I could use a reprieve from his attention, so I’d jumped on that with barely veiled enthusiasm.

Something he found amusing, and didn’t hide, so I hid how I liked that I amused him.

After I agreed, I ignored the squishy, warm feeling I felt when he asked if I’d seen any of the John Wick movies, saying he’d seen them all, but wouldn’t mind watching them again.

I’d seen them all.

And wouldn’t mind watching them again.

This indicating we might have the same taste in films, which, for me, was huge.

I then was forced to converse with him while icing my forehead and alternately sipping the beer he’d brought me.

During this, I learned his parents were still together, he had a younger sister, they all still lived back in Minnesota where he’d grown up, and his younger sister was imminently marrying a guy Mag was not altogether fond of.

He did not dive deep into that.

He also shared, not surprisingly, he was a high school football star who a couple of colleges had wanted to give a scholarship.

But as he had not been “super hyped to spend another minute in a classroom,” he’d gone against his parents’ wishes and enlisted in the Marines.

However, parlaying this information changed his affect so much, seeing it manifest itself in pretty much every inch of his frame, specifically his expression, I felt my stomach twist.

He did not delve deeply into that either.

This instead led him to ending the conversation, rising from his chair, checking my bump, muttering, “I think we kicked the swelling,” and thus, he took away the ice.

All the way.

Meaning, he took it to the kitchen and dealt with it.

I didn’t have to move.

Shortly after, the pizza arrived.

Totally 1987, Mag refused to allow me to give him any money to pitch in for the food.

Though mostly sweet, he only argued for a couple minutes about me renting the movie.

I did not keep a normal, healthy schedule. My stripper work started at seven at night, ended at two thirty in the morning, and the various other jobs, both paid and unpaid, that I had besides kept me on the go.

So, in the end, it was fortunate that Mag decided not to invade my space on the couch and instead eat his pizza and watch the movie in my armchair, because I fell asleep on my couch.

Mag woke me by calling my name, and when I opened my eyes, I saw his eyelashes because he was again bent close to me.

Thus ensued another squishy feeling.

“Sorry, babe, we gotta get going,” he said quietly. “It’s ten and we need to swing by my place, get my gear, get you kitted, and I gotta have time to recon that facility. I’ve never been there before.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask what getting me “kitted” meant or apologize for falling asleep on him.

That said, he didn’t seem upset I had.

He seemed mellow and relaxed, and I didn’t want to, but I liked that he seemed that way with me in my space after only knowing me a couple of hours, some of that time I’d been sparring with him, some of it making an idiot of myself, some of it asleep.

He continued speaking.

“You’ll have to be seen going in alone, so we need to take two cars. You can follow me to my place.”

With that, he took my hand and tugged me out of the couch.

I then drowsily went about the business of putting on my shoes that I’d obviously kicked off in my sleep, donning my blazer, grabbing my phone, bag and keys, and mindlessly swiping on another coat of lip gloss.

Though I became mindful of this when I noticed Mag watching me do it, and he was watching appreciatively.

I tucked my lip gloss in my bag, followed him out, locked my door and then we got in our respective vehicles and I followed him to his place.

He guided me to guest parking, parked somewhere else, then joined me at my car and took me up to his condo in LoHi.

I was coming back to myself, digging out from under all the shit that was clouding my brain, and during the drive, I’d realized my mistake in sharing with him all the things I’d shared, primarily about my family.

I should have been niceish, but aloof in a way that could be construed as borderline impolite, which no man would want, instead of mysterious, which I figured a man like Mag might take as a challenge.

However, I did not do this.

So, I decided to start.

ASAP.

What did not occur to me during the drive from my oldish apartment complex in Platt Park—which was a two-story rectangle with entries to the units on exposed walkways on the inside of the structure, these surrounded a pool that someone had jazzed up and included a communal grilling-and-hanging-out area and a lot of tall, shady trees—was that I didn’t have to follow him.

It was hours after receiving those texts.

I didn’t know how long it would take Mag to set up hacking my phone, but with less time to do it, maybe I could have gotten away with getting away from him.

Something I could easily do in my car by simply driving away from him.

Instead, I followed him to his newish, sleek, modern, hip condo complex in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Denver.

And there I stood by his massive kitchen island, staring at his living room that was filled with sleek, modern, hip furniture.

He was in his bedroom, out of which, right then, he emerged.

I ignored the gun in a shoulder holster that was now marring his awesome light-blue button-up, as well as what looked like two extra gun clips hooked to his belt.

Instead, I watched him throw a jacket on the island out of which he pulled a tangle of wire.

“You have exceptional taste in home décor,” I shared.

His head came up from his detangling duties and he grinned at me.

Evie, stop making the man smile, I chastised myself as my breasts swelled in response to that smile. Making him smile is not borderline impolite. It’s FLIRTING.

“It’s all Mo’s,” he informed me. “My shit, after the breakup, I put in storage. When Mo moved in with Mac, he didn’t need this stuff anymore, so I sold my crap, because it was crap, bought his, and before you get any ideas, Mo didn’t pick it either. He engineered a personal shopper, some lady who worked at some furniture store, and she did it.”

“I cannot imagine how it would reflect poorly on Mo that he’s able to select a couch,” I noted.

He looked down to his wires, stating, “Yeah, well, you don’t have a dick.”

“I know many men who come with that equipment who have opinions on couches,” I retorted.

His head came up and he grinned at me again.

Stupid Evie!

I decided it was time to get into his shoulder holster and ammo clips.

“Just to say,” I dipped my head to his chest, “we’re not facing a zombie apocalypse.”

Okay.

What was with me?

It seemed I just couldn’t help myself.

Because he started chuckling, I started reacting to his chuckles in a variety of warm ways in a variety of places in my body, all precisely as I’d intended.

He began to round the island to come to me.

“In my life, I’ve learned you can’t be too safe,” he said dauntingly, then held up the wire that looked, at one end, to have a small microphone, and at the other, a small transmitter.

Uh-oh.

“Danny,” I stated warningly.

I said no more because I didn’t intend to say anything else. I thought my warning tone should suffice.