Swap Out (17 page)

Scott laughs. “I’ve been trying since I had the unfortunate pleasure of having your name enter my universe. Too bad I haven’t been able to properly pay you back for that. Yet.”

“What is wrong with the two of you?” Zoe asks, and I squeeze her hand.

“Scott’s been pissed ever since I beat him at our first round of tests during indoc. Never could get over the fact that someone younger was better than him. On top of being better looking.”

“Ha,” he deadpans.

“You are—or
were
—a PJ too?” Zoe asks, and Scott bows dramatically. “And you went through Superman School together?”

I cringe and Scott raises a smug eyebrow at me. “You also tell her how you sneeze diamonds and the Queen of England sends you love letters?”

“She read it on the internet,” I tell him, and he chuckles.

“We trained and worked together as PJs,” he says to Zoe. “And I could you tell you where and what we did…but then I’d have to kill you,” he stage whispers.

“Pararescue missions are all classified,” I explain. “Security clearance, blah blah blah.”

“You make it sound like you were James Bond or something.”

“Honey,” Scott says and I narrow my eyes at him, “James Bond has nothing on us.”

I press a kiss into the back of Zoe’s head, then let her hand go. I reach into the drawer behind me and grab a fork, then hurl it at Scott with no warning. He snatches it out of the air and Zoe sucks in a breath, and I point at him.

“Next time you call her that I’m aiming lower.”

“God, you’re moody tonight,” he mutters, then twirls the fork in his fingers. “I thought we were eating dinner?”

“If I let you stay are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

He bats his eyelashes at me. “I missed you, buddy. And Zoe gets to decide if I stay or go seeing as we’re guests in her lovely house and she invited me.”

She sighs, then leans back against me. “No more throwing of knives or any other silverware, no wrestling matches or shoot outs and you can stay for dinner. But don’t you
ever
sneak up on Luca like that again,” she snaps and I arch an eyebrow at him over her head. “Especially not in my house where my stuff gets ruined because of it.”

He lays his hand over his heart. “I promise not to test his protective reflexes anymore tonight. And I’m very sorry about the door. I’ll pay to have it repaired. Or…replaced, if necessary.”

She takes a deep breath, then nods.

“All right,” he says and claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Now the fun can begin. Because I spy…”

He sidles over to the other counter, grabbing a bottle of unopened red wine and wiggling it at Zoe.

I roll my eyes and go to take the bottle from him, then walk it back over to where Zoe is shaking her head with a hint of a grin.

“You mind?” I breathe with my back to Scott, and she peeks up at me and then shakes her head no. I grab the corkscrew and three glasses, pouring just a single finger’s-worth in the last one.

“Much obliged,” Scott says when I pass him a glass, then slide the one with the smallest amount toward Zoe.

There’s only enough for one, maybe two small sips, but it should help get her nerves thoroughly settled after that faux home invasion. I honestly don’t know how she managed to keep from dissolving into an anxiety attack, but I’m a little proud she held it together. Even though her hands are still slightly shaking.

She looks up at me questioningly, and I smile. “A little is perfectly fine.”

“He’s right,” Scott says, then whistles. “Damn, girl, this is good. You don’t want to miss out on this anyway.”

She bites her lip, and Scott must have seen it before I did because his voice beats mine.

“Zoe,” he says more gently than I’ve ever heard him speak, and I keep my back to him. “We would never put you in harm’s way. And if you did even the smallest bit of research into what we used to do for a living, then you know that better than I’m going to bother explaining.”

She ducks her head with a blush, and I find her hand, discreetly bringing it up and pressing a kiss against it before turning to face Scott.

“Where exactly does sneaking into her house with an outlawed, thirty-year-old water pistol that looks like a Glock fall in line with that?”

“You’re the one who went for a knife, dipshit. And you know I don’t believe in knocking because the things you walk in on are always worth the ‘rudeness of the gesture.’ Case in point,” he says and gestures to me as I take a pull off my glass. “You two are almost better than porn.”

I nearly spit out my wine and when I set my glass harshly down on the counter, Zoe snags my arm before I’m a single menacing step towards him.

“Luca, I’m hungry,” she rushes out, and Scott puckers a kiss at me.

“Saturday,” I say in a threat. “Get your will in order and make your peace with God, Scott.”

“Please,” he says. “God loves me. Nobody else gets women to call out his name like I do.”

“Scott!” I yell, and Zoe erupts into laughter.

“I meant when I take them out on their first tandem jump. Jesus, Luca, you’re so perverted.” He looks at Zoe, brow furrowed in fake compassion. “How do you put up with him? Only one thing on the brain…”

Zoe chuckles, and it’s so confident I can’t help but to glance at her. “He obviously didn’t tell you how all this got started,” she says and picks up her wine glass. “Because if he
did
, then you’d know his perversion is the last thing I’d complain about it.”

