Page 35 of Knot Innocent

Watching Birdie settle in the living room, I realize how different our living spaces are. Hers is artsy and colorful, with plants and dicks all over the place. Mine is bare. Matching leather furniture and a big-ass TV adorn the living room, but the place is otherwise empty.

I forego shaving to match the devil-may-care persona I plan to project for the op. From my closet, I grab some athletic shorts, a black tee, and my grubbiest hat, which goes on backward. Birdie snickers when I walk back out. “You look like you’re ready for a game of cornhole at a frat party.”

“That’s the idea.”

Gesturing for me to come closer, she says, “All right. Let’s get you set up.”

I do as I’m told, and Birdie lifts her hands toward my head and chuckles. “Um… maybe you should sit down.”

I walk over to the sofa and sit, meaning Birdie now has to stand between my legs to do whatever she’s planning to do to my hat. Her proximity and our current height differential put her breasts right in front of my face.

If that wasn’t bad enough, with every breath I take, Birdie’s scent fills my senses, making me want to lock my arms around her waist and pull her closer.

“Hmm. I’d like to use a few more cameras, but there aren’t as many places on a guy to hide them without being obvious.”

She steps back finally, a good thing. I had resorted to holding my breath to keep from becoming hypnotized by her scent. I take a deep breath, and Birdie hands me an in-ear radio before placing her own. “These will record audio as a backup to the primary camera. We’ll be able to talk to each other, as will Jackson.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go catch this bastard.”

Bastien

Captain, a beautiful four-year-old black boxer, jumps onto the hood of Jackson’s truck, barking as soon as I pull into the parking lot. She hops down the instant I open my door, racing toward me, tongue wagging.

I stoop to pet her, hitting that good spot behind her ear. “Hey, girl. Did you miss me?”

Jackson walks up behind her, reeling in the excess leash rope. “She’s my dog. Why the hell would she miss you?”

Giving Captain a final pat, I stand and accept my friend’s hand. “Thanks for doing this, man.” I let go and gesture to Birdie. “Jackson Bennett, meet Birdie Crenshaw.”

Jackson hands me the leash and approaches. “Some friends of mine are fans of yours.”

At Birdie’s wary expression, he chuckles and explains, “Do the names Leo and Mira Ramsay ring a bell?”

Birdie nods. “You know Skin?”

“Please. I’m technically Skin’s boss.”

The light bulb goes off when she realizes what he means, and I finish their introduction. “Birdie, meet Lieutenant Jackson “Clothespin” Bennett of the US Navy SEALs.”

She adjusts her glasses and tentatively shakes his hand. “I appreciate your help.”

Birdie scans the immediate area and swings her bag around to open the top. “I guess we should get set up.”

Two minutes later, Jackson has his radio in place, and we all are switched on for auto transmission. Birdie double-checks my camera and confirms that it’s recording and the feed is being received. “Ok. We’re ready.”

“Then let’s do this,” I say.

The three of us walk in together, with Birdie and Jackson splitting off while I get Captain checked in. Once she’s green-lighted, I turn her loose and clock my team at a table away from the entrance.

To fit in, I play with Captain for a while and walk her through some of the doggie jungle gyms, all the while listening to a running commentary from Jackson. The bastard is being a little too generous, sharing embarrassing stories about me with Birdie, knowing I can’t break character and stop him.

When he gets to a particularly humiliating story, I pick up a frisbee and bring it up to cover my face. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Birdie’s musical laugh comes through the radio, a much better sound than her anguished cry from last night. Jackson ignores me and continues the twisted tale, embellishing details to make me look even more like an ass.

By now, we’ve been here about twenty minutes, and I take a circuit around the place, stopping by the bar for a beer to blend in better.

Cracking the seal on the Ghost Train lager, I glance toward my team and notice Birdie’s tense posture. I bring the beer to my lips and take a sip, holding it up to shield my mouth. “What’s wrong?”

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