Chapter 3
Travis
The morning after the stakeout, Travis felt off. Like his collar was just a little too tight even though he wasn’t wearing one.
He stood under the hot spray of his shower, hands braced against the cool white tiles, letting the water drum against his back, wishing it could carry him away. No matter how long he stayed there, it didn’t wash away the sensation that had been stirring since yesterday.
Cole had made a tactical decision. A distraction. That’s all it was.
But his body hadn’t responded accordingly.
Cole’s lips had been warm, the press of them fleeting but searing.
A quick brush that shouldn’t have left an imprint but somehow still did.
The way Cole’s breath had mingled with his own for that one taut moment—it was all still there, replaying in his mind like running loops on a track.
And then there was Cole’s hand, unintentional but impossible to ignore, a heat lingering where it had pressed, the memory of it made him stir… down there.
Travis breathed out sharply, forcing himself to shut it down. He had a briefing to get to. It was just a mission detail. That’s all.
And yet he’d had a girlfriend until just recently.
A good woman. Kind, patient, someone who’d stuck around longer than most despite the long hours, the missed calls, and the fact that he was always halfway out the door even when he was sitting right next to her. She deserved more than what he could give. He’d known it.
And deep down, maybe she always had too.
She hadn’t been the first, and maybe wouldn’t even be the last. Women were easy. He knew what to do, how to act, what was supposed to happen. But somehow he’d always managed to mess it up and drive every single one of them away.
Travis dragged a hand over his face, water streaming down his skin.
Cole Steele was certainly the first man to ever put his lips on Travis’s.
He might not have been the first man Travis had looked at twice if he was being honest with himself.
But he wasn’t planning on being honest with himself, not today.
That was a line he wasn’t crossing of his own volition.
In his memory, he heard his father’s voice still lodged somewhere deep in his psyche, barking orders like Travis was still a kid in boots two sizes too big, standing to attention while his old man drilled the rules of discipline and manhood into him.
Strong men. Leaders. Soldiers. Firm hands for childish mistakes.
There was no room for hesitation, for weakness, for anything that didn’t fit into a neat, squared-away box. And anything that couldn’t be controlled? It got locked down. Secure.
That’s what Travis had always done.
But yesterday, Cole had shaken him up, denting his armor without even meaning to. But it had happened all the same.
Travis let out a slow breath, he tried to grasp the tile harder for just a second before he forced himself to step back, shutting off the water with a sharp turn of the handle. Enough.
This mission mattered. That’s what was important.
Cole Steele was just another colleague. A frustrating, irritating, reckless fresh out of college mid-twenties hacker that Travis had to keep alive. Nothing more.
He repeated it again as he toweled off, as he dressed, as he locked his gun into its holster, and stepped out the door into the cold morning air.
But deep in his gut, the water behind his dam of control stirred uneasily.
◆◆◆
Travis stepped into the FBI-SWAT joint task force briefing room, a fresh cup of black coffee in hand. No sugar, no cream. Just strong, bitter, and to the point. It was how he liked it. How he needed it. Simple. Effective. No unnecessary bullshit.
He took a slow sip, letting the heat ground him, the sharp bite jolting him into focus. Routine. Discipline. That’s what mattered. He could ignore how stiff his shoulders were and the restless edge he still couldn’t quite place as long as he had his routine.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting their usual sterile glow. The air was thick, and outside the briefing room, he could hear agents tapping at their keyboards, and the frantic comings and goings of the bureau. Everything was as it should be.
So why did he still feel like his collar was trying to choke him?
“Didn’t take you for the brooding type, Captain,” came Cole’s voice—light, teasing, but with just enough edge to dig under Travis’s skin. “Or is that just how you say good morning?”
Travis snapped his gaze up and locked it onto Cole.
And just like that, his chest filled with prickly heat and his invisible collar felt like it was trying to suffocate him.
Cole was too casual. Sitting there with that damn laptop, looking annoyingly relaxed, as if he hadn’t just kissed Travis like a left hook to the face in a moment of reckless improvisation yesterday.
