The sandstorms playing havoc with Morgan’s Internet access couldn’t have happened at a worse time. He’d last heard from Dale almost five days ago, and since then? Nothing. They’d managed, after almost four years on different schedules, in different units, on different battlegrounds, to get fourteen days’ leave at the same time, and they were going to meet in San Francisco.

The silence was freaking Morgan out.

Despite the satellites passing overhead, despite the world’s best techies working overtime to keep them connected, every single time Morgan had sat down in front of his laptop to get in touch with Dale since the last email, he’d received the No Internet Access message.

Morgan, the last email he’d received began. I’ve got leave for fourteen days and should be in San Francisco on Monday, July 4. Not sure when, will depend on the flights outta here. Call me, okay? We should make some plans.

The subtext to that message was, We should talk on the phone rather than over the Internet.

The subtext had made Morgan grin. He and Dale had been on the same page from the moment they’d met in junior year, both from small towns, scared to death, and knowing no one. They’d bonded that very first day while standing in line at the principal’s office, waiting to present their transcripts to the big, scary man behind the big, scary desk.

When he got the let’s talk email, Morgan had quickly made his way to the communications center and dialed the number Dale included in the email, not expecting to get in touch with him the first time but leaving his schedule when he could be reached. He expected a callback within a couple of days. He didn’t get it. He called the next day and the day after that. Still no response.

Add that to the lack of email, which had—oddly and unusually—been running more smoothly than it had in months, and the freak-out factor was over the roof.

He knew he would have heard if Dale was seriously injured or even worse. He was listed as Dale’s next of kin, just as Morgan was Dale’s. The reason they’d ended up at McKinley High together was, for two quite distinct reasons, that they’d been shipped off to live with distant relatives. Dale’s parents had gone off to Africa to be missionaries and had decided to stay there, ministering to the poor rather than looking after their teenage son. Morgan’s parents had died in a car accident.

The reason he wasn’t hearing from Dale was pretty easy to guess—he was away from base on a mission. Morgan could convince himself that this absence didn’t mean Dale was in danger, though the conviction only lasted as long as he was busy. But when he wasn’t, he went right to the dark side, although, in this case, the dark side was filled with dread about spending fourteen days in San Francisco without Dale, rather than about injuries.

Pulling the blanket up over his head, Morgan concentrated on the weekend they’d spent together just before they’d left for their respective units.

* * * * *

Las Vegas was August hot, but neither of them cared. The forty-eight hours had been an unexpected gift, and they’d had no plans other than getting away and getting laid. They’d booked two rooms, knowing they’d spend the days together and the evenings in their respective beds with some willing and generous woman. And there were women everywhere.

Single women. Women in pairs. Women in large packs. And they were all looking back at Dale and Morgan who were looking at them. Las Vegas—neither of them had been to the city before—was like a giant smorgasbord of possible sexual encounters.

But Morgan and Dale were enjoying each other’s company, the company of the brother neither of them had, the company of the one person in the world who understood and never questioned, because each of them always knew what the other was thinking.

So they enjoyed the pool, then the poolside bar, then the long, hot showers, and the light meal they’d grabbed on their walkabout of the rest of the hotel. They talked about everything and nothing and watched the women walk by, contemplating the possibilities—not of getting laid; that seemed to be a given—but of who might be the one.

Neither of them could have expected what actually happened.

They’d eventually headed for the quiet bar in the lobby of the hotel, far away from the glitz and noise of the casino. The plan was to finish their catching up, then split up, meeting for breakfast the next morning. Late the next morning if all went well.

But their plans—and their lives—changed when Sue had sauntered into the bar, did a quick scan of the room, walked right over to them, and sat down at their table.

She lifted a finger, mouthed, “I’ll have what they’re having,” at the bartender, and smiled at the two of them.

“I’m Sue. I’ve got a one-night break between meetings and…” She paused to take a sip of the drink the server placed in front of her. “Hmm, Macallan. Love it.”

When Morgan and Dale had spoken of that moment later, Dale had echoed his astonishment. And the immediate and intense excitement.

“I have this fantasy,” she continued after a few more sips of her scotch. “And I’m hoping you’re the boys to fulfill it.”

Dale, always the talker, replied. “We’ll do our best.”

Morgan nodded, because that’s all he could get his head to do. He wasn’t even sure he could speak. Because the image he had in his head was blowing his mind. He wondered, just for a moment, whether he’d always thought about having sex with Dale in the bed with him.

It was about Dale, he thought, but it wasn’t only about Dale. It was somehow all wound up with Dale and a woman, Morgan touching Dale, Dale touching Morgan, but also, and equally as important, touching the woman. As if her anticipation, her excitement, her orgasms would add to his, would make their experience even more.

Morgan was pretty sure he would never have set out to find that experience; it was a fantasy, a fantasy he kept carefully hidden. But here she was, offering him what he’d wanted forever.

At least that’s what he hoped she wanted. And he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that his fantasy, as well as hers, came true.

“Sue,” he said. “I’m Morgan, and this is Dale. I’ve got a fantasy as well, and I’m thinking, okay, I’m hoping, that your fantasy and mine are the same.” He didn’t dare look at Dale, didn’t want to see—or imagine—any hint of discomfort in his eyes.

He should have known better. Dale was up, in every possible way, for anything. And everything.

“And Morgan’s fantasy—whatever it is—is okay by me.” Dale gestured at the bartender and ordered another round. “But let’s get it out on the table so we’re all on the same page, okay?”

He waited while the server placed three more glasses on the table, then continued. “I’m thinking that what we want is for all three of us to be in a king-size bed. I’m thinking we want to touch each other in every way that feels good. I’m thinking we want to share the night, share our bodies, in every possible combination.”

He raised his glass and waited. “Am I right?”

Morgan couldn’t speak, but he looked at Dale, hoping that the excitement and warmth were as clear in his eyes as they were in his best friend’s. “You’re right.”

Sue looked at each of them and grinned. “Yep. That’s exactly what I want.”