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“Do you want me to move so you can get some sleep?” he asked. “I honestly didn’t realize we’d be staying here for any amount of time, or I’d have asked for a double.”
“It’s fine,” I said, turning toward the television. “Anything new going on?”
“Cell towers are back up,” he repeated. “Your face is being plastered on every twenty-four-hour news channel and local station. They picked a good picture of you, though. Very handsome.”
“This is bullshit,” I hissed. “I can’t just sit here with you while the rest of the squad is doing actual work.”
“Dude, you don’t even have a shirt anymore,” he reminded me. “You want to walk out half-naked into the streets where every cop and government agent is waiting to shoot you again?” He chuckled. “You hate me that much, huh?”
“I don’t hate you,” I insisted.
“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.” He grinned at me, and I couldn’t hold back my own laugh. “Would it make you feel better if I took off my shirt, too?”
“What? No! Why?” I glared at him, but he just kept smiling, though his gaze dropped to rake over me. “How’s the arm?”
“Fine,” I lied. It actually hurt like a bitch, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him. “You got any more booze in that bag?”
He reached over and upended a second bag onto the nightstand, sending a dozen mini-bottles scattering across the surface. He picked a couple up and tossed them to me.
“I got aspirin, too,” he offered.
I shook my head as I opened the cap and downed the whiskey in one long pull. Alcohol was better.
“I’m going to need to check the wounds in a little bit,” Max said, taking a bottle for himself. “Make sure there’s no infection setting in.”
“Whatever.” I blew out a sigh and stretched out my legs, crossing them at the ankles as I stared at the ceiling. “Why would someone want to out American assets? Or frame me for blowing up a bridge?”
“To take the heat off of themselves,” Max said.
“But there is no heat on them,” I reminded him. “We have no idea who’s behind this. And even if that were true…why me? Specifically?”
“Here we go,” Max said, rolling his eyes as he tossed me another bottle. “It’s all about Cookie.”
“For fuck’s sake!” I yelled, throwing my empty bottle at him. “It is about me.”
“Self-absorption is not a good look on you,” Max said. “But I have to say, bullet holes and no shirt is.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, shaking my head before downing another drink. “Are you flirting with me?”
Did I want him to be flirting with me?
“Just trying to take your mind off things,” he answered with a shrug. “And you have to admit, it’s better than fighting.”
“I don’t know,” I countered. “We used to be pretty damned good at fighting.”
“We could be good at other things.” He raised an eyebrow as he opened yet another bottle of whiskey and took a deep pull from it. “Maybe you just need a good, hard to fuck to take your mind off it.”
“You offering your services?” I shot back, rolling my eyes as I reached for the second airplane bottle he’d tossed me.
“I’m notnotoffering,” he said, grinning over at me.
“You know, you don’t have to say every thought that pops into your addled little brain out loud,” I told him.
I actually couldn’t decide if I wanted him to be kidding or not. It wasn’t as if I’d never thought about having sex with him. Hell, half the time we spent fighting when we were younger I’d been pretty thoroughly turned on. He was fun to fight with.
And now here we were, trapped in a hotel room together with only one bed, like a damned Hallmark movie. Well, if those movies had bullet wounds and terrorists, I guess.
“Well, you could try sayinganythingthat’s in your head,” he snapped. “You’re like the most stoic, bull-headed, obnoxious man I’ve ever met. The only time you seem to say anything is when you want to disagree with me.”
