Page 31 of The Wild Charge

Black jeans in-hand, he searched out Reese – who he found standing off to the side, hands in his pockets, scanning their corner of the store with enough visible vigilance that a few shoppers had noticed, and were frowning at him.

Tenny took a moment to appreciate – or, rather, chuckle at – the borrowed khakis and pressed shirt he’d worn to meet Mrs. Eckridge, none of it flattering or properly fitted, all of it contrasted by his tidy little bun and the hawkish gaze he panned back and forth across the men’s section.

Tenny approached, and smacked him in the chest with the ripped skinny jeans, which Reese grabbed on instinct, holding them there as he turned a questioning look on Tenny. It was a subtle look, same as all his others, and Tenny didn’t think a stranger would have noticed the fractional pluck of his mouth and flex of his brows. Buthecould read him –only I can, he thought, with a pleasurable curl of victory in his belly.

“Wear these,” he said, withdrawing his hand after a long beat, stealing a moment with his palm pressed flat to the jeans – and Reese’s chest beneath. Sue him, it was a nice chest. “We’ll find you a shirt.”

Reese held his gaze another moment, then looked down at the jeans in his hand. “They’re ripped.”

“So are all of your jeans.”

“But I didn’t buy them that way.”

“It’s fashion.”

Reese sent him a look that was less blank than it used to be. A slight groove formed between his brows, and his regard was unimpressed.

“Come on.” Tenny draped an arm across his shoulders and steered him toward a rack, only belatedly realizing what he’d done. He touched people casually on ops, in whatever was most fitting for the assignment – but he didn’t exchange casual touches when he was in his own skin. He’d never even shared them with Reese before. Their touches tended to be more…pointed. Intimate.

But here they were now, and he wasn’t going to retreat.

“I have clothes,” Reese protested.

“None of which scream ‘I’m in college and here for a good time.’ So. Hence the shopping.”

Reese didn’t respond, but he didn’t shrug him off and he didn’t resist when Tenny guided him to a row of long-tailed, graphic tees that Tenny thought would instantly make the wearer look punchable. Appropriate for costume purposes, at least.

Reese turned to glance at him, his breath warm against the scar on Tenny’s neck. When Tenny suppressed a reaction, and arched a brow instead, Reese faced the clothes and reached to shuffle through them. The hangers clicked together as he moved, giving each a quick once-over before moving on. One seemed just as good as the next to Tenny, but when Reese finally paused, and pulled one out, his throat went dry.

“What about this?” Reese asked.

It’s just a shirt, Tenny tried to reason.You’ve seen him naked more than a dozen times.

Still, he swallowed with difficulty, and his voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be when he said, “That’s…fine.”

He probably imagined the flicker of pleasure that touched Reese’s face.

~*~

Reese turned side-to-side in front of the wide bathroom mirror back at the hotel, inspecting his outfit. That in and of itself felt strange, because usually, if he took the time to examine his reflection, it was to ensure that his weapons were tucked safely out of sight, or that his grease paint had been thoroughly applied. He never looked at the clothes themselves; never thought about the way they made him look beyond their usefulness.

But he hadn’t imagined Tenny’s look before, when they were shopping: that quicksilver flash of heat and want. He was getting better and better at recognizing those impulses on others – especially on Tenny.

The jeans were those Tenny had picked out: stretchy and fitted, they clung to his hips, ass, and legs like a second skin, save where they were shredded all down his thighs and knees. The shirt was black, too, with thin straps, a deeply scooped neck and arm holes, and a shredded hem that showed off a good two inches of his stomach. It was printed all over with little white skulls and rosettes, and if he lifted his arms, the arm holes gaped so wide his nipples nearly showed.

It was more skin than he’d ever shown on an op.

More skin than he ever showed period, minus showers and sex.

He fiddled with the necklace he wore – a black leather choker set with metal studs – and then the matching belt. With his hair half-up, and more of his body on display than he was comfortable with, it struck him, suddenly, that he didn’t look at all like himself.

And also that he couldn’t remember ever feeling self-conscious about his own appearance like this before. Clothes kept him warm, kept him protected, enabled him to blend in. He’d never stopped to wonder about the aesthetics of them, about the way they might make him look to other people.

Frowning a little at his reflection, he shut out the light and went out into the room.

Fox had booked two rooms, to Reese’s surprise. On a short trip like this, he’d anticipated one room, all of them jockeying for turns in the bath. But Fox was next door, and Tenny was reclined back on one of the queen beds, staring disinterestedly at the TV, hands folded behind his head.

He glanced over when Reese emerged – and then froze, and glanced again, a slow slide of his eyes while the rest of his face went blank.

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