I have to bite down on the inside of my own cheek to keep from asking her if she’s really okay with coming on this retrieval mission. I have a feeling she wouldn't be too pleased with that question, however. This is a clearly capable woman. More than that, she seems determined. She wouldn't have all of that research if she weren't. She wants to do this, and I won't be the one to stand in her way.
But that's not to say that I won't worry about her wellbeing. I vow to keep an eye on her and pull her at the first sign that she is taking on too much. I get the distinct impression that Mila is quick to blame herself for other people's shortcomings and wrongdoings. Not many people would choose to dedicate their lives like Mila has.
It's admirable, and I don't know her enough to fuck with that.
The elevator's clear ding echoes through the enclosed room before the doors slide open.
Just as I'm about to walk out, a familiar face stops me. It's like worlds colliding, and it rattles me.
"T-Bone? Is that you?" Ben is just as surprised to see me here as I am to see him.
Although I really wish he hadn't used that painful nickname to greet me. I was hoping Mila would never learn of it. It's too late, though. Her perfect eyebrows are already arched into a question. She'll be asking me about that later.
Ben Beaufort is an old family friend. Our parents got together a few times, taking all of us kids camping to find a few good grazing spots. Cattle shifters always find a way to graze in groups. Eating in large social groups is good for the digestion.
"Ben, hey. I heard you had joined the Academy." We do a quick hug and back pat by way of greeting. I can feel Mila's eyes roaming over me with curiosity.
"What are you doing here?" Ben asks, still fairly shocked to see me at FUCNA. After all, I work for a human police force, and it's not common knowledge that I am the liaison between FUCNA and the RCMP.
"Here on a case," I answer, gesturing to Mila.
"You get to work with Mila?" He smiles at me like I'm in for it.
I already know that. She will definitely be an interesting partner to work with.
"That's right." I shoot her a smile.
"Well, good luck with that," Ben says before retreating into the elevator.
Mila leads me down the hall toward the cafeteria. For a few precious seconds, I think that I'm home free, that she won't ask me about the T-Bone thing.
"So...T-Bone? Why the hell is your nickname T-Bone?" She doesn't even try to contain her smile.
"Because my last name starts with a T and because I'm a Hairy Coo."
"A what now?"
"Highland Cattle, you know those great red-haired bulls from Scotland? I have wicked horns," I add, giving her a sly smile.
"Wait." Her eyes open wide in panic. "Aren't those bred for meat?"
"Yes," I confirm.
Laughter explodes out of her. "That is both hilarious and kind of fucked up. How is T-Bone better than your actual name?"
I clamp my mouth shut, avoiding her gaze.
"Agent Thrussell, let me see your badge." Mila's entire face is lit up like she's about to solve a great big mystery.
"No, that's okay."
Without warning, Mila's hand shoots out, going for my back pocket where I'm storing my badge. Her fingers graze my ass, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. I close my hand around hers, trying to stop her process, but it's no use. She's already opened the badge.
"Courtney Thrussell III?" She reads it again before looking up to me. "Your parents called you Courtney?"
"They did," I confirm. "It's my grandfather's name and my father's as well. It's a well-known name in the RCMP. Besides, my father says that it was good for me to have a name like Courtney growing up."
"Your dad Johnny Cashed you." Her laugh is musical, even the little snort that surprises the hell out of her. She covers her mouth as she starts humming A Boy Named Sue.
"Historically speaking, Courtney was a masculine name,” I try to defend. The fact is true, but it does nothing to staunch her giggles. I won’t say that I like the sound of her laugh. Nope. Not even a little bit. Especially not the way it tickles down my back, warming my heart.
"Sure, T-Bone. That's what I'm calling you from now on, by the way."
We walk into the cafeteria, and Mila immediately goes to the cash register. I watch with interest as she interacts with the staff while I grab a few things because I am always hungry. Contrary to popular beliefs, cattle do not have four stomachs. We do, however, have a very complex digestive system, which does leave us feeling peckish more often than not.
One of the staff members scurries off into the back and soon returns with an opened to-go container on which a patty of raw meat sits. I don't miss the way Mila's eyes grow wide in anticipation.
"What is that?" I point to her repulsive-looking meal as we make our way out of the cafeteria on the way to Director Cooper’s office.
"Steak tartare," she answers, taking a reverent bite.
Really, that is the only way to describe it. Her eyes roll back before she closes them, her lips sliding along the fork.
Mila is eating raw cow.
I’m bovine.
Very much unlike me, I have a dirty thought as I wonder if there is another type of beef cut she would like to taste. Particularly something in my southern region.
I shake the thought from my
