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The mission seemed easy enough.
Recently, there had been an uptick of Talon-associated gang activity in the coastal factions of the United States. The catalyst of the epidemic? A series of bigger and bigger arms deals taking place in and around Tallahassee, Florida.
One of the bigger swap meets was happening in a week's time, leaving Winston to assign seasoned agents Cole Cassidy and Lena Oxton to monitor the situation. Intercepting that particular data chip would be paramount, as the three major suppliers would be meeting to talk shop and swap stock. There were even rumours of a possible full Talon alliance if the trade went through.
So with fond farewells the two were shipped off. Off into the humid air of the Florida city.
A few days have passed since their landing, and the pair settled well into their new roles.
At the dance club Enigmatica , plenty of people were going in and out on the daily, making their infiltration smooth. Subbing in for two staff members who had "mysteriously fallen ill," Lena had claimed the role of bartender. Ready to mix the laced drinks while grinning and chatting up the ladies sitting at her bar top.
Cole, on the other hand, was shoved off to be a waitstaff. Getting drinks to the tables and chat up their targets was his only task. A task he still grumbled about as he waved off another patron after they left their table a mess.
To say the cowboy was still a little peeved about his position was putting it lightly. But Ana had convinced him his charm would be misused elsewhere.
“We need you, habibi, ” Ana chimed as she straightened the drape of his serape . “To you, flirting is as easy as breathing. We can't risk them getting suspicious.” Which was all fine and dandy, but the lack of transparency about who would be the final nail in the coffin, the distraction and eventual interceptor the pair would be setting up for, left the cowboy antsy.
He was happy to play it by ear, but he didn't even know the agent's name. And learning it was a new recruit set off some alarm bells.
“We've been assured he is capable. He himself seemed particularly eager to prove himself able to fill any position needed,” Ana commented. Cole thought back at that amused look on her face as he cleaned. Whoever he was, Ana seemed to have faith in him. Years ago, her word was enough for him to trust.
Now? Seeing was the only believing he was going to be doing.
It was creeping on midnight when the targets arrived.
The trio walked into the club with an air of arrogance, brushing past the bouncers and ignoring the hostess at her podium.
On the right swaggered a pot-bellied man in a black suit, enveloped in a cloud of cologne. As he swiped a drink off another server's tray, Cole scowled as covertly as he could. The fucking entitlement of the ass was astounding and it radiated off of him in waves.
But it wasn’t like the one on the right was any better.
Leaning heavily against the scuffed wood of the bar, the rat faced man snapped heavily ringed fingers at the bar staff, drawling obscenities at Lena to get him something. Even with the pulsing beat of the club and the flashing lights of the current performance, Cole could hear practically every word he said, cringing when he tried being “smooth” and ran a hand through his stringy comb-over.
But the man spearheading the trio couldn’t be more different. He was the tallest of the group, bottle blond locks perfectly quaffed, a rubber salesman grin firmly on his face as he schmoozed with the floor staff. The intel officer hadn’t said what man had the data chip to be exchanged, but the cowboy would bet his bounty’s weight in gold on that man being the one they were looking for.
Guided by an apprehensive redhead to their table, the men finally settled at their table, inches from the stage.
Lena sent Cole a look.
Showtime.
“G’evenin’ gents, welcome to Enigmatica. I’m Joel, and I got the pleasure ta be in yer service t’night. Fancy yerself any drinks?”
Cole was a pretty good performer when he wanted to be. And he was using as much charm as he could muster for this ruse to work. The blond man was the only one to actually look at Cole; the other two were engrossed with the drinks list or the lady on stage. He tried not to shudder at the gross feeling the target's gaze left him with, kilowatt smile bright as he tilted his head in a boyish fashion.
Dishwater grey eyes roved over his freshly groomed face and down. Down over his white button-down and suspenders to the pair of slick dress pants he pulled out just for this mission. That rubber grin made a re-appearance, but sharper, beady eyes almost like a shark's.
“What do you recommend, sweetheart?”
Swallowing back a rising pool of bile, he leant over to show off the menu, barrel chest at eye level with the creeps.
“As you can see, we got quite the selection of drinks. Now I’m a whiskey man myself, but I’ve heard good things about our bourbons too,” Cole flashed another charming grin, the blond leaning a little close for comfort as he droned on about the selection of booze and possible cocktails the bar could make. Selling it like any server would when they’re working for a good tip. By the time they placed their orders, Cole felt a new level of disgust just from their drink choices alone.
