Going Overboard (Anchor Point #5)
by L.A. Witt
Published February 5th 2018 by Riptide Publishing
Genre: MxM Adult Contemporary Romance
Second-class petty officers Dalton Taylor and Chris Ingram have been best friends since coxswain’s school. Now they’re stationed together in the Harbor Patrol Unit of NAS Adams. They’re content as friends, but secretly, they both ache for more. Neither makes a move, though; while Dalton is out and proud, Chris is closeted—even from his best friend.
Then another coxswain’s negligence nearly drowns Dalton. After a taste of how easily they could lose each other, neither man can keep his feelings hidden anymore, and it turns out love and sex come easy when you’re falling for your best friend.
Things aren’t just heating up between the friends-turned-lovers, though. The Navy is investigating the accident, and the Harbor Patrol chief isn’t going to let his star coxswain go down for dereliction of duty, even if saving him means throwing Dalton under the bus.
As the threats and gaslighting pile up, Chris and Dalton need each other more than ever—as shipmates, friends, and lovers. But if their chief prevails, the only way they can save their careers is to let each other go.
“You know, with as much money as the Navy spent to send your ass to coxswain’s school,” MA3 Rhodes said as she put on her police belt, “you’d think someone would actually let you drive the boat once in a while.”
“No shit.” I scowled and slung the M4 rifle over my shoulder. “As long as Chief Lasby’s golden boy is running our section, though . . .”
She frowned but said nothing. What was there to say? Chief Lasby played favorites, Chief Lasby ran Harbor Patrol, and Chief Lasby thought MA1 Anderson was the Second Coming. The fact that Anderson was only a basic coxswain and I’d graduated Level II coxswain’s school at the top of my class and could drive that fucking boat in my sleep didn’t mean a goddamned thing, because the dirt bag was our lead petty officer. And the only reason he was our LPO was because he outranked us all, which was because Chief Lasby had given him a glowing eval he totally hadn’t deserved. Not that I was bitter.
Thanks to the extra chevron on Anderson’s uniform and how deeply his nose was planted between Lasby’s ass cheeks, he got to call the shots when we went out on patrol. And his call was . . . he drove while I carried the gun.
I adjusted the sidearm strap around my thigh. “Think we’ll at least get the Metal Shark up and running soon so we don’t have to bring the rifle anymore?”
Rhodes snorted with laughter. “Senior Chief Curtis has been after Port Ops for months to fix that stupid boat. At this rate, we’re going to break the little boat too, and then we’ll have to . . . I don’t know. Patrol the harbor in a kayak or something.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I groaned. These days, there wasn’t much I’d put past our command.
I gazed out the Harbor Patrol Unit building’s second-story window at the boats below. The wind was brutal today, rattling the windows and even the walls of the mostly concrete building. The usually calm water of the harbor was rough as hell, waves slamming into the seawall and tossing our boats hard against the pier.
In the slip closest to shore was the Metal Shark—the biggest, most capable vessel we had. I loved that type of boat. They could turn on a dime, they hauled ass, and they were pretty stable even in rough waters. Unfortunately, ours had been out of commission for . . . hell, no one even knew anymore. I’d been here almost a year, and I was pretty sure I’d only seen that bad boy leave the pier twice.
With that boat still waiting for repairs, and the larger fast boat on reserve in case of emergency—and because it was too expensive to operate on a daily basis—we were stuck with the piece-of-shit smaller craft, which was currently out on patrol. It was tiny, rickety, and didn’t steer for shit. It could haul ass, which was good, but it didn’t maneuver nearly as cleanly as the Metal Shark. And that was in calm waters.
The best part? It was a small craft that couldn’t support a mounted machine gun like the Metal Shark. Since we had to have at least one large weapon when we patrolled, we had to go with the next best thing—the hand-carried M4 currently hanging off my shoulders. All eight-plus pounds of it. On top of the heavy vest. And the trauma plates. And my loaded sidearm. And my boots. And my police belt. I didn’t know why they even bothered having inflators in our vests. Didn’t seem like they’d really help when we were weighed down like fucking anchors.
To celebrate the release of Going Overboard, one lucky winner will receive their choice of two eBooks off L. A. Witt’s backlist (excluding Going Overboard) and a $10 Riptide Publishing store credit! Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on February 10, 2017. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!
About LA Witt & Links
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut…
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