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“I love your mother. That woman can cook. But really, dude.” He gestured toward Lesley. “I plan on being indisposed.”
Lesley felt her cheeks warm and shook her head with a sigh and a smile. “So much suffering keeping him occupied.”
Antony gave her a sly smile and raised an eyebrow. “Suffering, eh?”
“Mmhmm. You know, with the dishes you’ll have to do when I cook for you.”
Simon laughed. “She’s got your number, Ramos. Glad to finally see it.”
Antony grabbed Lesley and dipped her in the middle of the sidewalk, bending over her and nuzzling her neck. As she clawed at him to get him to stop, he whispered, “I’ll show you what I mean by indisposed.” He bit her earlobe, causing her to squeal, before setting her upright.
An hour later, they pulled into the parking lot on post.
Audrey leaned in toward Lesley. “Today was fun. I hope we can get together again. Maybe just the women sometime. Leave these brutes to their manual labor and beer swigging.”
Lesley grinned at the woman. “I’m down for that. I’ve got a friend I think you’d like to meet.”
“And you need to get to know Charlie.”
As the women exchanged phone numbers, Simon and Antony walked a few feet away.
“You’ve got it bad.”
Antony shrugged. “Yep.”
“Not even gonna play this one off? Damn.”
“No reason to. It’s you, and it’s pretty obvious.” He looked at Lesley. “She’s fucking amazing.”
“You tell her that?”
“Not in as many words. Trying to show her.”
“Use your words, Ramos. Don’t let this one go.”
Antony tilted his head. “Mr. Player here spitting out the relationship advice, eh?”
“That’s Mr. Retired Player to you. I don’t miss those days.”
Lesley turned and raised her eyebrows. “Ready?” she called.
Antony gave Simon a quick hug and leaned in. “I’m working on the words. Just not too soon, you know?”
As he walked toward Lesley, she smiled, and he was dazzled by the way her eyes lit up. He was in deep, and for once, he didn’t care.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lesley was in the zone. She’d settled into a routine with Antony that suited them both—weekends at her house, and a couple nights a week at his place. Her project at work was moving along nicely and she finally felt like she was settling in with the team. She leaned back and stretched, feeling her back pop against the ergonomic chair.
Except for Smith, of course. He kept skirting right to the edge of blatant insubordination before dancing away. She was well versed in dealing with people like him, though, and any attention would cause him to escalate. He was picking a fight, and she would not play until he stepped fully out of bounds. Her phone rang.
“Prosser,” she answered.
“Got a minute?” the voice on the other line asked. The tone made it clear it was not a request.
“You bet, Sergeant Major. I’ll be there in just a tick,” she said, hanging up. She locked her computer and her desk before walking off. As she passed by the bullpen, where the junior analysts sat, she heard a snort of derision and caught the tail end of an eye roll out of Smith.
“Do you need to go to sick call?” she asked kindly. “Sounds like you might be coming down with something.” She continued on her way, shaking her head at the laughter that followed her. Smith, she’d found out, had done himself no favors with the rest of the group. He was constantly late and had a habit of either bumming money off of people or mooching when someone would go on a food run.