I burst out in laughter as Scott gapes, and I happily share a high-five with my girl.

“What do you say to that?” I taunt Scott, and he sets down his glass on the counter.

“Please,” he says seriously, his hands together in a prayer, “say I get to officiate the wedding. Because if you don’t marry her, Luca, I’m going to.”

“Oh
honey
,” Zoe says, seductively strutting forward with the glass of wine in her hand until she stops in front of Scott, then pats his cheek. “You couldn’t handle me.” She throws me a wink over her shoulder that gets me instantly hard, then walks into the living room while taking a sip of wine.

I lean smugly against the counter, Scott groaning before he grits out, “
God
, I love her.”

I swallow down all ten of my replies, a little confused as to why they’re there at all before I turn and go back to cooking.

Cooking is safe. That is…not.

“Looking a little pale there, buddy,” Scott says from my left, and I ignore him as I check on the sauce and then fill a pot with water.

I set it on the stove to boil, then take another sip of my wine.

“Yeah, keep swallowing that tongue of yours, like that’ll help. Oh, that reminds me: I brought you a present.”

I look at him, brow furrowed, then snort as he takes out of his pocket a little bag that has a clump of ghost peppers in it.

“Dude wore a surgical mask and gloves when he sold them to me. Surprised he didn’t have on a hazmat suit. Now, the challenge is you are going to eat all of them, and if you shed a single tear then you also have to submit yourself to the cinnamon challenge, and I get to post pictures of you puking and weeping like a girl all over the internet.”

I roll my eyes. “And if you lose?”

“Come on! There’s no way you can eat this. Even with your freakishly high tolerance for spicy food,” he drawls, and I freeze. “Have I mentioned my theory that it has something to do with you being a crack baby? Because—all puns intended—I think it tweaked your senses.”

“Heroin,” I mumble, but my thoughts are on the other end of the universe and I can’t fucking believe I missed it. How did I miss this? I rush over and smack Scott upside the head on my way past him, saying in all truth, “You’re a damn genius!”

“Like that’s news to anyone!” he calls after me while I dart into the living room, finding Zoe perched comfortably on the couch and watching
Fawlty Towers
.

“What?” she asks warily. “What did you break?”

I grab her hand and pull her up, towing her back into the kitchen with me.

“Luca, just tell me!”

“It’s a surprise,” I tell her, grabbing the bag of ghost peppers out of Scott’s hand on our way to the stove.

“Do you know what he’s doing?” Zoe asks him as I get out a plate, a fork and a knife, using surgical precision to open the bag and spear one of the peppers.

“Preparing to lose a bet?” Scott offers, and after I lay the ghost pepper on the plate I slice off the smallest piece possible before putting it in the spaghetti sauce.

“Luca! I can’t eat that now,” Zoe says as I stir and then test it.

It’s a little spicy, but barely registering on my radar and nothing a normal person couldn’t handle.

“Try this.” I hold the spoon out to Zoe, and she jumps back.

“No way, nuh-uh, not happening in this or
any
lifetime.”

“Not big on the spicy stuff, Zoe?” Scott asks, and she shakes her head adamantly.

“Please, just one bite.”

“Not if you want to live to see tomorrow,” she warns, and I pout.

“Dude, what’s the big deal?” Scott says, taking a step closer to us like he’s contemplating an intervention. “Leave her alone. You’re probably gonna make her sick. Or kill her from the acid reflux.”

“Everything tastes bland,” I tell him, and he takes a second, then nods in understanding and drinks from his glass.

“Copy that. And I can’t wait to hear how you’re going to repay me for this.”

“You get to live on Saturday,” I tell him and he chuckles. “Come on, Zoe, just try it.”

“Luca, I
hate
spicy food.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, swirling his glass with a haughty snicker. “But Luca doesn’t.”

She whips around. “What does that have to do with—” She cuts off when Scott tips his glass at her, and slowly, she turns back and looks at me, her eyes wide.

I hold the spoon out to her again and she eyes it cautiously, then scoots a step closer and takes a bite. Scott’s right beside us in an instant,
with
the trashcan. I jerk my chin at him in thanks and he claps my shoulder.

“
OhmyGod
,” Zoe mutters, her hand clasping over her mouth, and I throw the spoon into the pan. I can’t tell if she’s about to be sick or what the hell is happening inside her head, or on her tongue. She pulls her hand away and tries to gather her composure, and I don’t think I’ve taken a breath since it touched her lips. “Whose idea was this?” she says quietly, and I swallow.