Like really? A Van Winkle sour and a Johnnie Walker Blue with some Coke? Those were bad enough, but a double 25 Macallan with an extra cube and “a little cherry juice too.” The blond winked at him, Cole feeling himself shrivel up inside. “You know, to sweeten things up.”
But Cole put on a smooth grin, righted himself and wrote down their orders. But just as he’s collecting their menus, ready to bolt, he hears something over the pulsing beat, and he grips his notebook tightly:
“Who’s performing tonight? I hope Ginny's gonna be up there,” the bigger man had a hungry kind of voice, and Cole could almost feel the saliva gathering in his mouth.
“Don’t care,” grunted the other man, vermin-like eyes focused on the leggy redhead on the stage. “As long as they have a nice rack, what does it matter? Unless they’re doing more of that “mixing” bs you were talking about tonight Lance.”
A low whistle leaves the blond. Lance, apparently. “Careful there Des. In places as good as this, some of the men have better jugs than the girls. And well…eye candy is eye candy,” Cole didn’t need to look up to know that he was wiggling his eyebrows salaciously.
“Bah,” the greaseball scoffed, crossing a polished loafer over his knee, jerking his head to the stage. “If a man comes out with a chest better than hers, I’ll eat my tie.”
The cowboy's pencil snapped in his hand, the silicone hiding his prosthetic doing nothing to contain its strength as he felt a surge of anger. Feeling Lance’s slimy gaze hit him again, Cole turned and left with a brief word, flashing a fake smile before it shuttered, grinding his teeth so hard he could feel his jaw ache.
The look Lena gave him as he rattled off their requests eased the knot in his chest. The fire in his chestnut eyes didn’t falter as she mixed the drinks with a blend of Winston’s latest treats, burning brighter at the chance to stick it to dicks. “Thanks, Ames,” he mutters, the pixie of a woman giving him a smile and a thumbs up as he collects himself and swaggers to the group again, fake charm dialling up to eleven to disguise his disgust.
The faster this job was done, the faster he could wash himself of this whole thing.
“There ya go,” he drawled, dropping each of the respected drinks in front of their owners. He was so focused on keeping his cool that he didn’t even realize the hand on his ass until a firm squeeze made him jump. Whirling around, he saw Lance, hand aloft like he was caught red-handed in the cookie jar. But instead of looking chastised or embarrassed, the fucker looked smug.
“Sorry doll,” he remarked, not sounding sorry at all. “But with a peach so sweet, I just had to cop a feel. Who did the work on you, I gotta have their number.”
That made Cole’s blood boil. "No one. That's one hundred percent genuine me right here.”
End it there, Cassidy. End it there-
“An’ if ya didn’t know it, servers have the same rules as the dancers. No hands policy, no matter how much money ya wave around.”
If this cost them the mission, 76 was gonna ki-
“Policy schmolicy,” Lance waved, gold rings flashing in the light. That amused, smug fucking grin was dead center on his face and not budging an inch. “I know what I like, and that ass is it, honey.”
Jaw aching, he was about to say something before the club's tunes lulled, and the lights stopped flashing. The whole club was slowly dimming to a twilight, heralding a change. The excited murmuring gave Cole his chance to escape, muttering a dark “Enjoy the show” before turning heel and stalking back to the bar. Resting heavily against the bar top, he shoots Lena a grin at her sympathetic touch. Pulling out a toothpick, worrying it ruefully between his teeth. Glaring at the trio as they laugh and drink to the red-headed dancers' final set, he gestures for a drink.
“Did’ja figure out who our new friend is?”
Cole whispered, looking at Lena through the side of his eye, her sliding over a glass of water.
“Nope,” she chirped, wiping down the bar top. “But Libby says he’s a real show stopper. Just like Sparrow said.”
He paused mid sip. “Sparrow? He’s the one who recommended them?”
Cole was audibly surprised. Genji wouldn’t have recommended any of his robo-monk friends. And it wasn’t like he had been…friendly with many during his time in Blackwatch.
“Not only that, but he's the one that recruited them to us in the first place. I’ve never seen Sparrow so excited." She had a soft smile on her face, her normally hyper nature lulled. "He’s watching right now, wanted to see him ‘strut his stuff’ live."