His sandy blond hair was slightly messier than usual, the collar of his shirt rumpled, and the glow of his screen reflected off his glasses. But it was his smirk that did it—that barely-there, self-satisfied curve of his lips like he knew something Travis didn’t.
Travis bit down hard. “Shocked to see you at the office this early. Didn’t take you for a morning person, Steele.”
Cole didn’t miss a beat. He stretched lazily, cracking his neck, then gave Travis a slow, knowing grin. “I didn’t go home last night,” he gave Travis a pointed look over the rim of his glasses. “I was cracking this code till the sun came up.”
Travis blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that level of work ethic. He didn’t know what to say. Then he realized he should compliment Cole, even if he was annoying, he was doing his job well.
As the words formed on the tip of his tongue, for a brief moment, a cool tingle of respect for the kid threatened to extinguish the prickly heat in his chest. It felt like his collar might be loosening as he prepared to acknowledge that Cole had been putting in the hours, that he wasn’t just some reckless techie playing at being an agent.
But Cole opened his damned mouth and that moment passed. “What can I say? I’m dedicated, hardworking, and committed. Once I sink my teeth into a problem, I don’t stop until I figure it out.” Cole’s tone was just too damned cocky.
Travis’s gripped his coffee cup harder.
The prickly heat filled his chest again, his blood pumping hotter for no damn reason at all.
He exhaled, clamping down on the sudden, inexplicable irritation clawing at him.
“Congratulations,” he muttered, taking another sip of his coffee. “You want a medal?”
Cole just chuckled, eyes glinting behind his glasses. He’d gotten to him. And worse? Cole knew it.
Their conversation died instantly the second Commander Harris strode into the room.
The man had a presence. He was grizzled, no-nonsense, and sharp as a damn blade.
His buzzed silver hair and deep-set eyes carried the weight of years in the field, and when he walked, it was with the authority of someone who expected to get results.
They both straightened instinctively, stretching a little taller, focus snapping to him. Even Cole, who had spent the last few minutes looking entirely too pleased with himself, set his laptop aside and gave the commander his attention.
Harris didn’t waste time.
“McAllister,” his voice cut through the room, crisp and firm. “Relax. Steele’s made excellent progress.”
Travis said nothing, just gave a stiff, begrudging nod as Harris turned to Cole.
“Good work on the code, Steele,” Harris announced, folding his arms.
Cole beamed, clearly eating up the praise. “Sadly we didn’t crack all of it, but enough of it for now,” he said with way too much confidence for Travis’s liking. “We intercepted a lot of their encrypted communications, and guess what? Turns out they don’t think we’re a threat at all.”
Travis frowned. “What?”
Cole turned his laptop screen toward them, his green eyes bright with amusement. “They think we were just ‘a couple of queers skipping work to dick around.’ That’s what Scarface messaged one of his associates. But we’re still working through a lot of their other messages.”
The words landed like a punch to Travis’s gut.
Travis went rigid, barely keeping his expression neutral. But Cole—the smug bastard—was clearly relishing this. His eyes flicked up, waiting for a reaction, lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh.
Travis ground his teeth. “Fantastic.”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” Cole said cheerfully.
Travis shot him a glare, but before he could respond, Harris interjected.
“Well, that’s the perfect cover for why you two were hanging around the area,” Harris said dryly, shaking his head. “Gang probably took one look at you and figured you were just a couple of gays too busy making out to notice the danger.”
Travis’s stomach clenched.
It was just an offhand comment. Harris didn’t mean anything by it and Travis knew that. But still, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a sharp pang of discomfort sparking down his spine. He bristled at being lumped in with Cole like that.
He forced his expression to remain impassive, but he held his coffee cup in a death grip like he was going to crush it. His insides twisted as he heard his old man shouting at him somewhere in the recesses of his memories.
Cole, for his part, didn’t laugh. Didn’t fire back some snarky remark. He just tilted his head slightly, watching.
Before the silence could stretch too long, Harris clapped his hands together. “Excellent,” he said, shifting gears, “this is an opportunity.”
Travis turned his attention to the commander, but he already didn’t like where this was going.