Rylen adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Kessler just told me to find you. He said John's coming down in fifteen minutes, and?—"
Jenna groaned. "Fine. Show me where they are."
_____
Country sat in the plush chair with his arms crossed protectively in front of him. "I'm fine, I don't need?—"
"Your hair is flopping onto your forehead. It's going to create shadows." Glen paced in front of him like a perturbed mother hen, clucking with feathers flapping.
"So I'm supposed to slick everything back? Look like a jabroni?"
Glen scoffed, and Country waited for a retort he could grab onto, but it didn't come. He was not going to allow them to make him look or smell like he’d just walked out of a Le Château.
Just then, Jenna strode into the postage stamp room. Her blond hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and she wore a mint-green long-sleeve shirt with tight black pants. His mouth felt like it had been swabbed out with cotton balls.
Her eyes locked onto his. "Problem?"
He cleared his throat to answer, momentarily forgetting he had a surprise of his own until Jenna’s eyes dropped and she froze. Her lips parted ever so slightly before she pressed them tight, but she couldn’t hide the blush staining her cheeks.
Country exhaled, working to keep a satisfied grin from creeping onto his face. "No problem. I let them put that bronzer on my face, which smells like stale ketchup chips by the way, and the powder on my forehead. Even some goop on my lips."
Jenna blinked too fast, then crossed her arms only to drop them to her sides and shift her weight on her black pumps. At least after over a decade, she hadn’t forgotten his favourite T-shirt from his time with the Admirals. Just as he’d hoped. The words were faded but still legible. “Admirals Hockey: Where Goals Are as Common as Salty Seadogs.”
Jenna grimaced. “What is that?”
Gentry looked down at his shirt. “What, the shirt?”
“Yes, the shirt. Is that new?”
He laughed. “Does it not look new?”
“What the hell does it mean by ‘Salty Seadogs?’”
“We’re the Admirals, we?—”
“Are you trying to tell me that nobody thought about the phrase ‘salty seadogs’ before they made that shirt?”
Gentry snagged her arm and pulled her up against his chest. “There. Now you don’t have to read it.”
“I hate that shirt.”
“You’ve only seen it once. Maybe it will grow on you.”
She pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Doubtful.”
“They say your tongue has to test things seven times before?—”
Jenna smacked his chest. “Not funny, given the current lettering on your chest.”
“Au contraire, I believe that makes my joke more hilarious.” He lowered his head and covered her lips with his.
“You’re full of yourself,” she murmured against his mouth.
Gentry grinned. “How about we flip the noun in that sentence . . .”
“You okay there, McAllister?” Country relaxed in the chair, his eyes fixed on her face. Her cheeks were still pink.
"That goop was petroleum jelly. So your lips don't look dry.” Jenna’s voice was sharp.