The audience fell to a hush as the MC climbed the stage, glittery seven inch pleasers clicking as she went. She introduced herself to the crowd, welcoming in newcomers, congratulating a soon-to-be-bride on her bachelorette party, and even slipping a few bills into the tight waist of her latex hot-pants.
She was really hyping up the crowd, and more and more people started shifting to tables closer to the stage. Cole only hoped that whoever Genji had brought in for this, they knew what the hell they signed up for.
“Hello everyone! I hope you loved Peppermint's performance. Isn’t she just a breath of fresh air?” The MC asks, dancing around the stage, blond hair shining in the bright light. The crowd claps and whistles, the more enthusiastic people yelling out expletives.
“Next up, we have a returning fan favourite." Her voice is a controlled whisper, green eyes gleaming. "Regulars know this is a co-ed club, and this performer turns all kinds of heads. He’s a man who’s sharp in a suit and even sharper out of it, we have Ryu!” She calls, extending the vowel of the name as the opening music starts to play.
A sharply dressed leg peers out from the red velvet curtains, tight-fitting dress pants are followed by an arm, bare except for a leather glove which flexes and moves with the music’s beats.
Soon followed by a muscular arm, and the lights shone on the back of a very strong and surprisingly shorter man, broad shoulders and a dress shirt fitting tightly across them so much they seemed to have almost burst at the seams. Turning, his sharp features were both alight and shadowed by the stage lights, eyes hidden in dark pools while his already prominent cheekbones were popping even more so.
After every strong beat, his hips jutted sharply, winding around at every soft beat as the song picked up. It was an old pop tune from way back that had made a resurgence in the club scenes, made by an Aria something? Sounds too old and sensual to Cassidy. He's never been one for that kind of music, but he might start getting invested when a man as pretty as the one on stage moves to it.
Don’t need permission, made my decision, to test my limits. Cause it’s my business, god as my witness, start what I finished
As the lyrics play, Ryu sensually runs his hands down his shirt to his hips, going over every line on his body as his eyes close and barely seen pouty lips mouth along slightly to the words.
Don’t need no hold up, taking control of, this kinda moment. I’m locked and loaded, completely focused my mind is open
Ryu starts undoing his tie, pulling out at the extended words, loosening it with every tug before it’s gone. He flings it off to the crowd, his other hand miming a gun, finger barrel to his mouth as a bachelorette party tackles each other to try and get to the scrap of fabric.
As the pre-chorus played, the performer circled his hips, stopping and starting at the beginning of each long tone. A smirk grows on his face as he opens his eyes at the downbeat of the ending, and now Cole understands how this man is so popular.
Something ‘bout you, makes me feel like a dangerous woman
In beat with the music, he starts tugging off his gloves, the tip of his index finger caught between sharp teeth. He flings it in the opposite direction, this time to a group of men, one in a fishnet top waving the glove and gloating to his tablemates.
Something ‘bout you, makes me wanna do things that I shouldn’t
Ryu continues to sporadically mouth the lyrics, a glint in his dark eyes as he mimes a mocking tsk tsk gesture like a teacher would. A really hot teacher, Cassidy’s mind fills absentmindedly, eyes not leaving the man on stage.
Using a pause to pull off the other glove entirely with ease, throwing it in Cole’s general direction, he runs a hand down the length of his fitted pants, putting on a show.
The way we’re moving, like introducing, us to a new thing
He pauses at the last extended word, slowly reaching down the length of his muscled legs to almost too dainty ankles, fiddling with the material briefly before dragging his hand back up, pausing at the swell of his thigh. The tight, shiny material fitted snugly against the muscle, reflecting off the bright stage lights. Cole could feel his mouth drying.
I wanna savour, save it for later, the taste, the flavour… I live for danger
Miming a button popping off, Ryu gripped the waist of his pants, the pants tearing away to reveal a pair of tight, barely-there, black spandex shorts. Cole swore his right ear was deafened at the screams, hazel eyes zeroing in on how the skin on the dancer's powerful thighs overflowed the compression of the shorts. The man's skin shone under the lights, a thought of what kind of oil coated Ryu’s skin floated through the cowboy's head as he watched the performer bend, snap and grind to the calls and cries of his crowd.
With a hand slapping the meat of his thigh a little too close to his hind quarters to be wholly innocent and a sultry smirk to the audience, the man turns his back to the crowd, sharp profile highlighted by the stark stage lights as he looks over his shoulder.
