Page 17 of Fixed Asset

Chapter Six

After stopping to fuel up and Mason taking the opportunity to stock up on snacks, Cat had directed Pete to the safe house. I’d spent the remaining hour of the drive with my eyes closed, wrestling with my thoughts.

That meant when we got to the safe house, I was in no mood for lighthearted banter between my team and Cat. Moreover, I was in no mood for her giving me the cold shoulder while she was warm and friendly with Fallon and Mason, and to a lesser degree with Pete. It seemed she hadn’t gotten a lock on my team leader yet.

It would’ve amused me how incorrectly she’d pegged Mason if I hadn’t been using all of my energy to wrangle my body’s reaction to Cat under control. She had no idea that out of all the men I worked with, Mason was by far the deadliest. Pete had the patience of a saint, which was apropos of his name. But Mason—when that switch was flipped, you could kiss his good-natured disposition goodbye. He turned into a single-minded beast who stopped at nothing until all threats were eliminated—and that switch was easy to flip on.

“This place is nicer than my condo in Prescott,” Cat said as she walked into the kitchen from the living room.

Arizona?

“I thought you lived in DC.”

“I did. Now I don’t.” Cat’s attention diverted to Mason, and she mumbled, “I hate you.”

“What?” he said around a mouthful of chocolate bar. “I offered to share.”

I watched her roll her eyes to the ceiling. When they rolled back, she shook her head.

“There are times being a woman sucks,” she started. “Like when we need to urinate outside or, say, in a public restroom. Then there are times like this, when a fit man without an ounce of body fat offers to share his chocolate like the calories magically don’t stick due to the Y chromosome. While my double Xs soak them up, then store them in all the places I’d rather they not.”

Mason crushed the candy wrapper in his hand and shoved it in his pocket while smiling. “You mean all the right places,” he corrected. “One day women will figure out men don’t like pointy bags of bones. We like curves, and soft, and something to grab ahold of.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I had a bad feeling about the direction of this conversation.

I knew I was right when Mase aimed his action-hero smile at Cat and added, “But it’s good to know all my hard work in the gym has paid off. I can show—”

“No, you can’t,” I cut Mase off.

“What can’t Mase do?” Fallon asked as he rounded the corner, coming into the kitchen from the dining area opposite where Cat entered.

“Show Cat my workout routine,” Mason supplied.

This was not my first shit-talking huddle, where jabs and digs were exchanged with the sole intent of getting under the skin of a bud. However, this was the first time those digs were aimed my way.

“You have a workout routine that includes clothes?” Fallon returned.

Mason smirked his answer.

I tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling.

“You know it’s not fun if you don’t participate,” Mason noted.

I ignored Mase’s jab and belatedly felt guilty for giving my brothers at Takeback shit when each of them was getting to know their women.

Not that Cat was my woman.

Catarina, being the smart-ass she was, latched onto Fallon’s question.

“Naked workouts sound dangerous. The treadmill must be murder.”

Christ.

“You have no idea,” Mason drawled.

I lost the battle.

“Honest to God, I’m gonna punch you in the throat.”