Page 70 of Tangled Like Us
THATCHER MORETTI
“Ignore the mess,”Jane says as she snatches dirty clothes off a fuzzy rug and flings them in a narrow, stuffed closet.
I shut the door behind me.
Her room is drenched in pastel colors, sequins, and animal prints. Coming here is like jumping into some type of milkshake-drinking bubblegum-blowing pop era that dresses up as the fucking 80s. Banks says it gives himagita. Makes him want to chug three bottles of Pepto-Bismol, and if it weren’t for Jane, I might feel the same.
But I step foot in here and I just see all the sides of Jane Cobalt. Bold and soft. Outlandish and unabashed. Feminine and eager.
Beautiful.
It makes me never want to leave.
Don’t go there—but I’m already here, and truth is, I’ve been in her room plenty before. For security. After the Nate incident, she asked if I could make routine checks each night.
I have.
It’s not a big space. Not many places for a target to hide. Not many entry-points for a break-in. Her four-poster bed is tucked up against the only window, and a pale blue vanity and cushioned stool hug a corner.
I’ve opened the mirrored closet door and peered behind her skirts and blouses before. I’ve lifted up the pink duvet, so I could inspect the dark area underneath her bed. Always littered with cat toys.
I’ve had to stretch over her mattress and push aside cheetah-patterned drapes. Just to secure the latch on the window and reset an alarm.
But I’m not here right now to assess and observe. I’m here totalkto Jane.
This is still about security, I remind myself.
This is still about her protection.
That’s all it should be.
I stand at the door like I’m on patrol and shouldering eighty-pounds of gear on my back. Just routine. What I’m trained for.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
I fold my arms over my chest, and I watch Jane fling a stray pair of cotton panties into the closet before she whirls around. Almost tripping over her own feet. She brushes wavy brown strands out of her face, and then she settles a confident hand on her waist.
Goddamn.
My blood heats.
“Thatcher,” she says, breathless. Her chest rises and falls and pushes out her breasts. Temperature ratchets up a hundred degrees, veins lit up on fire.Get it together.
There’s no waffling with me. Indecisiveness can fuck up a whole team, an entire op, and my mission this time is her.
Her.
“Jane,” I say, clear and cut and definitive, “I’ve already made a decision.”
She never breaks eye contact. “You have…?”
“I want to do this with you.”
Her voice catches, words stuck on her tongue.
I hold her gaze in a tighter grip. “I want to date you in public.”
Jane presses her knuckles to her lips. “For my protection.” She’s laying out the parameters before I even can. We’ve been good about that.
