Chapter 4
Cole
The apartment was too new. Too untouched.
The air still smelled like fresh paint and whatever cleaning solution the contractors had used to wipe down the counters.
No personal touches, no scuffs on the floors, no lingering scent of previous tenants.
It was all blank walls, empty cabinets, and hollow.
It was clear that no one had ever actually lived here, which made Cole wonder how Harris and the Undercover Operations Unit had made it livable this quickly.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, this place had probably been nothing but an empty listing, and now it was fully stocked with just enough details to make their cover story believable with a landlord who was happy enough that he wasn’t losing money to not ask any questions.
Either way, Cole wasn’t a fan of the space.
He needed clutter. His hacker’s workspace back at the office was a tangled mess of cables that ran across and all around his desk which was marked with coffee rings and empty packets of junk food. There was always at least a hoodie draped over the back of his chair.
He needed something that said a person actually existed in the space. This place, though? It was just a shell and his gaze traveled seamlessly along the emptiness right to Travis.
For a straight dude, Travis McAllister had no business looking that good in the soft light, or any light for that matter. Once straight guys got over thirty they were supposed to be done and dusted, fat, and married with kids.
The new apartment’s floor-to-ceiling windows let in a flood of natural light, casting long shadows across the sleek hardwood floors. And Travis was standing there like some brooding marble statue, soaking up every damn bit of it.
The sunlight caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the strong cut of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, and the way his blue eyes seemed even paler when framed by the glow.
His dark brown hair, always a little tousled no matter how much he tried to keep it neat, had just the faintest golden sheen in the light, like the sun itself was conspiring to make him even more infuriatingly attractive.
And Jesus Christ, the man’s shoulders.
His black T-shirt stretched taut over broad, muscular planes, every inch of him carved and powerful.
His arms were crossed over his chest in that signature I’m too serious for this shit stance which made his biceps look even bigger.
His veins bulged visibly beneath his tanned skin.
He wasn’t just built; he was commanding. A wall of quiet, disciplined strength.
Cole swallowed hard, suddenly way too aware of the tremoring in his chest.
Which was bullshit.
Because Travis was straight.
The kind of guy who probably had a string of ex-girlfriends or something equally heteronormative.
The kind of guy who probably spent his twenties dating women who wore mini skirts and posted about “supporting the troops” on Facebook.
The kind of guy who definitely didn’t spend even a second thinking about having another man’s hands on him.
And yet—
Yet.
Cole hated that his brain was even going there so masochistically. Hated that some dumb part of him was drawn to all that contained intensity, the leashed power, the way Travis always seemed one second away from snapping but never actually let himself.
He bet that if Travis ever did let go—if he ever allowed himself to lose control—it would be a sight to behold.
Cole tore his gaze away, scowling at his laptop screen like it had personally offended him.
This was not happening.
Not over some stiff, square-jawed SWAT captain who probably thought sexuality and gender were binary.
Not over Travis McAllister.
Cole shook those thoughts away and made himself comfortable on the sofa.
He was stretched out on the sleek gray couch, laptop on his thighs, socked feet propped up on the glass coffee table.
He’d started monitoring the gang’s encrypted channels ten minutes ago, but that was plenty of time to get distracted.
Travis hadn’t said a word.
Which meant it was time to poke the bear.
“Damn, Captain, are you posing for a life drawing class?”
Travis didn’t even flinch. “I’m working.”
Cole smirked. “So am I. But at least I know how to multitask. You’re just standing there, brooding.”
Nothing. Not even a glance.
Cole let out an exaggerated sigh and leaned back further into the couch. “You should smile more, it would really bring out those ‘I hate everything’ eyes.”
That got a reaction. The faintest shift in Travis’s posture, a slow, quiet exhale. And then, finally, those sharp blue eyes cut toward Cole, glaring in full force. Travis remained deadly silent.
Cole grinned. “There it is. That’s the spirit.”
Travis didn’t take the bait. Just rolled his shoulders and turned back to the window. But Cole had caught it, the way Travis’s gaze intensified, the way his hands flexed open and closed enough to signal it wasn’t a tic.
What was Travis resisting though? Irritation? Anger? The heavy pull of… Some invisible force that Cole was sure was only in his head?
Yeah, right! Cole shoved the thought away before it could settle. Travis was straight. A classic, all-American, law-enforcement poster boy. The kind of guy who didn’t think about men that way. Who definitely didn’t think about Cole that way.
Which meant none of this was real. It was just a game. A distraction. A way to keep things from getting too quiet. Good, he thought.
