Chapter Ten #2
He held it up. “Play a lot of basketball, do you?”
I snorted a laugh and grabbed it out of his hand, throwing it back in the duffel. Marvin instantly poked his head into the bag to see what else was in there. “I can’t believe Captain Sorensen packed my jockstraps. I’m so embarrassed.”
Nash laughed and walked back to the dresser, opening another drawer. “You underestimate the man.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just ignored the remark as I began carrying things over to the drawer. “Where are you going to put your stuff?” I glanced over at Nash.
“I’m making room. Fortunately, I don’t have a lot of ties as you can see. I only wear them to court if I have to testify. I have exactly two suits for that reason alone. I prefer to dress casually whenever possible.”
I glanced at the T-shirt and cargo pants he was wearing.
He wore them well. Then again, he’d probably look good in a gunny sack.
The man had muscles for days but not the overworked kind like some gym bunnies.
I thought some of those big, buff guys overdid the whole workout thing, though, it was fun watching them lift weights.
My gaze strayed down to his pants. He had a beautiful, tight ass and the cargos hugged it perfectly.
I glanced at his bulge for just a moment before turning my attention back to the task at hand.
Shockingly, everything fit in the single, deep drawer.
I didn’t need more than a few changes of clothing anyway.
I really hoped Captain Sorensen was right about how deeply focused Nash’s team would be at catching the maggots who wanted me dead.
As welcoming as Nash had been, I hated the idea of putting him out.
He’d already given up his privacy, his bedroom, and his time to take care of me.
Just as I finished putting my clothes in the drawer, my stomach growled.
I shyly glanced over at Nash only to find him grinning.
“You haven’t eaten breakfast. Let me make you something.”
“Oh, no! You don’t have to do that.”
“You have to eat.”
“I suppose I could eat an egg or some cereal,” I replied, feeling really embarrassed. I certainly didn’t want him cooking for me.
He pinned me with a serious expression. “Joshua, you’re not a houseguest here.
I want you to know that as long as we’re living under the same roof, you have the run of the place.
That means you can eat whatever’s in the refrigerator and if there isn’t something appealing to you, I’ll go pick it up at the store.
” He spread his arms wide. “Think of me as your beck and call boy.”
I smiled. My stomach protested again and I was surprised when he reached out and patted me on the cheek before turning and heading out of the room.
“I’ll make you one of my famous omelets,” he threw over his shoulder as he marched down the hall.
I glanced around, dropping the empty duffel on a chair before following him out of the room.
When I got to the kitchen he was at the open refrigerator door, fishing things out of a vegetable drawer.
I caught sight of cilantro, red onion, and cheese.
He straightened and handed them to me as he grabbed the eggs off a shelf.
“I’m not sure what you like in your eggs. ”
“All this looks great and if you’ll give me a knife, I’ll start cutting. You must be hungry too.” Neither of us had eaten.
“Thank you.”
I walked over to the sink and began rinsing the cilantro as he handed me a garlic bulb, pointing to it. I dried my hands, took the bulb and smiled. “Love garlic.”
“Me too.”
“Do you like to cook?” I asked.
“I love to cook. It relaxes the hell out of me. Dunno know why.”
“Because it’s fun. I like to cook too, although Barbie does most of it since my hours are so long and not exactly on the same schedule as the kids. I try to get home for dinner but sometimes I work the dinner rush at Tango’s so they have to eat without me.”
“That has to be hard.”
“It really sucks sometimes,” I agreed. “I do have breakfast with them every morning, though. I even take them out for pancakes at IHOP when I get the chance.” I suddenly missed them so badly. He must have sensed something in my change of mood because he reached over and rubbed my back.
“Don’t worry. It’s not forever. You’ll be eating at the International House of Pancakes with them again before you know it.”
I really hoped so. “Thank you.” As we worked side by side in the kitchen getting all the ingredients ready, I couldn’t help but wonder at how domestic it felt to be preparing such a simple meal with him.
I decided small talk was the way forward.
I cleared my throat. “So, exactly what does a Tac Team at the FBI do? I mean I’ve seen you in action a couple of times, but it can’t be like that all the time, right? ”
Nash laughed and took the garlic back, peeling it, seeming happy to move onto a safe topic.
“Not even. We’d die from the adrenaline rush if we had to do that every day.
” He shrugged. “Most of the time, we spend our days in the FBI gym downstairs or out on the track. Captain Sorensen is nothing if not diligent about our training regimen.”
I thought hard, picturing the tall Federal Building I’d seen a million times as I’d driven past the Veteran’s Cemetery across the street from it on Wilshire. “I didn’t realize the FBI had a gym. It’s in the Federal Building?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and it’s a good one. It has all the typical machines, weights, and everything else, including an Olympic-sized pool. There’s even a rock-climbing wall, ropes, and a regulation size boxing ring.”
I looked over at him in surprise. “That’s great.”
“Of course, Candy—that’s Captain Sorensen—is always taking us on field trips to the beach so we can get plenty of time in the ocean for the SEAL on our team…or should I say for the rest of us, since the SEAL already spends half his life in the water.”
It took me a second to realize what he was talking about. “Wait…you have a Navy SEAL on your team? I thought you guys were all Marines.”
He turned to look at me, then down at the veggies I’d been cutting before moving the cutting board beside the frying pan. “Actually, we’re from varying branches of military services—all Special Forces—but different branches.”
“Like what?”
“Snickers—that’s Napoleon Smith—the huge black guy?” He looked at me to make sure I could picture the man in my mind.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Anyway, Snickers is our Navy SEAL. I’m Marine Corps Force RECON. My buddy Mickey—Milky—Way is also RECON. He’s the man who was with me when we crashed into the cartel’s apartment.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s he doing by the way?” I felt guilty for not asking before this.
