“You were on there, once upon a time.”
I mock gasp. “And now I’m not?”
“Nope, because I finally have you.” His eyes soften as he leans forward and kisses me.
“I was really on your list?”
“Yep. Cocky, homophobic asshole from basic was on there. I always knew it would be hot and dirty.”
“Do I live up to your expectations?”
Iris grins. “I’m really tempted to say, ‘Eh,’ but I can’t lie. You’ve more than exceeded them. Of course, I didn’t ever think there would be a time where I would actually like you, so my expectations back then consisted of sexual fantasies where I shut your arrogant mouth by filling it with my cock. Hot, yes, but nothing like this.” He pulls me to him again, and I could stay here all day.
Holding him.
Cherishing him.
Possibly even falling for him.
Even though I’ve told myself repeatedly not to move too fast. Not to think ahead. It’s really hard when he’s in front of me telling me everything I didn’t know I wanted to hear.
Not only from Iris but from anyone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Iris
Because I turned down the large mission to go to Saint’s therapy session with him, I have a few days to myself, but Saint has to go into headquarters to shadow Ghost on comms and tech.
He comes home each day more relaxed than I’ve probably seen him since he joined the team.
I know his physical restrictions since his injuries have been getting to him, but this side of the job gives him a new purpose. He no longer seems to be forcing the words “I can do it.”
Or maybe I’m completely reading into this, and he’s looser from all the sex we’ve been having.
Could be either. Or both.
We should continue to do it to be on the safe side. I want to keep doing whatever makes him walk through my front door with a warm smile and a soft kiss on my cheek.
Still, waiting for him to come home makes the hours tick by at an insanely slow pace. I’ve spent a lot of my days in my garden, tending to my emergency rations I keep in a vegetable and fruit patch, but there’s not a lot to do with it. With automatic sprinklers and plenty of sun, it flourishes on its own.
Some downtime every now and then is good for the soul, but after only a few days, I’m antsy and eager to see some action. I’ve even contemplated going with Saint to HQ and hanging around in the hopes of a job popping up.
So when my phone rings and Trav’s name appears on the screen, I jump to answer.
“Whatever the job is, I’m in.”
Trav laughs. “Our favorite councilman is up to no good again.”
I deflate. “I take it back. I’m busy.” I know I was just complaining about seeing no action, but following a councilman is maybe one step below babysitting a pop star.
“I know you love trailing him to coffee shops, work, and home, but sources say it’s legit this time.”
“Isn’t that what you said last time?”
“Maybe.”
“And the time before that?”
“Quit your bitching and get on the road. Atlas is out front.”
“You knew I would be bored, huh?”
“With your boyfriend in the office every day? Yeah, I figured.”
“Whoa, boss. Don’t go throwing around the B label. That’s not what … we’re not …” Even though we haven’t had that talk, I can’t deny it’s what I want him to be. But I’m a relationship kind of guy. Saint has already admitted he’s never had anything serious with anyone, so that step has to come from him.
“You sure? Saint walks into work every day with a smile on his face and walking like he’s been riding a horse for hours.”
“Well, I am hung like a—”
“Don’t go there. I walked right into that one. Get your ass outside.”
“Fine. I’ll be two minutes.” I’m always good to go. I just need to throw on a shirt, grab my go bag by the door, and lock up.
Atlas is in my driveway in one of Trav’s Range Rovers, and I jump in the passenger seat.
He automatically hands over an earpiece and then a cup of coffee. The real kind, not the sludge my percolator spits out.
“Oh my God, I love you.”
“Should I be worried?” a voice in my ear says.
“Saint?”
“You’ve got me on comms and maps today. Hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“No flirting on a job,” Trav says.
“Oh, sweetie, honey,” I say. “If you think that’s flirting, I have to ask how you ever get laid.”
“What makes you think he ever gets laid?” Atlas asks.
We all snicker.
“Bold move, mocking the man who signs your paychecks,” Trav says.
That shuts us up.
“So, where’s our mark?” I ask.
“He’s on a flight from Sacramento as we speak. Set to land in two hours.”
I turn to Atlas. “Think we can make it to LAX in two hours?”