Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(5)
He wondered what had happened to the guy. Come to think of it, he wondered what had happened to all the agents who’d been assigned to Abby’s protection detail back in the day. There wasn’t a familiar face among the seven in her current bunch.
Then again, a lot could change in eight years. Just look at him. He’d gone from medical student to soldier to clandestine government operator in the space of that time. Hell, even his name was different…
“Never as good as Ozzie?” Dan’s second eyebrow joined his first somewhere near his hairline. “Well, I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I hafta say, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard a man admit his sexual prowess lacked in comparison to—”
“That’s not what I meant, pendejo. And you know it.”
Dan tucked his tongue in his cheek, nodding. “The beer bottle incident?”
Steady fingered the small scar cutting through his scalp above his right ear. He’d received it courtesy of a one-night stand whom he’d thought understood the nature of their relationship. But when she caught him locking lips with a curvy little mamacita outside the back door of Red Delilah’s Biker Bar—his local watering hole in Chicago where Black Knights Inc. was based—she’d shouted obscenities that questioned his mother’s morals before hauling off and smashing a bottle of Bud over his head.
“I told her I wasn’t interested in anything serious,” he said in his own defense. “I don’t know how much more specific I could’ve been.”
“Mmm,” Dan answered noncommittally, causing Steady’s scowl to deepen. His entire life he’d been accused by family, friends, and teammates of being oblivious when it came to dishing out details, but he disagreed. He said what needed to be said when it needed to be said. He just wasn’t all that elaborative, that’s all.
“Look,” he continued, choosing to ignore Dan’s non-answer and getting back to the point. “I’m only saying I might be ready for something…more.” He blinked. A little astonished he’d climbed out on this conversational limb. After all, the Knights were a far cry from the touchy-feely sort. In fact, their discussions tended to center more on the latest weapons, motorcycle exhausts, and Chicago Cubs scores than anything that came close to resembling, you know, actual feelings.
He waited for Dan to say something along the lines of whoa there, compadre, what are we? Girlfriends? So he was shocked when instead Dan went with, “Are you telling me you’ve sowed your last wild oat?”
“I don’t know about last.” His frown kicked into a grin. “I’m not sure that’s even possible. I’m Puerto Rican, man. My oats are endless.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe that Latin lover shtick actually works.”
“What can I say? Chicks dig my Rico Suave.”
“Rico Suave?” Dan turned, cocking his head to study him. “Nah. I’d say you’re more of a low-budget Enrique Iglesias.”
Steady punched him in the arm before quickly reining the conversation back in. Experience had taught him it was either that or devolve into a good, solid hour of swapping insults. Fun? Sure. But not at all productive. “The deal is, I’m thirty-three years old. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s time to start thinking about”—he made a rolling motion with his hand—“commitment.”
And would you look at that? He said the word without choking on it.
Dan turned to face him, the picture of shock and awe. Seriously, George W. Bush would’ve been proud. “Well, well, well.” He shook his sandy blond head. “Will wonders never cease?”
“I know.” Steady shrugged. “I’m a bit surprised myself. Or maybe I’ve been drinking too much of the Kool-Aid being served back home. I mean, you have noticed the rate at which our teammates are taking the plunge into happily-ever-after, haven’t you?”
“Staggering, isn’t it?”
In the last couple of years, six, count them, six of the BKI boys had strapped on the ol’ ball and chain. And talk about wonders never ceasing? They actually made the condition look…well…good. Preferable even. God help me.
“Or maybe this sudden attack of fidelity has something to do with the way you’ve been staring at”—Dan glanced around to make sure they were out of earshot of anyone who might be listening—“you know who for the last three days.”
The blood drained from Steady’s head, leaving his face cold and his forehead clammy. “What do you mean?” he asked, shooting his cuffs and tilting his head from side to side in an attempt to loosen the tension that gripped his neck. Suddenly his clothes were too tight. He wanted to chalk it up to the fact that he was accustomed to wearing combat gear or jeans and a biker jacket. But deep down he knew the real reason his suit coat was now a straightjacket, his necktie a silk anaconda, was because Dan’s assessment hit far too close to home. “How have I been staring at her?”
“Like Winnie-the-Pooh stares at a pot of honey.”
“Pssht. You’re imagining things. If I’ve been watching her, it’s only because that’s what we’re being”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“paid to do.”
“Yeah, but there’s watching and then there’s watching,” Dan insisted.