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Camila was saved from having to come up with a response (thank God, because really? Her hormones were onfireright now) by the sound of Detective Addison Hale’s voice filtering down from the speakers.
“Good evening, trivia fans!” Addison waved at everyone in the bar area from her spot on what usually served as a dance floor. Tonight, there were two tables set up on a makeshift stage, and Addison stood between them. “We’ve got five minutes before tonight’s big showdown between Team Delia”—she waited out the cheers and whistles before continuing—“and Team Capelli.” More cheers went up for the other team captain, who was also the Intelligence Unit’s tech and surveillance expert. “So, grab a seat and your favorite drink and get ready for some fun. Trivia team members, please come up to the stage.”
Camila looked at Roman, who she knew was on Delia’s team. “Looks like we’ll have to table our argument for later.”
It was the perfect out. God knew flirting with the little sister of his nemesis probably wasn’t on Roman’s agenda.
But rather than taking the opportunity to give her some vague “see ya around”, he said, “I’m counting on it. Like I said, I’m very good at winning, and I don’t intend to let you off easy.”
* * *
There was a betterthan average chance that Roman had lost his damn mind. His brain, being the logical organ that it was, knew this. But the rest of him wasn’t heeding any of the warnings his brain was pumping out, namely that flirting with Camila had been a bad ideabeforehe’d realized she was Garza’s sister. Not that he cared about pissing the guy off—he’d unlocked that achievement months ago. But still, it was the cherry on top of all the reasons why he had no business giving in to the spark he felt whenever Camila aimed her smile at him.
He didn’t want to get started on the flat-out fire she’d ignited inside of him when she’d stood up to her brother.
Christ, this was stupid, he thought as he made his way to the stage. They’d had one conversation. Yeah, he’d felt sparks, and more yeah, that hadn’t happened in five years. But he was overthinking it. He could spend one night in Camila Garza’s presence without losing his fucking composure.
Roman met Delia on the stage, where she’d taken the middle seat of three at the table beneath a banner reading “Team Delia”.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” she said, gesturing to the blond, white guy on her left. “This is Jonah Sheridan. Jonah, this is Kai Roman.”
Jonah, who looked like he was either a model or a movie star, or possibly both, extended a hand. “Kai. Great to meet you.”
“Roman,” he corrected, hearing the gruffness in his voice only after he’d spoken. “No one really calls me Kai.”
“Roman it is,” Jonah said, his smile not faltering.
Delia nodded, her own smile becoming all business. “Okay, we only have a few minutes to talk strategy. I made a spreadsheet of each of our core strengths. I think I’ve got most of the categories covered, but, of course, we can adjust depending on the difficulty of the questions.”
She passed each of them a three-page spreadsheet that was, in a shock to no one, color-coded. Jonah turned out to be a trauma surgeon, covering a lot of ground in science and medicine. He also had five-year-old twins, so score one for a huge subset of pop culture Roman had no handle on whatsoever. Jonah’s wife, Natalie, was also a surgeon, and unfortunately on Team Capelli, along with hockey star Finn Donnelly. But between Delia’s obvious affinity for numbers and Roman’s penchant for memorizing facts he’d probably never need unless he’d been asked to join a trivia team, the playing field was pretty even, and anyway, Roman was competitive to a fault.
Whether it was taking down criminals, battling for jurisdiction on a case, or Trivia Night at the Crooked Angel, he didn’t lose.
Detective Hale, who Roman had also worked with on Delia’s case, got the crowd’s attention and introduced both teams, then outlined the rules. Out of the corner of his eye, Roman caught sight of Camila, who had claimed a spot at the Intelligence Unit’s table. She was still giving her brother a partial cold shoulder, if her body language was anything to go by—and he’d learned as a rookie agent that it always was. But she cheered and whistled as Delia’s team was announced, her affection for her best friend so honest and wide open that something stirred in Roman’s gut.
For the sake of propriety—and also sanity, because WTAF—he stuffed it down in favor of concentrating on the matter at hand. The trivia questions came fast and furious, demanding all of his attention, and he jumped right into the zone. Both teams traded correct answers for about ten minutes before Capelli, whose brain was like a crazy, gigantic warehouse of information, went on a hot streak in back-to-back categories. Then, Finn beat them to the buzzer in every question in the sports history category, and Roman got good and determined to make a comeback. He swept the next three categories, which would’ve clinched things if Capelli hadn’t pulled a random fact about the Great Lakes out of what had to have been either his ass or thin air. Delia rallied in the final category, though—thank God, because Roman’s knowledge of Greek mythology was admittedly limited—taking the category and giving them the win. Camila whistled and cheered, her face lit with happiness as she came over to hug Delia, and Roman took his cue to pull back to the outskirts of the group. With the last question having been asked and the winners being crowned, everyone started migrating back toward the large table where the Intelligence Unit detectives had all set up camp.
Roman used the natural flow to slip to the bar for one last beer. From his vantage point on the outside looking in, he was able to watch the group of friends as they hugged and laughed and toasted each other. The dynamic was one he hadn’t experienced in years, the camaraderie as foreign to him as a long-dead language. Capelli, his girlfriend Shae, Garza, Delia—who were now kissing, much to Camila’s obvious disdain—they shared something far deeper than friendship. Roman knew that sort of closeness, and all the emotions that went with it, weren’t for him. He was far safer without it. In fact, maybe he should just close out his tab and go.
He aimed his stare at the door to calculate a path through the throng of people between him and the exit. But then his eyes landed directly on Camila, and all of a sudden his feet were moving.
Just not toward the door.
Roman reached the group just in time to hear Delia make mention of moving in with Garza a month ago. Detective Shawn Maxwell, a big guy covered in as many muscles as tattoos, made a show of rubbing his shoulders and laughed.
“How could we forget? I think I’m still sore from helping you move.”
Roman recognized the gripe as the sort of good-natured shit that cops and agents usually dished out to their unit-mates when they were close, and Delia hammered home the lighthearted tone of the conversation with a smile.
“Ofcoursewe asked you to help us move. You’re one of our closest friends.”
“And strongest,” Garza put in. “Let’s face it. No way was I moving that couch without your brawn, dude.”
“Somehow, I feel like I should be offended by that,” Roman said, surprising everyone in the group, including himself. He hadn’t meant to insert himself into the conversation. For Chrissake, he hadn’t meant to return to the group at all.
But then Camila laughed and rolled her eyes playfully, breaking the tension in an instant. “I feel like you live to be offended,” she said, her smile so pretty that Roman had no choice but to smile back.
“And I feel likeyouneed to lose at darts.”
