6
Patrick’s cellphone going off jarred him out of a light sleep. He automatically reached for his handgun where it rested on the nightstand near the bedside lamp before he was even fully awake. The knee-jerk reaction of get up, grab your weapon, and go had yet to fully leave him even three years out of the Mage Corps.
Picking up his phone instead of his handgun, Patrick squinted at the screen. The time read 0729. The incoming call was a New York City area code, with no name attached.
“Collins. Line and location are not secured,” Patrick said when he answered, voice rough from sleep.
A crisp, decidedly annoyed female voice came through the speaker, not familiar to Patrick at all. “Special Agent Collins? This is Special Agent in Charge Rachel Andrita.”
Patrick winced, flopping onto his back. “Ma’am.”
“I understand you stopped by yesterday to pick up keys to your housing assignment and didn’t bother to let me know you were on the premises.”
“Something came up.”
Rachel paused, as if waiting for him to continue. She let out an annoyed huff when she realized he had nothing else to add. “I expect to see you at my office at nine o’clock sharp.”
Patrick wondered if it was too tactless to hope another body would turn up within the next hour and give him an excuse to miss the meeting.
Probably, he mused. “Understood, ma’am.”
“Good.”
Rachel hung up and Patrick tossed his phone on the bed, the charger cord nearly pulling it to the floor. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he winced at the tightness in his neck and the faint ache in his chest. His headache was gone, but the reminder of last night’s dance with a demon still hadn’t faded completely.
Patrick got out of bed, grabbed some clothes from his suitcase, and headed for the bathroom. If pressed, he could get ready in ninety seconds or less, but he wasn’t in a hurry this morning, mostly because of Rachel’s ultimatum. So he took his time under the shower spray, letting the warm water loosen his knotted muscles.
What he wouldn’t give to be waking up on a resort beach in paradise. The apartment didn’t even have coffee. Patrick wasn’t doing anything work related until he had some coffee.
He scrubbed himself clean, soaping off any last lingering traces of Jono he carried on his skin. Thinking about last night was dangerous territory, so he didn’t, refusing to indulge in a morning jack-off session because he knew what he’d be missing. It made for a nice memory though, despite the situation.
Patrick finished up and got out of the shower, drying off with a white towel that looked and felt like it belonged in a cheap hotel. He got dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a wrinkled button-down shirt that he immediately rolled up the sleeves on.
The agency dress code was supposed to be business suits, but field agents were known to ignore it more often than not. Patrick wasn’t all that interested in running after a preternatural suspect in a suit and smooth-soled Oxfords in ninety-degree heat. He left the towel on the bathroom floor and went back to the bedroom to pull on his boots and strap on his tactical handgun and dagger.
When Patrick came into the living room, he found Jono lying on the floor instead of the couch, shirtless, with one arm thrown over his eyes. The extra blanket from the closet was tangled around his waist, putting his chiseled abs on display. Patrick stopped staring at his phone in favor of staring at Jono, idly wondering if Jono’s muscle definition was as hard as it looked and if he could maybe check using his tongue.
For scientific reasons, of course.
It’s a fucking shame we didn’t get out of our clothes last night, Patrick thought.
Too bad it wasn’t happening again.
“What was wrong with the couch?” Patrick asked.
“Hard as a bloody rock,” Jono mumbled, not moving.
“You need to get ready. I got someplace to be, but I need coffee first.”
“Nine o’clock meeting, yeah, I heard.”
Patrick kicked Jono’s bare foot sticking out from the blanket, earning him a sleepy-eyed glare. “Remember house rule number one? You keep your eyes, ears, and nose to yourself.”
Jono very obviously let his gaze travel up and down Patrick’s body. “I’d rather break the rules like last night.”
“Last night was a onetime-only thing.”
“Of course it was,” Jono drawled.