“I talked to him this morning. He’s fine. His sternum is a little sore but if you’ve ever been shot in the chest, even with a vest, trust me, it’s gonna leave a hell of a bruise.”
I absently rubbed my chest as he began whisking eggs. He finished that and picked up the veggies, scooping them into the pan with a pat of butter. I leaned back against the counter as he chased the veggies around the pan with a spatula, enjoying the sound of his voice as he kept on talking.
“The short Irish guy is Patsy Good. We call him Plenty.” He glanced at me, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Patsy is former Army Ranger Wing…that’s a branch of the Irish Defense Forces, basically the Special Forces equivalent of our Army Rangers.”
“Good and Plenty, Snickers, Milky Way, Candy? I’m beginning to sense a theme here.”
He smiled back. “The nicknames were Rex’s idea.”
I thought, trying to remember who he was. When the giant southerner’s face popped into my head, I nodded. “The tall Texan, right?”
He nodded. “Yep. He’s our Army Ranger and a damned good sniper who fancies himself as the comedian of our team.”
“What’s his nickname?”
“Reese’s Pieces. His full name is Reese Monroe, but he likes to be called Rex. I’m pretty sure it’s a cowboy thing.”
I chuckled, watching him pick up the eggs and pour them into the pan over the cooked veggies before adding the shredded mozzarella. The food already smelled delicious.
“Okay, so who else is on the team?” I was thoroughly enjoying this conversation as he described the men he called brothers.
“Well…there’s Marshall Clifford—Mars Bars. He’s the guy who drives our BearCat; that’s the armored personnel vehicle we were in last night.” He waited for me to nod before going on. “Anyway, Mars is former British SAS and a pretty damned good sniper as well.”
“Where are the plates?”
He pointed to the cupboard and I pulled out two plates, setting them on the counter, watching as he divided the large omelet, and scooped half onto each plate.
He reached for a sprig of cilantro and decorated each plate, and for some reason, a warm feeling washed through me.
This big, rough around the edges guy, was a romantic…
either that or he was a chef. I had to admit I was pleasantly surprised.
He picked up the plates and walked around the room divider to the small table, setting them down.
“Forks are in the drawer right next to the stove and there’s some salsa in the fridge if you want it. Oh, and also, some red grapefruit juice if you want that. Sorry. That’s the only kind of juice I drink.”
“No problem. I love red grapefruit. How about glasses?”
“I’ll get them.” I watched him pull a couple of juice glasses from a painted, antique sideboard behind the small dining table and set them down.
“Thank you.” I grabbed the other items, noting the green avocado salsa was the one I liked from Vallarta market.
The closest one to West Hollywood was all the way in Burbank which meant he had to travel out of his way to buy it.
Oddly enough, I did the same thing since I could always count on a wide variety of fresh produce as well as their homemade, signature salsa bar with a ton of varieties.
Huh. I brought the things to the table as we took our seats.
The food looked and smelled wonderful. “God, I really am starving.”
He smiled at me. “Dig in.”
I pulled the top off the salsa and put a couple of spoonfuls on top of my eggs before handing him the carton, watching as he did the same.
We ate happily for a few seconds before I pointed to him with my fork.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you earlier. You were telling me about the guys on your team. You have a medic too, right?”
He nodded. “That’s Alain Joy. He’s also former SAS.”
I repeated his name slowly. “Alain Joy. Let me guess. You call him Almond.”
Nash grinned. “Now you’re catching on. But seriously, Joy is the sweetest guy. He’s the most soft-spoken of our group and a real gentleman. It’s rumored he’s a titled British aristocrat.”
I nodded as I ate. “That means he’s in the British line of succession somewhere?”
Nash chuckled. “Yeah, like if the King, all his relatives, and a hundred British lords all died at the same time.”
I laughed, loving the easy conversation we were having as we cleaned our plates. After a few minutes, I sat back patting my stomach. “That was amazing. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he sat back. “We have two new team members but they’re away at the moment…on their honeymoon in fact.”
“Their honeymoon?” I thought about that, trying to make things add up before I asked. “They’re married to each other?”
He nodded. “Yes, Miguel Huerta is our tracker. He’s also a RECON Marine, and his new husband, Raven Mathis, is a civilian.
He’s the only civilian on the team without a military background.
He’s also a tracker and he works at a desk these days, rather than out in the field with the rest of us.
” He eyeballed me. “Are you surprised that we have two married guys on our team?”
“Not really…just that Captain Sorensen is okay with two gay guys being on the team, especially when they’re married.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t care about that. He hires the most capable guys, that’s all.” He looked thoughtful. “Anyway, that’s my whole team other than the Viking himself.”
I furrowed my brows. “The Viking?”
“Captain Sorensen. He’s a former Green Beret.” He made a gesture like he was pulling at a long beard.
“Oh, of course. The Viking. Well, the name really suits him.” Of course, their team leader with the horrendous scar down his face was a Green Beret.
It totally suited him and almost added to his intense looks.
I thought for a minute. “Oh, that’s why you call him Candy…
all the nicknames, I mean.” Something occurred to me as I mentally did a checklist of all the men his team.
“Wait, you never told me your nickname.”
He grinned and I noticed how the expression made his pretty hazel eyes dance. “Twizzler, at your service.”
I laughed. “Twizzler…twisted, huh?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “You could say that. I’m all twisted up.”
I watched him closely as he left the statement hanging in the air.
It seemed he wasn’t going to elaborate and somehow, I wasn’t sure I really wanted him to.
I watched as he collected our plates in silence and then stood, taking them to the sink.
I picked up my juice, downing it in one go as I contemplated the interest my groin had suddenly taken during our conversation.
For several reasons, I was almost sure living in close quarters with this enigmatic man was going to leave me with a hard on all the damned time.
Fuck.