"Well, don't let his arrogance fool you. He's deadly, and damn good at his job."
"Are you close with anyone on the team outside your working relationship?"
I raise my eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean," he says with more force than I expect.
"I think you realize by now dating isn't something I'm capable of. No, I'm not involved with anyone on my team. However, as far as friendships go, I'm close with Dresden, Vlad, and have spent time with Rhett and Jameson outside work."
"Good to know."
His pupils dilate as he stares at me, and my body tenses as the clenching in my stomach shoots straight to my groin.
This isn't happening.
By Saturday evening, I'm exhausted. I thought I’d be relaxing, but one of Blake's text messages ruined that idea. He's in his room and hasn't mentioned his line dancing plans for tonight. I walk out of my room, sliding my shoulder holsters on. I'm leaving the rest of my arsenal at the apartment.
Being around Blake is more complicated than I expected. We left for work at 5:30 AM every day. Unfailing, we went to breakfast and lunch. He didn't assault me with too many personal questions, but every day he tried to take my hand or brushed his fingers across my knuckles, and I damn near freaked out.
Part of me knows he's trying to help, and I wish I could just tell him to give up, but something inside me likes that he keeps trying. Most men would’ve moved on by now. He's nothing like what I'm used to, which is both refreshing and scary.
"Hey, what's up?" Blake asks, joining the crowd in the kitchen.
He's dressed in faded blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a tight black t-shirt.
He's . . . hmmm . . . fuck— he's perfect.
"We're going with you, Mr. Mason," Sammi says pleasantly as she puts on her jacket.
"How’d you know I planned on going out?"
"Well, for one Mr. Mason, you're wearing cowboy boots. Hayato's also been forwarding your text messages to my phone since Monday." I take a confident step toward him.
His mouth drops open and his cheeks turn red. I'm sure he's embarrassed. I am too, but hide it better. His and Caleb's messages have been very colorful this past week, especially where I'm concerned.
"So, you've read . . . oh, sweet Jesus," he stammers, running his hand through his hair. "Who else has read them?"
"Just me, calm down. Not a big deal." I give him a pointed glare.
If Jax reads those texts, we’re both going to have a wrath of shit to deal with. I'd rather avoid that at all costs. I respect Jax, and don't want him giving himself a heart attack over nothing. Blake lets out his breath, his tension and anger palpable.
"Your friends are here, Mr. Mason," Jameson says opening the front door.
Miranda and Caleb strut into the room. Caleb is dressed in tight jeans, a flannel shirt, boots, and a cowboy hat. I think he's taking the hillbilly persona a little far. Miranda on the other hand looks like she should be standing on a corner. Her dress hardly covers her ass and is so low cut she might as well be topless. She's wearing thigh high, come-fuck-me boots and more make-up than Bozo the Clown.
Wonder how much she charges?
"Hey baby," Miranda coos, running her hands up Blake's chest to his neck.
"Hey, hon," he says in a nonchalant tone, briefly hugging her back.
"Sup, bro," Caleb says as he and Blake bump fists. "You ready to have some fun?"
"Yep. Looks like we’ve got a bigger crowd coming." Blake's eyes dart to me, followed by Caleb's.