CHAPTER 9 #2
“Then put yourself in his shoes. If he is acting like you, what would you be doing days after ignoring a former squeeze?”
“A former squeeze?” I grin at how fucking gunny that sounds.
“Aye, a bloody hookup or old flame of yours. Whatever you wanna call it.”
And fuck…
I would already be sleeping with someone else.
My entire body turns cold, and my head starts to spin.
Is he with someone else right now? Is that why he’s not texting me?
Just thinking about it makes me angry and makes me want to punch a wall or just fucking scream.
“Shite…” Finni says, reading the realization right off my face.
“Don’t give me that fucking look, Finnian. I am annoyed because I’ve never had a blackout like this in the middle of a mission. Like, ?quién mierda receives that level of intel and just disappears?”
“True… But you’re also worried he’s with someone else. Aren’t you?”
“He wouldn’t be. This mission, what we are doing… it can end everything and save millions,” I argue, not knowing if I’m trying to convince Finni or myself.
“Aye, but according to Alexios, Oliver has been gathering intel and helping others for years while still shagging whoever, and as many as he wants.”
“That was before. Now we are in this together, and he is smarter than that.”
“But did you agree on being exclusive while on the mission, or…?”
“We are boyfriends.” I throw my hands up in frustration. “I’m pretty sure being exclusive is a given!”
Finni slides his hand across the table and gently holds my arm. “Aye, Dami… But you’re fake boyfriends.”
“What are you saying?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he is saying.
“I’m saying he can sleep with anyone he wants. Just like you can.”
I groan, tired and annoyed. I rest my forehead on the table and take a deep breath.
Ugh… this sucks.
“Can I ask you something personal?” I ask, and he nods. “What do you see in Logan? Why him?”
Finnian’s freckled face blushes the same way it does whenever he sees Logan, and he sighs.
“Well, he’s… fascinating. He’s a good lad who helps strangers with the same dedication he would use to help his own family. He is loyal to a fault, he’s strong, an’… an’ he is pure fit. So bloody sexy.”
“But it’s been over two years, Finni. How can you like someone for that long when the feeling isn’t being reciprocated?”
“Because I don’t fancy someone conditionally. My feelings for him don’t depend on whether he fancies us back.”
“Mmm…” I chug what’s left of my coffee and let out a sigh.
“This is a mess.”
“Speaking of messes,” Finni says, taking my empty cup and placing it on a tray. “I fired Kai.”
“You did? Wasn’t that a little harsh?”
“It wasn’t. Besides the fact that what he tried to do to a customer is a pure fireable offense, he tried to hurt someone you care about.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t hurt Oliver.”
“Only because you stopped him. An’ I will not have my employees trying to hurt ma family out of their own bloody jealousy.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us yet.” Finni points a spoon at me. “You’re going to have to find us a new employee.”
“Don’t you get dozens of applications a day?”
“Aye. From young laddies an’ lassies.”
“And you need what? A goat?”
“Well, thanks to you, lovely Harknetts constantly parading in here, I need an eighty-year-old grandmother, an asexual, or aye, a damn goat. Whichever comes first.”
“Why are you blaming us?” I laugh.
“Because it’s better for ma peace of mind.” Finni slips a fresh croissant into a paper to-go bag and shoves it into my hands. “Now get out of here. I have twenty minutes to open this place.”
“Thanks! I’ll tell Logan you are the best.”
He blushes again, but still points at the door. “Out!”
“Bye!” I say, and I leave the bakery in a good mood.
…A mood that lasts until I finish my delicious croissant.
And to make it worse, there is nothing I can do and nowhere to go. I can’t visit the Harknetts without setting a plan, and I can’t visit my home or my family.
Fuck…
So I go back to my boring apartment and change into a pair of pants. Full of energy, I drop to the floor in the large, sunlit living room of the penthouse and start my ab workout.
Crunch, twist, and hold.
I do rep after rep, sweat dripping down my chest, but my eyes keep darting to the phone resting on the glass coffee table.
You know what…
I will call him.
How about that?
I sit up, grab the phone, and open Oliver’s contact.
I type: Heeeey. Just checking in—I stare at it… Too eager. I erase it.
I type: Mission update?—Mmm… Too cold. I erase it.
I type: Are you alive?—Too dramatic. I erase it.
Ahhhh! ?Maldición!
Every single text I write is so bad it makes my skin crawl.
Fuck it.
I hit the call button and lift the phone to my ear. It rings exactly zero times before a click sounds.
“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system—”
Oliver’s phone is off… Why is it off?
