She leaned back from him, her gaze fixing on his face. "What do you mean mushy?"
He shrugged, his gaze still on the closed door ahead of them. "If you start to cry or beg me to come back safely this is going to get weird."
"That would be weird?"
The laugh that barked out was a little more like a snort than she'd admit to.
"If you want weird, Axl," she turned his team name into two distinct syllables, "weird is you thinking I'm going to worry about your sorry ass."
He smiled then.
And she did, too.
He turned his head to look at her and she watched him lower his chin to look her straight in the eye.
"Just remember, it's natural for me to look down at you, okay?"
His smile broadened and before she could think better of it, she aimed a punch at his gut.
A punch that she almost landed.
If it hadn't been for his big, meaty hand wrapping around hers she might have gotten a good one in.
"Gotcha."
His smiled deepened and her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Let go, jerk."
His smile relaxed a little. "There she is."
"What-"
"The woman who would gut me with a pocket knife and enjoy it."
Maile felt her shoulders relax a little. "You give me too little credit," she insisted, "I'd gut you with anything, including a spoon, and enjoy the crap out of myself."
He winced and then they did something she would have never imagined was possible.
They laughed.
Together.
Easy.
Relaxed.
"Now, you should go and watch his back."
The easy grin disappeared from his face. "Always."
She felt a little sad at his look and tone, but didn't know him well enough to fix it.
He put a hand on her shoulder. "You take care of her, okay?"
She beamed a smile at him.
"Always."
