Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Jackson leans back, arms crossed loosely. “Can I tell you something about men like Penn?”
I nod.
“They don’t do casual. Not when it comes to things that matter. He’s not building a fortress of security around you, not calling out your enemies by name in a national interview, just for kicks. That man’s all in. Even if he hasn’t said the words yet.”
I blink hard against the sting behind my eyes.
Jackson pins me with a look that says he firmly believes what he’s about to say. “He’s scared too, Mila. But I’ve seen that look before—the one he gets when he watches you. That’s a man who doesn’t just want to protect you. That’s a man who’s already yours.”
Below us, Penn’s leaning forward, arms on the wall before the bench as the second line prepares for a face-off. My breath catches as he looks over his shoulder, glancing up at me. I’m shocked he even knows where we’re sitting but his eyes land on mine.
And he smiles.
Not a small one. Not polite. But wide, real, warm.
And just like that, I know Jackson’s right.
Penn is already mine.
And I’m his too.
CHAPTER 22
Penn
I’m getting ready to do something that I’ve never done once in my entire professional career, and it feels weird.
Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels awkward and exciting all at once.
I’m about to sit down and have beers with my teammates and celebrate our win over the Grizzlies.
“Your security guy looks like he’s waiting to take out a sniper,” Rafferty mutters as he sinks into the seat across from us, nursing a beer.
“Pretty sure he’d be disappointed if that didn’t happen,” I reply, then take a long pull from my own.
We’re sitting in the lobby bar of our team hotel. There aren’t a lot of people in here, but I feel the energy that comes from this gathering. It’s an easy buzz. Conversations drift over the clink of glasses and the muted laughter of a nearby group of business travelers. We’re exhausted, but a good exhausted.
The rest of the team fills the center section of the space, sprawled out across a cluster of leather chairs and high-top tables, everyone relaxed and loose-limbed from the game. This doesn’t feel like an obligation.
It feels like something I’ve truly missed and having Mila tucked into my side, her thigh touching mine while she sips a glass of wine, makes it better than I could have imagined.
Jackson is posted nearby, sitting at a corner table with a bottle of sparkling water and an eagle eye on the room. He’s not intrusive, but the guy radiates alert. It’s so fucking comforting and I’m not ashamed to admit that.
“He looks bored with this assignment,” Lucky adds from the seat next to Rafferty. “Bet he has a spreadsheet ranking all the ways he could kill someone with a spoon and wondering if he’ll get to do that on your behalf, Penn.”
Mila laughs, leaning closer to me, and our shoulders touch. “He’s got that ‘I’ve defused bombs and carried royalty’ vibe.”
“Well, now he’s babysitting hockey players,” North mutters. “Talk about a downgrade.”
Everyone chuckles and it’s funny but fuck if I’m not glad he’s with us.
Mila’s eyes scan the group, and then she leans forward to ask, “Do your partners ever travel with you? Or is it usually just a boys’ trip?”
Foster answers. “Sometimes they do. Depends on the schedule and what’s going on at home, but it’s more difficult for those of us who have kids and partners with careers that require them to stay in Pittsburgh.”
“Willa’s giving a symposium next week she has to prepare for,” King says. “I tried to talk her into coming anyway, but she said I’d be too distracted thinking about her in the hotel room. Which… fair.”
Mila laughs again, slightly girlish, and the sound sends a jolt of something warm through my chest. She fits here. That thought hits me hard and fast. She fits with me. With them. And maybe for the first time, I feel like I’m not just a piece forced into the puzzle—I’m part of the full picture.
Lucky leans in, elbows braced on his knees, and the gleam in his eye tells me he wants to stir the pot. It causes mixed feelings… part abhorrence and part morbid fascination over what he might inflict on me. “So…,” he drawls, glancing around at the other guys to make sure they’re paying attention. “Not to make this weird, but are you two like… a thing-thing?”
My throat goes dry, not only to have such a personal spotlight on me when I’m just barely stepping into the glow of friendship but because Lucky’s forcing me to define what Mila is to me. I quirk a brow. “Define ‘thing-thing.’”
“You know,” Lucky says, his eyes flicking between us. “You two give off serious secret-lovers-in-a-spy-thriller energy.”