, “I need to get a drink,” and leave him before he can offer to come with me. Within seconds, he’s grinding up on someone else. I go to the bar, and unlike Shenanigans—a college bar near campus—Bottoms Up doesn’t make over twenty-ones wear a wristband to drink. This one uses good old-fashioned carding, and luckily for me, I’m six three, over two hundred pounds, and don’t look like a college kid. Still, when I get to the bar, strategically walking by the two guys I’m interested in so their attention is on me, I only order a Coke. If I do have the chance to hook up tonight, I want to be sober. Felix and I have a system in place to make sure we’re both safe when going home with strangers. Staying sober is one of our rules. So is letting each other know where we’re hooking up and with whom. As soon as the bartender hands me my drink and I pay, I turn, only to hit a wall of SEAL. It’s the darker-haired one of the two. My drink spills all over his tight black shirt, and I would be mortified if it wasn’t the move I was planning to do on my way back past them. It just so happened he approached me first. “I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to sound as sincere as I can. The half smile he sent my way while I was on the dance floor is still in place. “I’m sure you are.” Then? He reaches back and takes his shirt off, wiping down his wet abs with it. I almost swallow my tongue. A voice comes from behind me. “Ignore him. He wouldn’t know the word ‘subtle’ if it hit him over the head.” I turn to find the other guy there, and I have no idea when he moved. If the haircuts, muscles, and dog tags hanging around the shirtless one’s neck didn’t tip me off about