Speed King (Men of Action 1)

“Oh, shit,” Talon mutters, his words hitting me in the gut.

“Like I said, I don’t regret it, but I know what it takes. And from what I can see, you guys have it.”

“We have it,” I confirm, glancing at Talon to find him staring at me. “We have it,” I repeat for emphasis.

“So, if people make up shit about you to make themselves feel better, let them have that. Don’t let it get to you.”

I don’t care what people say or believe. The only reason it even slightly bothered me was because of Harley.

“In this case, I think Ace needs to be thankful. It worked out in his favor,” Talon throws in.

“Think I got that with the scent of perfume lingering through the truck and the twinkle in his eye.”

I jerk my head and look at him like he’s crazy. “Have you lost your mind? I don’t have a fucking twinkle in my eye. I don’t even know what the hell that means.”

“Look in the mirror, it’s hard to miss.”

“Ace!” Talon shouts my name, and I wind in time to hear the click of his phone. “Good one.” He smiles at the screen. “Totally see the twinkle.”

“Erase that.”

“Never! This is going down in history, and I have proof. Achilles Kingston with a twinkle in his eye. The guys in MARSOC won’t believe this.”

“You’re a shithead.”

He flashes a cocky grin, types something quickly, then puts his phone back in his shirt pocket. “Been accused of worse.”

“You boys done?” Hal cuts in, and I realize we’re parked in the personnel lot at the stadium.

“Yeah.” I shoot Talon one more glare and get out of the truck.

“Try to steer clear of any messes. I’d much rather smell Ace’s perfume on the way back than alcohol-induced vomit.”

Hal’s warning is unnecessary, and Talon mutters, ‘That shit is gross,’ as we walk in.

The woman sitting behind the desk doesn’t glance up when I approach. She’s scribbling something furiously into a notepad and talking under her breath. I wait patiently for her to finish the conversation with herself and notice the textbook.

“Looks like statistics.”

Her head pops up, she lets out a small squeak, and her pencil goes flying my way. I immediately recognize her as the woman walking out of the yoga studio with Harley on Saturday.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” I pick up the pencil and hand it back.

“I… um… didn’t hear anyone. You… are…” Heat crawls up her skin, and she takes a deep breath, then starts over. “Let’s try this again. Yes, it is statistics, which has become the bane of my existence lately.”

“I’ve only met one person in my life that enjoys it. And I’m not sure he’s right in the head most of the time.”

“I’d definitely question their sanity.”

“I do, every day of my life.”

She stuffs the notepad into the book and smiles at me perceptively. “You here to see Harley?”

“I am.”

“Let me give her a shout.” She presses a button and puts the receiver to her ear. “Harley, you have a package in reception.” There’s a pause, and her eyes light up as she keeps looking at me. “I suppose I could open it up and see what’s inside, but I hate to ruin the pretty packaging. Come get this one.”

I return her smile and shake my head when she hangs up. This woman definitely knows something about me and my relationship with Harley.

“It’s been one hell of a Monday, but I bet you can turn her mood around.”

A few minutes later, Harley appears and stops dead when she spots me. I scan her over and force myself to swallow the possessive growl at the sight. The woman standing in front of me is a fucking vision. My eyes rake down the black dress that cuts off mid-thigh and land on the bright red shoes with a pencil-thin heel. When they travel back up to her face, she’s smiling widely.

“You have a thing for surprise visits.”

I smile back and decide that I don’t give a shit where we are. I make it to her in two strides, pulling her into my arms and brushing my lips across her. She has no choice but to fall against me, gripping my arms for support.

“I wanted to see you,” I say lowly.

“What about Wednesday night?”

“Fuck of a long time to wait.”

There’s a dreamy sigh behind us, and Harley giggles, turning to the woman. “Ginger, did you meet Achilles? Or, Ace, to his friends.”

“Not officially.”

I slide my arm around Harley’s waist, tucking her close, and tip my chin in greeting. Ginger’s eyes jump from Harley to me and back a few times, her expression confirming my earlier thoughts. She knows exactly who I am, and it’s not because of Saturday morning. “Nice to finally meet you, Ace.”

“What are you doing here?” Harley tilts her face to mine.