He scratched the back of his head, folded his arms over his chest, while his eyes tried their best to wiggle their way into mypsyche. The clock marked time on the wall, and we waited, each hoping the other would speak. Then his hand came up to his mouth, his fingers passing over his cupid’s bow several times before his entire hand rubbed across his face until it came to rest over his mouth. When the hand dropped, I sighed. It was his thinking routine, and when the hand went over his mouth, he’d decided or concluded. Whether he shared it with anyone else remained to be seen. I knew in my gut he would ask me whatever was on his mind.
He sighed, “Okay, then, how about you tell me why you’re drowning your sorrows and falling into bed with someone when there’s a person out there you’re interested in?”
Because he lied. His name, what he did, that he’d call. All of it lies.
Parker stared at me, waiting for a response, but he could keep waiting because I refused to give him anything more. Before he could press further, the door opened.
“Lieutenant Holt?” Commander Turner’s gruff voice broke the silence.
Parker spun on his heel and snapped a salute. “Yes, sir.”
“I believe your squadron is scheduled for range time this morning.”
“Affirmative, sir,” Parker saluted again before heading out the door. His eyes met mine over his shoulder and Turner’s. The words “this ain’t over” hung in the air between us, even though he never uttered a syllable.
The door shut behind Parker, and I looked up at Commander Turner. “Sir?”
“Agent Lennox, I wanted to touch base with you regarding the upcoming deployment and the target packages we’ll be working on while in country.”
Sighing inaudibly, I gestured toward the seat at the table in the corner across from my desk. The commander moved to sit, and I followed him, carrying a large stack of reports.
This was my element. I could handle this. Picking men who wouldn’t mindfuck with my head so much I couldn’t function, not so much.
The commander and I spent several hours discussing the target packages I and the CIA put together for the team’s next deployment, one Commander Turner would help lead. He stood when we finished, offering his hand.
“Good work, Lennox. I was concerned when they assigned someone so young…”
How the hell did you respond to that shit? As if my age kept me from doing my damn job. It wasn’t like I was some kid fresh out of college.
Biting my tongue, I took his hand and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “We finally filled the spot on the team. Thought you should know.”
“Much appreciated, sir.”
He left, and I took my seat behind my desk. The hope that the new guy was Xander was ridiculous, but it filled me anyway. Sighing, I picked up the cables that came in overnight. There was work to get done.
My brain fought me hard. Every few words, it drifted away from the report I held in my hand to the night a few weeks ago that held me enthralled, and I’d have to pull myself away from the erotic memories.
I glanced at the clock, then at the report I held with a groan. Two fucking hours wasted. Not even with a gun to my head would I be able to say what those pages held. Tossing the report onto the desk, I crossed my ankle over my knee and leaned back in the desk chair. Resting my head in the hand proppedon the armrest, I massaged my throbbing forehead. I needed—fuck. What I needed and wanted was nowhere to be found. It had disappeared into thin air, taking with it my ability to do anything other than think about what could have been.
Pacing the office, trying to figure my shit out so I could screw my head on straight, I picked up my coffee, the expensive shit I got every morning on my way to base from the bougie coffeehouse. The creamy, sugary brew hit my tongue. I winced, swallowing it, despite wanting to spit it out.
Cold.
Well, not quite cold, but not hot either. That weird spot between the two that made coffee taste nasty when, if it was the right temperature, it was the nectar of the gods.
The cup hitting the bottom of the empty metal trash can echoed in the room.
I needed coffee if I was going to get anything done.
And a lobotomy.Definitelya lobotomy.
Settling on coffee since the second seemed painful as fuck, and well, detrimental to, you know, life, I locked my office and headed down the hall. I didn’t have time for the fancy espresso concoction I loved, and sadly let go to waste today. But the guys kept coffee in the team room. They brewed it strong enough to eat the paint off a new car, so with enough sugar and cream, I could make it work.
Ish.
The door echoed through the empty room as it shut behind me. Coffee perked loudly from the kitchen, filling the room with the best scent ever. Wandering over, I pulled down a cup, filled it with cream and sugar, then forced myself to wait for the pot to spit and sputter so I got a perfectly balanced brew. I hated people who short-poured a pot. It fucked the whole pot up.
