Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Russian roulette?”
Trav laughs. “Nope. We’re going to race. First one to take down and put a gun of choice back together gets to ask the other person anything, and if they don’t want to answer, they lose an item of clothing.”
“I’m only wearing a pair of sweats that are three sizes too big. It will be a short game.”
“Guess you’ll have to answer my questions, then.”
The only reason I’m contemplating taking him up on this is because there’s so much about Trav and what Mike Bravo actually does that is unknown. “We can ask anything?”
“Anything.”
“Deal.” I take a Glock 22, the same type of gun we use in the DEA. I could empty this and put it back together in my sleep.
“Wise choice.” Trav goes for a different handgun—a Baretta M9.
“You sure your thick fingers are okay to get into all the nooks and crannies on that one?”
He holds up his fingers and wiggles them. “I could show you how good they are at getting into nooks and crannies instead of playing this game if you like.”
“Hmm, nah. I want to do this. It sounds more fun than your fingers going anywhere near my nook.”
“Just for that, we’re having sex right after we’re done.” He grumbles, “Insult my sex skills and try to get away with it.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on getting away with it.” I smile over at him. While he’s caught off guard with my openness, I take my opportunity to get a head start. “And go.”
I’ve removed the magazine and ejected any live ammo in the chamber before he even starts. I take down the Glock, remove the barrel and guide rod, lay them out on the table, and then reassemble it just as fast.
When I’m done, I take my hands and put them in the air a split second before Trav does.
“Damn, Agent Rodriguez. You got skills.”
“And I get a question.”
Trav leans forward. “Better make it a good one.”
I mirror him, bringing our faces mere inches apart. “What is the most top-secret mission Mike Bravo has ever carried out?”
Trav’s face drops. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”
I shift backward, leaning against the backrest of the chair. “Answer, big boy, or lose your pants.”
Trav stands and drops his sweats, revealing a nice bulge hiding behind boxer briefs. But my view is cut off when he sits again. “Round two. And no head start this time. Hands on the table, palms down, and I’ll say when to go. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No throwing me off either. I’m tempted to duct-tape your mouth closed so I can concentrate.”
“Kinky.” I place my hands where he wants them.
“I can’t tell if I like this side of you or not. I’m supposed to be the one who teases and throws you off your game.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a big, hard-ass like you would be so easy to rattle.” But there’s no denying it is a lot more fun on this side.
“Okay. Game face on, baby. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Go.”
We race again, and this time, he kicks my ass.
Now all I have to worry about is the neighbors seeing if they look over the fence and find me naked. Because no matter what he asks, I’m not going to—
“On a scale of one to ten, how sexy do you find me?”
I burst out laughing. “Really? That’s the question you’re going to go with?”
“I had another one in mind, but I’m keeping it in my back pocket for now.”
“Well, seeing as I would like to keep my pants on, and I guess I have to answer truthfully, you’re a total ten …”
His gaze narrows at the pause in my tone.
“If you have your mouth shut.”
“Lies. I’m a twelve with my mouth shut.”
Well, he isn’t wrong.
We go round for round, and he asks me the most mundane questions like if I’m a cat person or a dog person: cat. What my favorite color is: I don’t have one; I’m not five. And if I had the chance to have dinner with anyone living or dead but not famous, who would it be. It’s the only question I don’t have an answer to.
After I get naked, Trav finally lets me win a round. Or maybe he was too distracted by my inability to answer a simple question.
The truth is, there is no one. Sure, I could’ve said my parents so I could let them know I was okay. But the matter is, that’s not what the question meant. He asked because he wanted to know who was important to me. He was trying to ask if there has ever been anyone so special in my life.
I’ve never let anyone get close to me, because I’ve been too busy trying to prove myself. To my family, to the police force, to my DEA bosses. And for what?
Right now, I have nothing. Not even any clothes because I couldn’t answer his question.