“Major Lake McKenna,” Lake returns, his voice deeper than usual, like he’s trying to mimic me. It shouldn’t be half as hot as it is.
I relax into my chair, my smile involuntary. Hearing him settles everything inside me. He’s my safe space. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Are you driving?”
“Not today.”
“Quinn, I have a question for you,” he says, correctly guessing who is. Like I’d let anyone else drive in my stead.
“Shoot.” Quinn arches an eyebrow even though Lake can’t see it. I hope it’s not directed at me. I can’t control what comes out of that man’s mouth. No one can.
“If you were playing basketball, you know, with your guys, who would play on who? Would it go by height?”
Quinn slows to let traffic merge and shares a look with me. I shrug. Don’t fucking ask me, I have no idea.
“That’s your question?” Quinn asks.
“Do you want to come play basketball with us? One of the teams is going on a training thing for two weeks, and it just happens to fall during the time we play each month. Peyton used to play with the spec-ops guys, and he wasgood. Like, he’s a short-ass, right, but he’s really good.”
As if Lake’s any taller than Quinn’s ex-soldier. Five nine isn’t exactlyshortin the grand scheme. The shortest of the five guys, sure. A hell of a lot shorter than me. But it’s all relative.
“Is he?” Quinn asks. “He’s never mentioned basketball.”
“There was a pool going on whether he was cheating”—how do you cheat at basketball?—“but mostly only people that were sick of losing were in on it. Those spec-ops guys: you gotta watch ’em. It’s next Thursday night. You’re all invited. We go out to a random restaurant afterward, but that’s not compulsory.”
I have a standing invitation and haven’t missed one yet. I don’t mind the games; I like even more the shower afterward, once everyone else has gone ahead to dinner. We’re always late, and everyone knows why. Completely worth the ribbing.
“I’m sure I can make sure at least half of us are there,” Quinn offers.
“Deal. Anyway, so I’m knocking off early because Mum and I are heading downtown to look at some florists on my list.”
“Okay.” Is he calling just to tell me that? A text would suffice. He sends me plenty during the day, when he isn’t flying. Enough that I have my messages on silent, and only phone calls will make noise.
“Are you free?”
Am I—oh. “You want me to go?” I can’t remember being this involved last time. Granted, it was years ago, and I trynotto remember most of it, but I do distinctly remember being told that my opinion didn’t matter, and all I needed to do was show up. Guess he didn’t realisehehad to show up too.
Quinn turns left instead of right, and I know he’s headed for the city instead of the suburb we’re going to with the warrant.
“Well, if you’re not chasing bad guys or talking to dead people. I’ll understand if you’re busy.”
He says it with no inflection, like hedoesunderstand. A strange concept.
“We’re not,” Quinn answers for me. “I’d be happy to drop your wayward charge off with you. Mini-Riley and I can handle the warrant. Where am I going?”
“Mini-Riley?” Lake asks. “As opposed to…?”
“That’s not my name!” comes a grumble from the back.
“As opposed to your friendly neighbourhood boss, Riley Sinclair. They have the same first name—spelled the same and everything—so we had to get creative.”
This conversation is getting away from me, and I don’t know how to reverse it. Uno cards don’t work in real life. I didn’t say yes, and Iamstill working and busy.
“Your idea of getting creative is calling himMini-Riley?” Lake questions. “There’s a nice simplicity to it. What do you call the other Riley?”
“Big-Riley,” Quinn answers helpfully.
I don’t call him that. And definitely not to his face the way Gideon did—probably still does—or Quinn. I don’t have a death wish, and I’m not friends with him, not the way they are. Well, Gideon’s certainly more than friends with him. The sentiment is the same.
