Emma laughs softly. “Or before she thinks we’ve all lost our minds.”
“I already think that,” I admit.
That earns me a few grins.
Mac tilts her head toward me. “We’re sending the guys messages.”
“That much I got,” I say slowly.
“Not just messages,” Kya adds. “Dirty messages.”
My eyes widen slightly. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Brooke says, her smile small but knowing. “We’ve all been a little… on edge.”
“And the men are worse,” Mac adds.
Emma nods. “They’ve been pacing, snapping, watching doors like something’s about to break through them.”
“So,” Kya finishes, holding up her phone, “we are reminding them what they’re fighting for.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Brooke mutters.
I look between them. At the ease. The shared understanding. The way this clearly isn’t the first time something like this has happened. And then, I look down at my phone.At Cobra’s name.
My stomach flips. “I don’t…” I hesitate. “I don’t know what to say.”
Mac snorts. “Yes, you do.”
“I really don’t.”
Kya leans over slightly, peeking at my screen. “You’re overthinking it.”
“I just met him two days ago.”
“And?” Brooke says gently. “Time doesn’t matter, feelings do.”
That lands. Because she’s right. Nothing about this feels like “just.”
Emma gives me a soft look. “Say what feels natural. Don’t try to match us. Just, be you.”
That should make it easier. It doesn’t. Because “being me” around Cobra suddenly feels like something I’m still figuring out. My thumbs hover over the screen. I type.
Are you busy?
I stare at it. Delete. Too neutral. Too safe. That’s not what this is. I try again.
You look like you hate being here.
Pause. Delete.
God. Why is this so hard?
“Stop thinking,” Mac says, not even looking at me. “Just send something that would make you walk out of a room if you got it.”
“That’s not helpful,” I mutter.
“It is,” she shoots back.
