Page 24 of Play the Game

Jason and I exchanged a quick glance.

“That coffee smells amazing,” Hart continued. “Any chance you made enough for three more?”

“Before a workout?” Li asked.

“Yes, please, God,” Kessler muttered. Of the three of them, she was the least excited to see the crack of dawn.

“You get a stomachache every time you do that,” Li told her.

I smiled, watching the two who had become best friends since Li had joined HEAT last December. It reminded me of Jason and me in thebeforetimes.

“Fine,” Kessler said. “But Jensen, would you make a pot for us so we can have it as soon as our workout is over? Pretty please?”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m happy to make it for you, but you’ll have to come get me when you’re ready to drink it. I won’t be responsible for the ingestion of old coffee. We’re not animals here.”

While he bantered with the tactical crew plus one, I slipped out the door and into the sanctity of the logistics room. I closed the door behind me and booted up my computer, glad to have the escape of my work, important work that I loved, to distract me.

A couple of minutes later, Jason knocked, then entered the room. He was carrying two coffee mugs. He set one down in front of me. “You forgot this.” He backed up to the door, making it clear he wasn’t staying. “I’ll give you all the space and time you need. But when you’re ready, please come and find me. I’ll be waiting. I miss my best friend, Tam. I really miss you.”

My stomach flipped again, and this time my heart joined it. He was right, this wasn’t just about our physical attraction or our friendship. But going down that path would break even more rules than we already had, which would never work, because he was right about the rest of it, too. I missed him as much as he missed me, but until I could trust myself not to screw up my job and our relationship, I had to stay away from him.

* * *

Jason

On Thursday night,I stood behind the bar in the HEAT HQ lounge, trying to remember what the hell I’d just put into the concoction I was mixing in a large glass pitcher. I’d been making drinks for team parties since my earliest days at HEAT. I’d never been great at it, which was a novelty for me and more than half the fun of it, so I’d never sought out a mentor or watched a bartending YouTube video or even cracked a good, old-fashioned drink recipe book.

Once the Alpha Team had coalesced last December, my mad, bad skills had reached a whole new level. No team had ever maligned and appreciated my cocktail experiments more, and I recognized these nights for the special bonding events they were. Back in middle and high school, my gifts to my friends had been hacking into systems to make any bad things go away. My connection with my mother had been through cooking elaborate meals she couldn’t resist. My tribute to my HEAT teammates was truly awful booze, and it was a testament to how close we’d become in such a short time that they never refused to try my experiments. Although I did occasionally catch a few of them dumping out the remainder of some of the truly vile drinks.

But now, I was in the lounge ten minutes before friends would arrive, and I remember which ingredients from my most recent recipe I’d already measured and poured. I glugged in some vodka, squeezed in the juice of half a lemon, added some mango-flavored popping pearls, and stirred everything together. I was calling this one the Kate-astrophy in honor of Alder’s first foray into the field tomorrow. Being honest with myself, I realized I’d added the pearls because mango was Tam’s favorite fruit. Maybe I would tell her later that its aka name was the Tam-pology, although that sounded a little too close to tampon, so maybe not.

While I loved being truly bad at bartending, I hated second-guessing myself regarding my relationship with my best friend. At least, I still considered her my best friend. After this morning’s tiff, I had no idea where I stood with her. If I’d ruined us just for the hottest hand job of my life, I’d never forgive myself.

But it hadn’t been “just” anything, and I hadn’t really had any intention of keeping my promise to be satisfied after only one night with her. I’d gone into that deal in bad faith. Then instead of apologizing to her when I’d had my chance that morning, I’d cornered her and started an argument. I was so frustrated and exhausted and confused, and the one person who could help me make sense of it, who always had my back, was the last person on earth I could ask for help.

The slap of Bond’s high-heeled sandals bounced off the gym walls as she approached the lounge. She made a beeline for the bar.

“You’re early.” I held up my concoction. “That means you have time to sample my newest masterpiece.

She blanched, then fished behind the bar. “I’d better wait for the team. I’ll just have some whisky to calm my nerves.”

“Bad day?” I asked. It seemed to be catching.

“Bad patient.” She poured herself a small finger of whisky and threw it back in one gulp. “I mean, none of you are great patients, but Penn is miserable.”

I furrowed my brow. “I thought he was leaving.”

“Not soon enough.” She poured another shot of whisky but sipped it this time. “Medical transport was running late due to the thunderstorm earlier. They just came ten minutes ago to take him to the plane. He’ll be home with his husband in Virginia in a few hours.”

“That should make him feel better.”

She scowled. “I doubt it. I’ve sent his husband care instructions, but I’m worried the poor guy doesn’t know what he’s in for.” She took another small sip. “Which is why I gave him my private cell number.” She closed her eyes and puffed out a breath. “God, I hope I don’t come to regret that.”

“Who has regrets?” Alder asked. She entered the lounge with Kessler.

“Everyone who’s dealt with Penn since last Friday,” Bond said.

“Where are your tactical teammates?” I asked Kessler.

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