Page 110 of Impossible

“I mean, if we ever got invited to the Oval Office,” Leon offers. I shove my embarrassment down, choking it back from the bond, but of course, Risk notices. Risk notices everything.

I turn my back to the group, pretending to examine a row of frilly blouses, trying to school my features into something acceptable. I scent woodsmoke before Risk’s hand comes to rest on my back. I fight my instinct to look around, to see if anybody noticed, to cringe away.

He’s thinking of the skirt. It’s ugly, Joshua was right. Risk is imagining it with fishnets, a moto jacket, but it just doesn’t work. I don’t know what I’m doing.

“Whatever,” I mutter. “It’s no big deal.”

And it isn’t. I just don’t know how to have fun like the rest of them. I don’t know how to be funny. I’m not good at this stuff.

Risk kicks the toes of his cowboy boots together. I remember when he got them. We were in Denver after a brutal, bloody retrieval mission, with a night to kill before our flight. Risk found a country western bar. He snuck off after dinner and when he met up with us out front, he was dressed to the nines in full cowboy regalia. Boots, hat, a big brass buckle, checkered shirt tucked into Levi’s pre-worn to be perfectly faded.

Of course, his ponytail and piercings were in stark contrast with the traditional cowboy ensemble, but that didn’t stop the betas at the bar from throwing themselves at him. Boyfriends looked on; in envy or lust, it was hard to tell. Risk picked up the line dances like they were already imprinted in his brain. I liked watching him. We all did—the mission was a rough one. It was nice seeing him happy. And the girls in their floral dresses and cowboy boots—well, I had liked them too. I didn’t dance of course, but the memory is a good one.

Risk picks up on my memory. The girls in particular—swirling skirts and tan legs and big smiles. “That’s you,” he murmurs.

His words don’t do the idea justice, but his thoughts in the bond do. Simple. Not an attempt to impress anybody else. Just pretty dresses. Just because. Frivolous, really.

“I can’t get her one of those,” I protest. But the thought of Indie in a dress, twirling around, joy in her eyes—my pine scent soaks the air.

Risk shrugs. He looks over at Leon and Joshua. Joshua is holding a bundle of hangers. Sweaters and shirts and pants in all colors of the rainbow.

“That’s too much,” I start, but then Risk is remembering Indie in her faded jeans, her taped-together shoes, the wordignominiousheavy on her lips.

“I know,” I counter. I probably look insane to anybody around us—Risk is all bond-talk, and here I am just talking to myself. “ButI’mthe one who likes dresses. Not Indie. This is for Indie. Not us.”

My hand is already grazing over the brightly patterned fabric of a short sundress though. It’s all jewel tones in a busy pattern—it would set her hair and eyes off beautifully. Risk paints the thought effortlessly—Indie in the dress, smiling as she runs up to me, throws her arms around my neck in a greeting hug, steps back and gives a twirl to show off the skirt.

I feel like a teenager—it’s just soinnocent, so simple. I want to wrap my arms around her waist in that dress. I want to swing her around and listen to her laugh and have her strong enough to dance all night long.

Risk takes the dress from me. Then his arm is around my waist again and his breath is in my ear as he whispers, “she’ll love it.” Just when I think he’s going to take it too far and try to kiss me, add me to his collection of public displays, he whirls away, laying the dress down on the massive pile in Joshua’s arms.

“Hollis picked this one,” he says loudly.

Leon eyes the dress critically, then smiles. “She’ll look cute in that,” he says, his lopsided grin coming easy at the thought of her.

Joshua smiles too, and that’s when I realize he’s sweating under the weight of all the clothes. “Need to hit the gym again, huh?” I tease, snaking my hands down his arms and lifting the pile free. It is stiflingly hot under the heavy load, and Joshua sags once I have the weight.

He shrugs, self-conscious. He’s never been the most motivated alpha when it comes to physical prowess. He’s still taller than your average beta, but he’s not bulky. He never will be. The physical requirements for field work were always difficult for him to pass, but he pushed himself. For us.

“I go before work every morning,” I say. “Come with me. Just some light weights, don’t even have to do cardio.”

Joshua does a doubletake. “Go to the gym? With you?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” I backpedal. “I just thought, you know, if you wanted—”

“Of course,” he cuts me off, nodding too fast. “Yeah. Totally. I’d like that. You don’t have to like, train me or anything though. I can just, like, watch you and learn. I don’t want to disrupt your routine.”

If I couldn’t feel his nerves in the bond, I’d think he just didn’t want to go. But I can feel them, and since my hands aren’t free, I bump my shoulder against his, smile and say, “don’t worry, I’ll kick your ass extra special gentle.”

He laughs.

Then I realize:Imade him laugh. I fight to keep the embarrassing rush of pleasure from overwhelming the bond but of course it does anyway. People are staring and I’m carrying at least twenty items of clothing intended for a teenage girl and I laugh out loud, because I realize: I don’t care at all, not even a little bit, and Risk is laughing too, because he’s witnessed my little journey, and Leon is looking between all of us in confusion which only makes us laugh harder, and then he’s laughing too and the only thing missing is Indie.

Soon, I vow.Soon.

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