Three is a War(25)

Six months. I’m not sure how I feel about that time line. Maybe it’s exactly what I need. Before I left, I wasted so much energy on beating myself up because I couldn’t make a decision. It would be nice to just take one day at a time without worrying about making them wait.

Ten minutes later, Cole drives us out of the cove and into the open lake. The chilly air nips at my cheeks, but the sun is warm and energizing. Before the boat speeds up, I move to the front and stretch out on the curved bench seat. Trace sits beside me, his sunglasses back in place.

I open my mouth to ask if there are extra shades, but he’s already removing a pair from his pocket. They look identical to the cat eye sunglasses I keep in my car.

“Thanks.” I slide them on. “Did you steal these from me?”

“No.” His teeth scrape his bottom lip. “I bought them because they reminded me of the first day we spent together.”

The day he ran errands with me. He was so standoffish and rude when we met, but there was something compelling about him, something magnetic and so damn irresistible I tolerated his bullshit. In fact, I craved more of it. More of him.

“You kissed me that day,” I whisper wistfully and peek behind me.

Cole doesn’t seem to hear us over the wind and the motor. Aviator glasses conceal his eyes, his head turned slightly away as he steers us through the open water. Since there aren’t many boats out, the lake is gentle and waveless.

Trace slides his fingers around mine, pulling my attention back to him. I hold his hand on my lap and trace his knuckles. The simple connection makes my chest feel lighter. The soft frown on his mouth heats my blood. And the caress of his gaze on my face makes me feel whole, more alive.

“Tell me a story.” The wind swallows my voice.

He waves at Cole and shouts, “Find a spot to park.”

Cole veers the boat into a quiet inlet enshrouded by trees and turns off the engine. The speakers in the boat crackle, and a second later, a punk rock song thumps on low volume.

Holding the remote to the stereo, Cole moves to the front and sits across from us. Beneath the heat of his stare, I squirm with the urge to put space between Trace and me. But Cole’s jaw is relaxed, his posture reclined and easy. He seems oddly content.

“What kind of story?” Trace hooks an arm around my back and toys with a tangled lock of my hair.

“I want to hear one about the two of you.” I adjust the sunglass on my face. “Something outrageous. The more embarrassing the better.”

Trace stretches his legs across the aisle and rests his feet on the bench seat beside Cole.

He’s wearing boots? They look expensive, the brown leather smooth and scratch-free. Such a drastic departure from his spit-shined loafers.

“I have a story.” The corner of Trace’s lips twists. “We just finished an assignment, and I had to take our rental car through one of those automated carwashes.”

Cole groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of all the stories to tell…”

“This is a good one.” Trace leans back, settling in. “Should I tell her why I needed to wash the car?”

“No,” Cole says at the same time as I say, “Yes.”

“Danni wins.” Trace smirks at Cole before turning to me. “The prior night, we went out to celebrate the success of the mission. Cole celebrated a little too hard.”

“Okay, for the record…” Cole leans forward. “We were in a place where I didn’t speak the language and didn’t know what I was drinking. Whatever they served me hit me sideways.”

“He threw up all the way home with his head hanging out of the window.” Trace grimaces. “Painted the side of the car in Technicolor.”

“Gross.” I laugh.

“Worse, I had to carry his heavy unconscious ass up three flights of stairs. So the next day, I made him go with me to the carwash, and that’s when the damn car broke down.”

“In the carwash?” I widen my eyes. “Were you stuck on those rail things that move the car forward?”

“Yes.” Trace nods at Cole. “He decides to jump out and push.”

“But there were water jets, right?” I shake my head, picturing him soaked to the bone and fuming mad.

“Yeah.” Cole rubs a hand over his head. “My entire leg was in a cast, which by the way, isn’t supposed to get wet.”

I sober. “Why were you in a cast?”

“Just another day on the job.” He winks at me.

“So Cole was out there in a cast,” Trace says, “trying to push a car with a broken leg while the automated scrubbers slapped him in the face.”