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My tiny little lie of omission was quickly becoming a plain old lie, and I knew I needed to either confess everything or stop interacting with him as Smitty, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do either.
There was something different about the way that Smitty and Kev related, without all the bullshit complications that Kev and I had when we were interacting as ourselves. Smitty got to see a more vulnerable, approachable side of Kev while I brought out all his prickles and vice versa. That was why, after lashing out about Kev’s system breach the day before, I’d logged on to Horn of Glory as Smitty to deliver Kev a barrel of apology marmalade.
I thought of what my days would be like without Kev bantering with Smitty and telling tales of his earnest do-gooding, and my stomach clenched. Almost against my will, the man had become a fixture in my life… and I didn’t want to give that up.
“Okay, what gives?” Jordan asked, forcing me to look up. “You’ve been abusing your keyboard for an hour, and you usually treat your equipment like it’s precious and delicate.”
“It hasn’t been an hour,” I argued. But when I checked the enormous clock on the wall, I saw that it had actually been a little longer than that. Huh. I’d been too caught up in thoughts of Kev to notice.
It was becoming kind of a habit.
Jordan set an energy drink in front of me, and I nodded a thanks to them as I popped it open. “I dunno. I guess I’m still kicking myself for missing that vulnerability yesterday,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. “You know how much I hate being shown up by an amateur.”
Jordan made a noise through their nose and took a seat at the table near me. “He’s hardly an amateur. Didn’t you hear Carter tell Champ about Kev’s contracts at one of the big sensor tech companies? They hired him to create some kind of algorithm that works with environmental sensors. Apparently he was going to do another doctorate, this one in microsystems technologies or some shit, but companies kept asking him to consult on their projects, so he hasn’t yet. I don’t see why he’d bother doing more college if companies are already willing to pay him top dollar.”
“But…” I stared at them. “Kev sits in the basement and games all day.” Even as I said it, though, I thought of the dick-rocket and knew there was more to the story—more to Kev—than met the eye.
Jordan laughed. “No, bro. Riggs says he games while he’s coding—or whatever you call that computer language shit. He multitasks, which makes zero sense to me, considering he made killer money on some tech patents. I don’t see why he doesn’t just game all day. I would.”
“Riiiiight.” I couldn’t help but snicker. Jordan was the most energetic person on the team. They’d made a point of learning every job at Champion Security, mostly to stave off boredom, and loved fieldwork more than any agent at the company. “Sure you would.”
Champ strode into the kitchen and circled a pointer finger in the air. “Strategy meeting in the den. Ask Kev to join us.”
He grabbed Elvo’s whiteboard, where we’d scribbled the name of each Horn user from the cartel’s list along with the current location of their device, and disappeared in the direction of the meeting room.
After grabbing my laptop, I followed Jordan to the den. Riggs was already seated on the far sofa, texting on his phone.
I pulled out my phone to text Kev.
Me: Champ wants you to join the strategy meeting now in the den.
KevTheAnnoyingOrcHoarder: Stepped out for a massage. I’ll be home in ten.
I stared at my phone as I dropped onto the sofa. He was getting a massage? Why? And where? Whose hands had been all over his skin?
Was it a relaxation massage? A sports massage to treat an injury? Was he okay?
My brain threw up a helpful image of Kev’s lean body, barely covered by a towel, on a massage table in a small room, his oiled skin gleaming in the dim light and his face blissed-out by therapeutic touch and meditation music. In my mind, it was my hands reaching for him, my hands making him moan and sigh… and just like that, I knew I was in trouble.
It had been a long time since I’d been in bed with a man—not since last summer, when I’d been home in Pennsylvania mourning my dad, looking for a night of distraction. It had been even longer than that since I’d consciously let myself fantasize about the feel of a man’s skin beneath my fingers, his breath in my ear. And when it came to Kev, I’d cut off any and all lustful thoughts behind a sturdy fire door in my brain, then ruthlessly wet-blanketed any stray sparks that tried to escape.
