Promptly Penned ~ March

“No.”

“Gibson…”

Gibson Miller glared at his buddy, hell, his best mate, Coen Brady. Or as Gib preferred right now, manipulative bastard. “I said no, Coen. Feel free to drop it.”

Coen blew out an exasperated breath, scrubbing his hand down his face before crossing the room. “Fine. I’ll drop it after you answer me one question.”

“Christ, always another bloody question with you.”

“Afraid I’ll hit a nerve, buddy?”

“Nothing left to strike, so, go ahead, you sod. Ask.”

Coen grinned, the prick, and Gib knew he’d walked into a damn firefight without bullets flying around. “You’ve been helping Cannon’s guys out for months now, right?”

Gib narrowed his eyes. This was definitely not starting out well because he knew Coen was going to question his damn honor—the one thing Gib couldn’t say no to, and damn it, Coen knew it. “I’ve lent a hand when called upon.”

A snort and a damn smile. “You went all the way to Vegas to help Six out. Then teamed up with Crow while he was aiding the CIA. I’d say that’s more than lending a hand.”

“They needed some trained muscle, and Cannon’s guys were busy. Don’t read more into it than what it was.”

“Except where this isn’t Crow or Six, it’s Dungeon.”

Gib huffed. He was going to kill Coen. Slowly. Painfully. “First off, it wouldn’t matter who it was, I’m not holing up in a bloody hotel full of Star Trek wannabes. That’s not my style. And second, what the hell kind of callsign is that, anyway?”

Coen’s smile flourished. “Maybe the guy’s into some fun kink.”

“You know damn well that’s not why they call him that. It’s that bloody D&D he’s into.” Gib was sure Cannon’s crew had initially meant it as a tease but damn if the man didn’t own it. Hadn’t made it seem dark. Dangerous. More the dungeons of old, filled with nasty shit guaranteed to make people talk. And Gib didn’t doubt Dungeon could break anyone. “He’s thirty-five, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m pretty sure it has multiple meanings.”

“And the fact they want me to go undercover at some Comic bullshit—”

“It’s called Comic Con.”

“I don’t care what they call it. And unless it’s showcasing the new nine mils coming out…”

“He needs someone not associated with Cannon. With his team. Someone no one will recognize. He also needs someone he can trust. Who can pull the role off.”

“Oh, so because I happen to swing his way, I’m the go-to, yeah?”

“Or maybe you’re just the best damn guy for the job.”

“And, maybe, I don’t give a fuck.”

Another snort. Louder with a distinct mocking tone.

Gib frowned. “Are you suggesting otherwise? That I do, in fact, give a fuck?”

“Buddy, you give so many fucks they’re visible from space.” He grabbed Gib’s arm when he went to shove Coen aside—make for the damn door. “Just…talk to me.”

“Nothing to say, chum.”

“Bullshit. You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at Dungeon? I might be a bit sleep deprived with Finley puking half the damn time, trying to convince me she’s fit to go in the field the other half—despite being four months pregnant—but I know attraction when I see it. And you haven’t let anyone past those damn barriers of yours for years. Finley and I had thought maybe you and Jonah…”

Great, now they were bringing Jonah into the mix. “You know damn well the man isn’t ready. And the last thing we need is all four of us being chummy. Besides, he’s not really into ex-Spec Op guys. He’s had his share of those kind of relationships ending bloody, and I can’t say that I blame him.” Gib had had enough of those, as well. Was the reason he’d shut himself off emotionally.

“And the fact Dungeon doesn’t share those sentiments? Might actually want to be more than just a weekend fuck buddy? Isn’t put off by your British charm?”

“Not everyone needs a white picket fence.”

“We don’t have a fence, and that’s not the point.” Coen stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Just answer me this.”

“You already got your one question.”

“Technically, I haven’t asked it yet. So…what are you afraid of? Having to spend a weekend with a bunch of nerds or having to spend the weekend with Dungeon—posing as his love interest?”

Gib simply glared at Coen.

Coen snickered. “That’s what I thought. Guess you’re not as badass as you claim, ‘eh, buddy?”

“Fuck you.”

“Thought you didn’t have any left to give?”

“You are such a fucking wanker, you know that?”

“Finley calls me a lot worse, so…” He nudged Gib. “You gonna call Cannon and tell him you’re on board or leave his teammate hanging in the wind? Make him face those assholes alone because if their suspicions are correct—if that list Mccormick stole is going to be traded there. Sold to the highest bidder…”

“Fine. I’ll help him out, but not because I care.”

“Right. For the good of England and all that shit.”

“Arse.”

“I’ll call Cannon. Tell him you’ll meet Dungeon at the Convention Center.”

Gibson glared at Coen’s back. Gib had been right. This had gone completely for shit. And with the way his damn body had reacted the last time he’d been around Dungeon, things were only going to get worse.