“Thank you. I’ve had many years of training, so I’m glad to see they’re paying off.”
He tugged on my hand, stopping me. “I would be open to exploring this chemistry between us, yes. It’ll be a safe way for both of us to get some experience, right? After all, everyone involved is aware we’re living in an apartment meant for couples. In public, we’d stick to holding hands and maybe the occasional expected mild PDA, but in private, we could explore further.”
I slowly blinked. Would that work? It was hard to argue that we would be doing exactly what we’d been set up to do: present as a couple. How could anyone object to that if we’d done it to maintain our cover story? It would be the only chance I’d ever get, and from what Bash had told me, that might be true for him as well. “I think I’d be okay with that.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. Look, I was screwed either way, so what did it matter for me? All I could do was hope and pray I would never be found out, and if someone did recognize me, that the excuse of fake dating would hold up.
“So we’re doing this?” he asked. “Really doing this, despite all the reasons we probably shouldn’t?”
Another nod.
Bash’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me again, right there on the sand with the Pacific Ocean as our witness. Instead, he squeezed my hand and we started walking again, making our way back to the car.
The walk felt like floating. Every step carried us away from the conversation that had changed everything and toward whatever came next. I was hyperaware of Bash beside me, of our joined hands swinging slightly between us, of the way he kept glancing at me like he was seeing me differently now. The nervous energy from this morning had transformed into something else entirely—anticipation mixed with relief mixed with the kind of giddy excitement I hadn’t felt since I was a child.
We’d done it. We’d actually talked about it, admitted what we wanted, found a way forward that didn’t require either of us to sacrifice everything we’d worked for. It felt almost too good to be true.
By the time we reached his truck, my cheeks hurt from trying to suppress a smile that wanted to take over my entire face.
The drive back to campus felt different than the drive out. Less nervous energy, more anticipation. “We’ll take it slow,” Bash said as we pulled into the campus parking lot. “Figure out what works, what doesn’t.”
“How slow?” I asked, because the memory of his hands on me was still vivid enough to make patience seem like a foreign concept.
Bash’s laugh was low and warm and full of promise. “Slow enough so both of us can adjust. Fast enough that we don’t go completely insane.”
That was a compromise I could live with.
10
BASH
The drive back from the beach felt different than any car ride I’d ever taken in my life. The same roads, the same truck, the same two people, but everything had shifted in some fundamental way.
We were doing this. We were actually doing this.
It was wrong. Rationally, I knew that. I was violating my oath as a Secret Service Agent. Yes, one could argue that since I was technically on leave and employed by a private firm, it didn’t apply, but I knew better. I should not be sleeping with a protectee, and I damn well knew it.
And yet…
I’d debated with myself all night after we’d kissed, arguing back and forth in my head. Maybe this would be the only chance either of us would ever get at being with another man. Maybe if we gave into the chemistry between us, it would sizzle out. And no one would ever have to know, right? In public, we’d play the part expected of us, and what we did in private was no one’s business but ours. And once this assignment was over, he’d return to the UK, and I’d go back to the Secret Service, and this would be nothing but a fond memory.
Except I knew that every single one of those arguments was weak if not false, that I was spinning lie after lie to myself. And yet I couldn’t stop, couldn’t back off, couldn’t convince myself to walk away.
I wanted him. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life, and for now, that weighed heavier than anything else.
Back in our mini-apartment, Eddie put the kettle on for tea—and there was a sentence I’d never thought I’d utter as a southerner—while I hung up our jackets, and every casual brush of his fingers against mine felt loaded with possibility. We’d been sharing an apartment for a few weeks now, we’d kissed, but somehow, this felt like the first time we were alone together.
“Tea?” Eddie asked, holding up two mugs, and I nodded even though I was pretty sure I was too wired to actually drink anything. I had to admit I had gotten a whole new appreciation for tea—the warm kind that Eddie made us in adorably regular intervals.
We settled on our small couch with our drinks and a bowl of pretzels. For a moment, we both sat there. I wasn’t sure about him, but I was hyperaware of the space between us and the fact that we no longer had to pretend there wasn’t something crackling in the air.
“Should we…?” Eddie gestured toward the TV. “Finish watching? We did get interrupted last night.”
The memory of exactly how we’d been interrupted and what had been happening right before that alarm went off sent heat straight through me. “I’m down.”
Eddie turned on the TV and navigated back to the show. On screen, Shane and Ilya appeared in what looked like another confrontation, all intense stares and barely contained tension.
