Page 13 of Consumed
They spoke some more about the mission and about coyote shifters—and shifters in general. Molina knew quite a lot about the subject, which probably explained why he’d been chosen for this job. Con had only ever met a single dog shifter, a Bureau agent named Edge who stuck close to his human partner when they were around HQ and tended not to talk very much.
Molina, on the other hand, was a voluble and animated speaker with a lot of interesting stories. He used his hands a lot as he spoke, sometimes putting his water glass in peril but never quite knocking it over. Slightly enraptured, Con listened and ate too much and drank a gallon of tea and even laughed sometimes.
It was the most fun he’d had in… a long time.
Only as they were paying for the meal did Con remember that he was working. He wasn’t supposed to be having fun.
Except maybe the two weren’t mutually exclusive?
It was strange. While Con and Isaac—the transformation from Molina to Isaac had happened over dinner—walked slowly back to the hotel, Con felt something cracking inside him. It was like a geological fault opening up and moving, and that should have been a bad thing because faults caused earthquakes. But the change felt… welcome. As if he’d been wearing a corset that had suddenly loosened a little.
And good heavens, what was hisproblem? Drag him out of the Antarctic for one single day and all of a sudden he was pretending to be a whole different person.
“You all right, dude?”
They were crossing the hotel parking lot and Con looked at Isaac in surprise. “Huh?”
“You were scowling. I thought maybe your leg was hurting.”
Con sighed noisily. Of course his leg was hurting—it always did. But it wasn’t any achier than usual right now, and it wasn’t why he’d worn that expression. “I’m fine.”
Isaac stopped in his tracks and caught Con’s arm. “Look. I’m gonna stop asking you whether you’re okay and whether shit’s hurting you. I’m not your mommy, and I bet the questions get old really fast. But we’re partners, right? We rely on each other, which means we can’t keep any secrets that might endanger anyone. So do me a favor. If you don’t feel up to something, if something’s causing you pain, let me know. Just like I’ll tell you if something’s not working for me.”
It was an entirely reasonable request and thoughtful too, so Con nodded. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me.”
“Dude.” Isaac rolled his eyes theatrically. “I’ve worked with all kinds of people in the Bureau, and some of them were… different. Like, have you ever met Charles Grimes and Tenrael?”
Con shuddered slightly. Grimes and Tenrael weren’t agents, but they did occasional contract work for the Bureau. Which was fine, except Grimes was an extremely creepy half-angel, and Tenrael was a genuine demon—horns and all—who preferred to walk around naked, his huge black wings furled against his back. They were good guys, as far as Con could tell, but they also scared him to death.
Isaac chuckled. “Yeah. They’re different all right. Anyway, my point is that we gotta work with the partner we have. You don’t get around so great. I fuck up the paperwork—when I manage to do it at all. It’s fine. We’ll adjust.”
Oh no. That fault line widened and shifted again—crack. Isaac Molina wasn’t anything like what Con had expected.
Back inside their room, Con recorded the day’s expenses and reread the briefing paper while Isaac sprawled on his bed watching a cop show on TV. Isaac kept up a running commentary, mostly of details about law enforcement that the program got wrong. Con should have been irritated, but he found himself smiling.
Craaaack.
At a relatively early hour, Con stood up from the desk, stretched a little, and announced he was going to get ready for bed. After Isaac nodded absently, Con gathered a few things from his suitcase and went into the bathroom. He did all the usual nighttime things and put on his pajamas. Then he spent far too long dithering behind the closed door—for no reason he could name. Finally, disgusted with himself, he flung the door open, shuffled to his bed, and dove under the blankets.
Isaac clicked off the TV, shot Con a grin, and sauntered into the bathroom. He was in there a while. When the shower started to run, Con seriously thought about turning the TV back on to drown out the noise. But that probably wouldn’t help. He’d still picture Isaac naked and wet, the water glistening on his olive skin, his dark curls shining, his….
Stop it!
Con thought he had himself back under control until Isaac emerged wearing nothing but a pair of red bikini underwear. Jockey brand. Con knew that detail because it said so right on the waistband, and good Lord, that meant he was staring, and he tried to tear his gaze away. But all his eyes were willing to do was take in Isaac’s long body: lean around the waist, tightly muscled at arms, chest, and thighs. Dark hair across his pecs, down his abs, leading to—
This was incredibly unprofessional and also completely humiliating.
But Isaac grinned and struck a pose, one hand on a cocked hip.
“Do you want to fuck?” he asked cheerily.
Con felt his face go fiery red. He may have made a loud gulping sound.
Isaac came a step closer. “I’m not teasing. I mean it. It’s not that late and we don’t have to leave super early and, well, why not go for it?” It was very nearly the same tone he’d used when he suggested ordering four main dishes at dinner instead of two. Con had given in then, but he couldn’t now.
“We can’t!”
“Why not?” Isaac seemed genuinely puzzled. “I kinda thought you were into me, and I like you too.”