All that you got, skin to skin, oh my god, don’t you stop boy. Something ‘bout you-
Ryu seizes the collar of his shirt at the peak of the chorus, spinning around and tearing it open with his bare hands at the drop. Buttons to scatter off the stage and baring his big, muscled, big, chest to the eyes of the club, Cole’s own going wide at the sight, choking on his water. Torso, as shiny as his legs, sharp collar bones prominent and shadowed by the harsh lighting, left this man looking more like a gilded statue than a man.
The music continued the play, Ryu slipping off his shirt and winding it around his strong neck like a boa. Pushing and pulling it at different sides on beat, he flings the torn fabric off to the side, striding to a pole that appeared out of the stage.
All the girls wanna be like that. Bad girls underneath, like that. You know how I’m feeling inside-
With every triplet, Ryu juts his hips forward into the pole, glancing at the crowd under hooded eyes. Finishing with a long body roll, smooth like a wave, obliques shifting like the scales of a snake, Cole could make out a sharp grin from the shadowed face. The post-chorus repeats again, Ryu now jerking a shapely leg around the metal pole in time with the triplets. Leaning back, he lets his weight rest on his anchored leg, slowly turning on the rod as a hand extends outwards to the audience, a fresh wave of cries coming from the folks attempting to touch the dancer.
His surprisingly long hair was freed from its tie, the stage's lights now flashing blue and yellow, bathing the scene and the man in the center of it as the music lulled into an interlude.
Ryu climbed, dropped, and spun on that pole like gravity didn’t exist. Cole could feel the wind knocked out of him when the spectacle dropped almost to the floor, back arched, face skyward and backlit by a shocking blue. The drop strained the muscles of his arms and legs, the oiled skin flexing under the man's weight, whistles and cheers increasing. Said man, reached up to do another trick as the music swelled, the accompanying women's voice falling into a crescendo.
Something ‘bout you, makes me feel like a dangerous woman
Another drop, and this time, Ryu was facing Cassidy’s area of the club. Arms straining and chest puffed out, the cowhand could swear up and down he was looking right at him. As if their eyes meeting across the floor.
Something ‘bout you, makes me wanna do things that I shouldn’t
Shining body on the floor, the lights turned back, all eyes on the man as he moved and turned. Leg sweeping, he slides into a crawl, stalking down the runway to the target's table. The rat-like man was gone, and the other tablemate was out cold. But Lance didn't seem to care. He was glued to his chair, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes locked onto Ryu like they had been throughout the entire performance.
Completely entranced.
Spotlight on him, Ryu carries the man's attention with ease. Hair flipping tantalizing over a strong shoulder. Facial expressions flirting and body working the floor like it was his God-given duty. Stalking up to his prey with all the grace of a jungle cat, Ryu raised up on his knees, one hand in his hair, the other trailing down his chest, rivulets of perspiration glimmering.
Something ‘bout, something ‘bout, something ‘bout you
Arm dropping, Ryu ends his performance with a hand outstretched, fingers curled at the rich man. The blond was frozen in his seat, and Cole couldn’t blame him. He was all but trapped under that dark gaze, like a gaudy butterfly pinned to a board.
With a wink, the man swept himself up, snatching a fistful of credits and stalked to the back of the stage. With a final look over his shoulder and a flick of his hair, Ryu disappeared behind the suede curtains as the MC returned to the stage. Cole was knocked out of his trance by a series of coded taps on his shoulder, Lena’s quick and nimble fingers immediately recognizable.
It was go time.
Heading over to the target's table, a smug grin takes over his face at the pilled drink by the empty seat on the left and the stain prominent on the sleeping giant's pants. Bent down at the waist, he taps the remaining man’s shoulder, the bottle-blond jumping at the touch like a live wire. His blue eyes were still a little glazed, so Cole threw out his most charming smile.
“Yer real lucky sir. It seems Mr. Ryu has picked yourself to be his private dance of the night. I’m here to escort ya, to his ah,” he leant down further and drawled, “private dressin’ room, iffa ya catch my meanin’.”
It was almost sad how quickly the man agreed, head jacking up and down like a damn bobblehead. Jumping up, Bobble Johnny hesitated, looking at his passed-out tablemate, but Cole put a hand on his shoulder, turned on his Southern charm and guided the target away.