I can toy with the straight man for a while.
◆◆◆
The silence had stretched on forever.
Cole had resigned himself to it, sprawled across the too-new couch, fingers tapping idly at his keyboard as he monitored the gang’s activity.
An open bag of cheese puffs sat beside him, neon-orange dust staining his fingertips as he absentmindedly popped another into his mouth.
The apartment was too quiet, save for the hum of his laptop and Travis’s occasional reports from the window.
Low-level runners came and went. Guys in hoodies exchanging brief words before slipping inside or moving on, they looked all around the street to check they weren’t being watched.
Travis, stationed near the window like a damn gargoyle, barely moved for hours.
Cole had almost forgotten he was there—until he wasn’t.
Without warning, Travis dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups, fast and controlled. It took Cole a second to register the movement—then another to notice that at some point, Travis had ditched his shirt.
Black sweatpants hung low on his hips, his broad, muscled back flexing with every push-up, each ripple of movement effortless. A faint sheen of sweat caught the afternoon light, highlighting the hard lines of his shoulders and arms. It shouldn’t have been distracting. And yet…
Cole forgot how to breathe.
His fingers stalled over his keyboard, hovering uselessly as he stared. Shamelessly.
Because, seriously. What the hell was he supposed to do? Look away? Pretend this wasn’t the most unfair display of pure jock bullshit he had ever seen? The man was built like an action hero, all raw strength and discipline. Next to Travis, Cole might as well have been a sack of lard.
Travis glanced up mid-push-up.
Cole snapped his gaze back to his screen—too late.
He’d been spotted.
“See something interesting, Steele?”
Cole barely kept himself from choking on his own spit. He forced himself to lean back casually, lifting a cheese puff to his lips like he hadn’t just been openly gawking at his very straight fake boyfriend.
“Just admiring…” He stuttered, struggling to form a sentence, “your dedication… C-captain.” He managed to stammer out, “H-huge commitment to f-fitness… Very inspiring.”
Travis arched an eyebrow but didn’t stop, rolling his shoulders before lowering himself into another slow, steady rep. “Right.”
Cole died inside.
To make matters worse, Travis kept going, and not just with push-ups.
When he finished, he shifted seamlessly into sit-ups, then planks, then some kind of ridiculous one-armed push-up that had no business existing in real life.
And the entire time, Cole sat there, watching, trying not to watch, eating his junk food like a stereotype come to life.
Finally, Travis pushed up to his feet, stretching his arms out with a quiet grunt. He turned toward Cole, his gaze flicking pointedly to the half-empty snack bag beside him.
“You ever think about working out, Steele?”
Cole scoffed. “What, and ruin my physique?” He snapped back, feeling suddenly judged.
Travis gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “That’s not a physique. That’s a diet of preservatives and bad decisions.”
“Hey,” Cole said, hand over his chest in mock offense.
“I’ll have you know…” He paused, finding himself on the backfoot.
“I was raised in a h-highly intellectual household where academic pursuits were considered paramount.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and popped another cheese puff into his mouth for emphasis.
“My parents would rather debate 19th-century literature over dinner than throw a football around in the backyard.”
Travis shook his head, grabbing a towel from the back of a chair and wiping the sweat from his neck. “It’s not either or. You can be clever and like sports.”
“You know what’s worst of all,” Cole said, sighing dramatically. “I wasn’t even allowed to play video games until I was thirteen. My mom thought they’d rot my brain.”
Travis let out a low, amused laugh as he put his T-shirt back on. “Well, maybe that explains a lot.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “You calling me a nerd, Captain?”
“I’m saying I could probably bench-press you.”
Cole gulped. He knew it was just banter. Just harmless teasing. But the way Travis said it, calm, confident, like a fact and not just a joke—hit differently.
Because, yeah, logically, of course, Travis could bench-press him. The man was built like a damn Greek god, all raw power and easy strength. But now, all Cole could think about was what that would be like.
The firm grip of Travis’s hands on his waist. The effortless way he could lift Cole like he weighed nothing. The heat of his body, the tension in his arms, the absolute problem that was his broad, sweat-damp chest—
Cole gulped.
Travis just smirked, shaking his head like he was dealing with a very annoying younger brother.
Cole, meanwhile, slumped further into the couch, stuffing more junk food into his mouth purely out of spite. Because of course, the man was hot. Of course, he was effortlessly fit and disciplined and unfairly attractive.
And of course, Cole was stuck here with his fake boyfriend, pretending not to notice.