I am one hundred percent sure nothing bad has happened to Oliver because Alexios has a lot of tips that would alert us immediately if something happened to him or anything related to the mission. And so far, everything is okay.
Besides, Oliver is way too smart to get caught.
He is a survivor.
But if he is okay, then what the hell is happening?
Fuck… Maybe he really is with someone else.
No! Stop thinking about that, Damián.
I close my eyes, running through every single second of our date at the Golden Dragon, at the hotel, the park, the movies, and that last time in the parking lot when we touched like that for the first time.
He is never uncomfortable. In fact, he always looks happy and eager to work on the case. He’s even eager to touch each other… And then, a memory hits me: the drinking game
That day, when we were playing Twenty-One Questions, I asked him about when he had his last sexual partner, and Oliver drank.
He refused to answer the question, which probably meant he had been seeing someone else.
I freeze, the phone still gripped tightly in my sweating hand.
What if he is with someone right now?
Fuck…I don’t like this feeling at all.
I hate this new feeling that can’t seem to leave me alone. I hate it so much I throw my phone onto the couch, and I decide to stop torturing myself.
Instead, I spend the entire rest of the day studying art history, memorizing brush strokes, pigment composites, and auction records to solidify my stupid cover.
And by nightfall, I am exhausted.
I sit down on my couch, mindless and bored, clicking through channels on the TV until there is nothing interesting left to watch…
KNOCK! KNOCK!
I flinch, instantly alert. I walk to the door, checking the security feed, and my heart stops. I open the door and see Oliver standing there, looking absolutely gorgeous.
“Oliver?” I breathe, relieved to see he is okay.
But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps inside, smashing his body against mine. His arms curl tight around my neck, and he pulls my mouth down to his. I hook my arms under his thighs, lift him off the ground, and kick the door shut.
We make out desperately, lips parting, tongues tangling as I carry him blindly toward the couch.
Thank Dios I memorized the layout.
“I called you,” I groan against his mouth.
I lower him to the couch, then crawl over him, completely caging him against the cushions.
“I’m here,” Oliver whispers back. “I can’t stop thinking about you too.”
He reaches down and yanks his silk shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor.
He is so beautiful it physically hurts.
We are kissing, tasting, devouring each other, and I am so hard I can barely think straight. I pull him up, dragging him into my lap so he is straddling me. We grind together just like we did back in my car, with a breathless, desperate friction that makes my vision go white.
My hands drop to his waist, my fingers fumbling with the button of his pants—
KNOCK! KNOCK!
Oliver scrambles off my lap and runs to open the front door, to reveal an incredibly tall and sexy man with dark hair and huge arms.
“I missed you so much!” Oliver smiles, throwing his arms around the man’s neck.
“Wait,” I say, stepping forward, my chest tight with panic. “Oliver—”
The man looks at me over Oliver’s shoulder and smirks. “He is with me now. I can take care of him.”
And then Oliver leans up and starts kissing the man very passionately. Exactly the way he was just kissing me.
What the—
I jolt violently and my eyes snap open, only to find myself staring at the ceiling of my living room. The TV is still playing a movie in the background, and I am alone on the couch, covered in a cold sweat, painfully hard, and incredibly pissed off.
…It was a dream. A damn pinche nightmare.
What the hell is happening to me?
THURSDAY
By day six of absolute radio silence, I am ready to murder someone. And what better way to burn off all this pent-up anger than to throw punches at a guy who actually knows how to hit back?
And that’s exactly how I ended up inside the ring at Grit & Grind, the MMA gym owned by former world champion and Knox’s trainer, Holden Bardot.
Right now, I am fighting Knox.…or, more accurately, I am getting my ass kicked by Knox.
“Keep your guard up, Damián!” Holden yells from his corner of the mat, his dark green eyes glaring at me in disapproval.
I slip under Knox’s right hook, pivoting on my back foot, and drive a left jab straight into his ribs. He grunts, absorbing the blow like it’s nothing, and immediately fires back with a cross that I barely manage to block with my forearm.
“You’re sloppy today.” Knox taunts, circling me.
He bounces lightly on his feet, way too fast for a man his size.
“What’s got you so riled up?”
“Nothing,” I snap, parrying his next jab.
“Bullshit. How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling? I’m sorry, I thought we made plans to train, not to have some tea time and talk about our feelings.”
Knox fakes a hook and drives a blow directly into my stomach. It knocks the wind out of me, but I grit my teeth and stay on my feet.
“Great job, Knox!” Holden claps, and Knox grins.
Freaking teacher’s pet…
“Either you magically suck at fighting,” says Knox, his green eyes studying me. “Or something is going on.”