With no other choice, I headed to the showers, hoping like hell the place was empty by the time I got there. I didn’t think any of the guys would appreciate hearing me jacking off.
After probably fifteen minutes too long in the shower—admittedly, rubbing one out may have been involved—I headed into the main area. I winced when I saw Michaels walking a little bow-legged, pressing an icepack against his crotch. “Dinner’s on me,” I called out to him.
He grunted, not bothering to look my way before he hollered, “I also expect a bottle of the good stuff in my locker come morning.”
I groaned at that. Not only was Michaels a shifter who had a huge appetite, but his taste for booze leaned towards the expensive side. “Your balls should have healed by now. Call yourself a shifter?” I quipped, earning me a flip of his middle finger. Jenson snorted at that. “Maybe you should help him kiss it better,” I shouted at Jenson. He was wide-eyed for the barest of moments, surprising me, until his face shuttered and his eyebrow cocked.
“Doesn’t he wish,” he scoffed.
“Rack off,” Michaels shouted, his supernatural hearing picking up Jenson’s words despite being in a different room. “You’re the one who wishes.”
I heard the grumble but wasn’t sure Jenson picked it up. It sucked to be human, I was sure. With a shrug, and perhaps spending too much time mulling over if there was anything deeper in the jibes between Jenson and Michaels, I made my way to Kent.
“What’s cooking?”
She cast me the barest of glances, though still managed a withering edge to it. “Just finalising intel on a new place Thatch wants to hit tomorrow.”
I nodded and reached out to the box of barbecue-flavoured Shapes I spotted. After opening the box and the enclosed wrapper, I scooped out a handful and shoved them in my mouth, munching loudly.
“Do you have to be here for that?” She shot me a look that would make weaker men wilt.
“What?” I mumbled, deliberately letting a few crumbs fall from my mouth. There was no denying I knew how to piss her off. It helped that I was bored and ready to head out, even though it wasn’t all that late.
She sighed. Impressive, since she didn’t breathe. “Thatch said he wanted to see you when you got your arse out of the shower from whacking off to him.”
The dry biscuits caught in my throat. Hacking, I coughed, trying desperately to breathe, in the process spraying the biscuits in a good metre radius around me. Mortification attempted to rear its head but breathing seemed a bigger priority at the moment.
“For fuck’s sake.” There went her sigh again as she leaned over and smacked me on the back. I shoved forward, flying into the counter, still managing to keep hold of the chair somehow. Pain warred with the relief that I could finally gasp for air.
“Bloody hell,” I croaked. “I think you cracked my spine.” I eyed her as she shook her head, returning to her computer screens.
“You’re such a limp dick, I swear. I have no freakin’ idea what he sees in you.”
That had me pausing, my ears ringing, though I wasn’t sure if it was from lack of oxygen, the pain from her hit, or the possibility of her knowing whether Thatch actually liked me. “What?” I managed, calming my breathing and tentatively reaching around and rubbing my sore back. “Did you have to hit quite so hard?”
“You’re welcome for helping you breathe.”
“And piercing my lungs with my now broken ribcage,” I mumbled.
Even only seeing the side of her face, I knew she rolled her eyes again, but I also saw her lips twitch. She loved me. Thought I was awesome. She just wasn’t quite prepared to admit that aloud. And that was okay. She would.
“So…” I edged closer to her. “What exactly does the hunk of a boss man see in me?”
“You sound a little desperate there, Callen.”
Meh. There was no denying it. “And?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but I froze, becoming aware of Thatch’s presence. I angled my head in his direction.
Despite this, she continued, all of us fully aware she knew he was in the room. “He wants to lick your Zooper Dooper.”
I visualised the long, thin iced pole.
Holy shit on toast. Okay, so not quite what I was expecting. “Actually,” I said, reacting immediately, trying to take control of my mortification, “It’s more like a Cyclone.” At that, she cast me a bemused glance. “You know, the Paddle Pop—not only long but thick.” Her amusement should have been enough to get me to stop, but I was too far gone. “Just to be clear,” I shouted in the air, directing it at Thatch, but not quite brave enough to look at him just yet. “My Zooper Dooper is not skinny.” I pointed a look at Kent and this time found her grinning. It was the first time I’d seen her genuinely amused and embracing it.
I also didn’t miss the “For shit’s sake,” from Thatch.
“And,” I continued, “you know I run hot, not like you icy vamps.”
At that, Kent rolled her eyes. By this point I was worried she’d get eye strain or something if she kept at it. I wondered if she could get workers comp for that.
“Callen.”
Thatch’s voice stopped me, which was probably a good idea. Screw mortification. When challenged, it was always best to roll with it.
“Yep?” This time I glanced at him, fixing a shit-eating grin on my face.
He shook his head and exhaled loudly, his cheeks puffing out at the gesture. “Just get your arse in my office.” With that, he turned on his heels and walked away. I jumped up to follow, leaving Kent’s laughter behind and Michaels adding,
