Why?
Because it was impossible to think when Trouper Aoki’s lips were pressed against mine.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled back, just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I whispered at the same time. “Tell me that you were going to be here?”
That’d been our main form of communication over the past couple of years.
Every once in a while, I’d need to hear his voice, so I’d call.
Or he’d need to hear mine, so he’d call.
But this time, both of us had been a surprise.
He gathered me up into his arms and squeezed me tight.
“Because I wanted to see the look on your face when he walked in. It was like when a baby finds her favorite blankie that she’s been missing for days,” Easton said as he broke into our world again. “Now, as cool as this reunion is, I have places to be, and so do y’all. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I reluctantly pulled away from Trouper, turned, and saw that everyone in the room was now staring at us.
“He’s my man,” I said, shrugging. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”
Adrian was the one to say, “That’s why you always refuse to kiss when you’re undercover? I didn’t realize that you were with someone. Though, having to appear to date this man’s brother is going to be awkward, won’t it?”
I hadn’t realized that Troup’s hand hadn’t left mine until he squeezed at Adrian’s words.
“I’m sorry, but what?” I asked.
“You’re going to have to marry this ass,” Adrian said. “At least for the next few months or so. From now on, you’re Mrs. Janice Cherrie.”
Trouper’s hand tightened even more.
“As long as it’s professional, like always.” I sounded about as enthused as one could appear when met with the reality of having to appear to be married to your man’s brother for an FBI op.
“We’ll make that part work,” Easton said. “Why are you so sure this op will work?”
“Because the man we suspect of being a heavy hitter in this game is married, and there’s a couple women that he’s not only married to, but he’s also seeing on the side, that seem to be fairly knowledgeable in his comings and goings.”
“So you want me to wiggle my way in there?” I guessed. “See what they know?”
“I want you to become best friends with the bitches,” Adrian agreed.
Then he went on to explain the rest of what he wanted, leaving with us meeting back up to hammer out details in a few days’ time when our ‘identities’ were firmly in place.
Something that another team would be taking care of.
Meaning that I would have three days to do nothing but wait.
And hopefully do some catching up with a certain man.
“Keep your head low, darlin’,” Adrian said, knowing where my mind was at. “Don’t ruin your cover before you’ve even had a chance to utilize it.”
Meaning, don’t go fucking Trouper in public.
That, I could do.
I thought, anyway.
The room emptied out after that, leaving Trouper whose hand I was still holding, Easton, and me.
I couldn’t stop myself.
Standing up, I once again threw myself into Trouper’s arms.
The chair he was in rocked back precariously, but Easton must’ve done something so we both didn’t go down in a heap.
Trouper’s arms tightened on me so tightly that I found it slightly hard to breathe.
But I didn’t care.
Not when I was in Trouper’s arms.
“You’re wearing my jacket,” I whispered.
It wasn’t even really cold enough just yet, but he was wearing it anyway.
“I wear it everywhere,” he admitted. “Can’t you tell?”
I could.
The day that he’d graduated and become an official fighter pilot, I’d spent a whack on a bomber jacket for him.
He’d always loved them when we were kids, and I felt it was fitting seeing as he was a full-fledged fuckin’ fighter pilot.
Now that jacket looked well-worn and loved.
“You’re wearing my earrings,” he teased.
“I wear them everywhere. I don’t even take them out to sleep.” I pulled back so I could look into his eyes. “And I still sleep in your t-shirts every single night.”
His grin was wicked.
“Let’s go to the bar in town. I have a couple people I want you to meet,” he whispered. “We’ll grab some food, then you can come home with me.”
“What about me?” Easton asked.
Troup didn’t even look away from my eyes when he said, “You can come to the bar, but you can’t come home with me.”
Easton guffawed in laughter. “I figured that. I’ll take Beckham’s hotel room.”
Trouper licked his lips, and I saw the way the night would play out in his eyes.
CHAPTER 9
I like my men like I like my margaritas. To hit the spot every time.
-Text from Beckham to Trouper
TROUPER
“Come on,” I urged. “I’d like you to meet a couple of friends.”
Beckham didn’t even try to deny me.
One second, she was waving goodbye to Easton, who’d bailed out on not only the bar, but anything after, but did say that he would see us in the morning.
See, I hadn’t seen Easton in just as long as Beckham, but he’d known that I needed to spend some alone time with Beckham. I couldn’t sit there at a bar with her next to me knowing how this night was going to end. It would be torture.
“I already told you I’d go anywhere with you,” she teased.
So, I took her to my favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant.
When we pulled up outside Mami’s, her eyes lit.
“Please, please, please tell me this is authentic Tex-Mex,” she pleaded, her eyes beseeching as she turned to look at me.
I grinned. “The two of them moved from East Texas to here.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve had anything good quality. I mean, everyone says they’re ‘Mexican food’ but they’re just not what I’m looking for, you know?”
I knew exactly what she meant, mostly because I’d been living the same life since I’d moved away.
“I hadn’t realized how much I ate it until I didn’t have it around anymore,” I admitted. “When I introduced my friends to this place, they thought I was joking—that it was better than any place that they’d ever been to around here—but I wasn’t. Now this is the only place that they’ll eat. And they really, really want to come to Texas.”
She giggled.
“I would, too.” She bailed out of the car. “Let’s go!”
I followed her, watching as she practically ran across the parking lot to the front door.
My eyes were all over her.
She was wearing tight blue jeans, the ones that women were starting to favor with the tight legs all the way to the ankle that molded to her calf. Jeggings? I think that was what I’d heard one of my friend’s girlfriends call them.