“Now don’t you worry about yer little friend," he drawled as they walked. Or well, Cole walked, Lance was a stumbling mess. "We’ll take real good care of 'em. You just focus on the ride yer going on. Mr. Ryu doesn’t just do these for just anybody. ”
With a final dumb nod as a bouncer took the “guest” to the performer's rooms, Cole slipped back to the bar, sharing a look with Lena as she and the other bartenders cleaned up for the night. Ryu, whoever he was, was apparently a real showstopper and was a signal for many staff that their shift rotation was up. Pretending to get their gear, the agents slipped into the storage unit they had commandeered for surveillance and waited for their new agent's signal.
Twenty minutes passed before a buzz rang through the silent room. Lena, jumping on the com, showed off a curt message from Ryu. With a gleeful look from the Brit, the two snuck to the performers' corridor.
The fading purple walls were lined with signs about the club's rules and regulations. You know, what to touch, what not to touch. Despite the duo consisting of a bouncing British woman and a meandering wall of cowboy, the two managed to make it to Ryu’s special room without so much as a whisper from another guest or co-worker. With Winston's help at headquarters, any cameras were under Athena’s watch, leaving the pair mere ghosts to anyone but the people they interacted with that day.
Rapping a coded knock to a blue door, a curt call sounded, the pair pushing on and opening the door to quite the sight.
The room wasn’t huge, but it sure was designed for a purpose. A vanity and paper dressing screen was pushed to the side of the room, with a frankly ridiculous-looking bed sitting center stage in all its tacky, boudoir glory. Atop the crushed velvet covers was their target, passed out, drooling into sheets, and hogtied with what looked to be window blind cords of all things. The man who tied those beautiful knots sat to the side, filing his nails on a cheap, overstuffed armchair like it was a throne fit for a god.
Tracer whistled. “Nice work luv. Ropes were a nice touch. Did you find what we needed?”
Quirking a brow, Ryu reached into the gaping neckline of his silk robe and pulled out a drive, flicking it over to the cowboy, who just barely managed to catch it. Fumbling with the little speck of tech, Cole could feel himself burn under the heavy weight of Ryu’s gaze.
“Careful there cowman. I worked hard to get that for your organization.”
Scratch that. Cole’s entire brain had just short-circuited at that deep, accented voice. Why was Fate so cruel?
“Ours now luv. With this, you’re officially a member!” the Brit all but squealed, really putting the soundproofing of the room to work. “Welcome to the team. Oh! I can’t wait to get Hana to help plan the party, it’ll be brilliant!” Pulling out her coms, the brunette became absorbed in messaging headquarters, oblivious to Ryu's grimace at the idea of a welcome party. So he wasn’t a party man. That’s fine; Cole can work with that. But there was nothing that could stop Lena from making this party outside of the world ending.
He almost felt sorry for the guy.
As Lena initiated the transfer, Cole’s gaze drifted back to Ryu’s “work,” feeling almost bad for the knots. That kind of beautiful work deserved a better canvas than that piece of trash. He didn’t even notice Ryu staring at him.
“Well,” Cole drawled, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “We best be getting outta here before anyone gets suspicious of where Sleepin’ Beauty is.”
“We needn’t rush.” Cole’s eyes zipped back over to the agent, now standing, and the cowboy could feel his neck heat at just how short the other man's robe was. Averting his gaze when said man bent at the waist to retrieve something under his vanity. “It is standard policy to block off the room for at least an hour.” There was a pause, and a smugness had entered Ryu's voice. “Though, from the looks booking had given, they didn’t expect your man to last half that. They were kind enough however, to offer him two, free of charge.”
Cole snorted, a boisterous sound that pulled a grin to form at the edges of Ryu’s mouth. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that. Even if he’s a one pump chump, when they hear about rope work as pretty as yer’s,” a whiskey eye winks just before the performer disappears behind his changing screen, “they know y’all are gonna be a while.”
The cowboy couldn’t help but shiver at the smirk Ryu had shot him. Chasing away any of the lingering chill Lance’s advances had left.
“We seem to be done, chaps,” Lena chirped, snapping her coms closed. “Winston just sent me the all clear. Our pick up’s coming in 10.”
Leaving so soon? Cole was almost disappointed. “You need a ride sweetpea?”
It was only polite to offer, right? No underlying reasons to be sat on a flight next to this beaut of a man for multiple hours, no siree.
