Page 64 of What Remains
My eyes jerk up to see him smirk as he picks up his coffee again.
“There were new and clean panties for me at the safe house.”
His eyes narrow at me, his gaze a little too sharp, like he isn’t thrilled about me talking about my underwear.
“Thought you Brits call them—”
“I’m an Ameri-Brit mutt,” I joke. “According to Elaina, I mix-mash my words. Never noticed I do that until she pointed it out to me last month. Today, it’s panties. Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, knickers.” I poke his chest, closing one eye. “Now, really, are you seriously telling me the man who thinks of everything—a.k.a. Carter Dominick—forgot to have boxer-briefs stocked at the safe house?”
He scoffs. “How do you know I wear those?” He raises his eyebrows, and seriously, I have no idea how we’re inside a coffee shop this early, laughing about undergarments, but I’m done questioning how this man always puts me at ease. Instead, I’ll just enjoy and appreciate that he does.
“It’s a guess. A good one, apparently.”
“Well, if you really must know . . .” With his free hand, he points to his shirt. “While I’ll wear my brother-in-law’s clothes, I’m sure as hell not wearing his underwear. Or some random ones I found at a safe house. I’ll order some online, thanks.”
“So, you’d rather be all drafty there?” I point to his crotch, and his stubbled jawline tightens as he stares at my face instead of my finger.
He frowns. “Could we not talk about my dick?”
How this man can casually toss out the D word while keeping a straight face is beyond me, but it’s adorable, actually. “You brought it up, not me. I didn’t need to know you were Han Solo’ing it.”
“Han Solo’ing?” He laughs. “God, I love you.” He freezes, and while the D word doesn’t seem to embarrass him, the L one certainly does. “You know what I mean.” He flips his eyes skyward, acting like a typical guy who has no clue how to deal with his feelings. Not that I’m any better.
“So, how about we do it now?”
There he goes again, choking on his coffee as if I asked him to have sex or something just as absurd.
I mean, that’d be crazy to even think about, let alone actually do.
. . . Right?
“Do what?” he splutters.
I smooth my fingers over the trident charm on my bracelet, waiting for the blush in my face to die down. “Shop. I meant shop. We can get in before they open and charge it to our rooms. Which, in my humble opinion, is even better than online.” I abandon my bracelet now that my face feels a bit more room-temp-ish and give him a conspiratorial grin. “It wouldn’t be my first time sneaking into the store before opening hours.” I jerk my thumb toward the door. “After, you can help me pick out a new travel rig. Carter has a whole room of tech I can choose from.”
“You mean the weapons room?”
“Sure. An M4 for you, a ThinkPad for me . . .” I shrug. “Both are tools. Kind of.”
Excited to have something to do besides pretend to sleep, I clean up after myself and shut down the machines, assuming he’s ready to follow along. But when I spin around, he’s still standing there, drinking his coffee and not moving a muscle. “Not coming?”
“To have you help me pick out underwear?” He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Ohhhh come on.” I tug at his shirt, and he narrows his eyes in the direction of my hand. “This helps me take my mind off things, so please . . .” I release his tee and give him my best prayer hands, just in case my sad, mopey eyes don’t do the trick.
He exhales a deep breath and sets aside his mug. “Fine.” He holds up a finger, shooting me a tough and stern expression, which should be intimidating if it wasn’t so damn cute. “But no tuxedos.”
“Got it.” I smile. “Boxer-briefs only.”
“Gwen.” His warning is ruined by the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Relax.” I wrap a hand over his shoulder and tease, “I’ll behave.”
He snorts. “That’ll be the day.”
CHAPTER 21
Easton