A dark head popped out from the side of the screen, waving a following hand at the pair. “No. I have already submitted my two weeks, and will see you again in three. I have my own means of getting to our next meeting. Now go.” His handsome face turned stern, jerking his chin to the door, “before you miss your transport.”
“Alright then luv, we’ll see you there!” Lena says cheerfully, dragging the cowboy away, waving an awkward hand.
“B-bye,” Cole calls as they reach the door, gulping at the look in the performer's eyes.
“Farewell, cowman.”
The drive to the airfield didn’t clear Cole’s head.
Nor did the overnight flight, subsequent drive, or mission reports shake the sound of Ryu’s voice from his head. Those burning eyes and mellow tenor haunted the sharpshooter like a phantom and refused to let him have peace. And he would have none, until Athena's chime alerted the base of a newly arriving agent.
Finally his time had come.
Hopping from foot to foot on the tarmac, Cole easily spotted the choppy ponytail bobbing its way down the plane's ramp. Making a beeline to greet the new agent, his mellow voice let out a short call.
Ryu’s eyes met him from across the asphalt, a smile beginning to take shape before a blur of metal shot past the cowboy and collided with the man with an excited “Anija! It is so good to see you!”
Anjia?
“I watched your performance. Hanzo you were fantastic! I can’t believe it, over a decade later and you still know how to work a pole like nobody’s business.”
“Genji,” he sighed, not pushing the pile of clingy metal away and submitting to the embrace. “Thank you, but I would prefer if the entirety of your agency wasn’t aware of the intricacies of my mission. It was…a job, nothing more.”
“A job you killed. The cams didn’t have any sound, but I’m sure the club was rioting.” Pulling back, the ninja saw the dumb-struck cowboy, gesturing him over with a frantic hand, the other slung over his sibling's broad shoulders.
“Cassidy! You were there, was the crowd going wild for my brother?”
With a resigned sigh from said brother, he nodded. Cole shaking his own with a, “Well yeah. I’m pretty sure one of those bachelorette ladies almost broke a leg diving for his tie. Even Lena’s bar buddies said a fistfight had broken out before. Something about a boa?” Holding a hand out, Cole shot the man, Hanzo, an easy grin. “Never got ta introduce m’self properly darlin'. The name’s Cassidy. Cole Cassidy.”
Detangling an arm from his brother, Hanzo clasped the offered hand, skin callus rough and grip just the right side of too tight. That was the kind of grip that could put a man even as big as Cole in his place.
Boy did he like the sound of that.
“Shimada Hanzo.” Dark head bowing, a stubborn bang fell from its place tucked behind a pierced ear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Agent Cassidy.”
“Cole, please. Or Cassidy, whatever's more comfortable for you sugar. Genji's been ravin' about ya fer months now. Can't shut him up really." He throws him a lazy grin, tipping his hat with his spare hand. "I can’t wait to get to know ya better.”
Looking up from his bow, Hanzo smirked, and damn, a look like that should be illegal. “Alright then, Cole. I am interested in getting to know you better as well.”
Barely hearing Genji’s excuse for leaving over the whirring of Cole’s mind at the sound of the elder Shimada saying his name, the cowboy was all but rooted in place when Hanzo sidled closer, straining on the balls of his feet as he murmured quietly in Cole’s ear:
“Perhaps I can show you exactly how good at ropes I am? You seemed…particularly interested in them during our first meeting.”
A sharp brow was quirked at the strangled whimper that left the American’s mouth, a grin firmly settling on the other man’s in turn. A strong hand gently squeezed the meat of Cole’s arm through his flannel, a line of fire sprouting at the touch. Looking appraisingly, Hanzo jerked back at his name being called from the other side of the tarmac. Genji’s chrome arms were swinging wildly at the pair, yammering something in Japanese, causing him to sigh.
“Think about it, yes? You know where I am if you wish to play.”
And then he left, parachute pants swinging in the warm summer air, broad back flexing under his unfairly tight shirt, leaving Cole fighting for any remaining air in his lungs. Eyes dipping lower, the cowboy jolted. The reality of what just happened finally hit him. He let out a low whistle, grin wide and bright on his sun-kissed face.
He was never this lucky.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he gazed out to the striking silhouette of his new 'friend.' A deep hum sounded in his chest, and into the sun-warmed air he let out a quiet:
“Wow.”