“Mine,” Scott says, his eyes darting to me. “Indirectly. But I take full responsibility for all heartburn and indigestion and I’ll pay my penance. Lawn mowing or furniture hauling or whatever it may be. Plus the door I owe you.”

He looks at me and shrugs, and I wave him off. “Zoe?” I say tentatively, and she stretches up and places the lightest of kisses on my lips out of nowhere. I blink in shock and then she’s gone: reaching up to grab something off a high shelf from inside a cabinet while Scott and I exchange confused looks.

She turns and presents a brand new bottle of Remy Martin to Scott and my eyes bulge.

“Thank you,” she says, handing it to him. “And I know Luca hates being called this so I don’t know if that follows suit for you, but tonight, Scott, you are my hero.”

His eyes widen, his mouth pulling into a proud and taunting grin as he displays the bottle to me, and I flip him off while she’s not looking. But he can keep his stupid cognac because in the next instant Zoe is beaming and spinning around to hug me tightly, her arms squeezed around my neck as I stumble back with a chuckle.

“I take it that’s a yes to spicy food?” I ask and she nods, tucking her face into my neck.

“Something finally tastes
good
, Luca,” she breathes, and I exhale in giddy relief.

Scott gives me a thumbs up and then whistles his way into the living room, and I hold her tighter, something in me melting into loose and soft and warm and filling up my entire body as I drop my forehead to her shoulder and breathe her in.

She runs her nails through the back of my hair and I will never have words for this, for what this means. For what I already knew but never really, truly felt until this moment.

This is real.

And I’m thirty thousand leagues deep and greedily drowning in it when my heart stops, all the color bleeding out of my body and sucking every bit of joy along with it.

Because suddenly, her words from just before Scott arrived come back to me, and I remember.

If Scott wasn’t so obsessed with that damn doctor, I might be worried. Mostly, I’m just pissed off because he spent the last three hours making Zoe giggle with embarrassing stories about me from when we were going through indoc, jumped on her anti-Elvis bandwagon which is bullshit because he’s an Elvis fanatic and the one who got me into his music in the first place, and the douche had the nerve to dance with her when I went to take out the trash. Nothing like coming back from garbage duty to find your best friend’s hand on your girl’s waist while he waltzes her around the living room.

Yeah, not impressed.

But Zoe saved me from kicking him out, or just kicking his ass, when she brought two glasses and the bottle of Remy Martin into the living room, then curled into my side on the couch. After the first two glasses of cognac and the weight of Zoe’s head on my shoulder melting into the point where it feels like it’s been there since the day I was created, I decided to let Scott keep his facial features intact.

I guess that’s why Zoe felt it was safe to cut out on the festivities, softly kissing me before saying she was going to bed. Half of me was ready to follow her, but the other half was wondering why Scott was still sitting on the chair cornered to the couch, steadily refilling our glasses.

So after Zoe went to bed we quietly made our way into the kitchen, and then out to the back yard to play out the bet he had wagered when he first got here. I got three ghost peppers down before he declared victory, which was crap because sweat was running into my eyes. I wasn’t crying. But he wouldn’t shut up or stop laughing, and I was a little worried he was going to wake her up so I went ahead and agreed to part two: the cinnamon challenge. That required a trash bag and a bottle of water just in case, and…yeah, no. That was just stupid.

But Scott happily recorded a video of me coughing out a burst of orange powder, then puking up the rest for another few minutes while gargling with water before I told him it was his turn if he was such a badass. He didn’t make it ten seconds before he was throwing up like a freshman sorority girl at her first kegger. Another few bottles of water and another run down to Zoe’s garbage can to dispose of the evidence, and we called it square. Back to the living room and another couple glasses of cognac, and then we found an old phone book in her hall closet and got a spoon.

Really we should’ve been using a knife if we were going to be men about it, but I couldn’t risk him chopping off one of my fingers because Zoe would kill both of us. So it was the spoon version of Fiver Finger Fillet while I drank and he tried not to stab me with rounded metal. The phone book? Purely for sound proofing and wood protection. Because we’re nothing if not considerate. Yep. And thank Christ for the spoon swap out because he nailed my knuckles like seven times. And yeah, he was drunk, but that’s just pathetic. So after he laid his hand flat I poised to start the sequence, but instead of speedily and deftly hitting the spaces between his fingers, I drove it down on his wrist instead. That’s what he gets for dancing with Zoe.

He whined a little, but nothing more cognac couldn’t get him to forget and now we’re back in the living room and half the bottle down. I don’t even know how we’re still carrying on a conversation considering we’re both wasted, but maybe that’s how he gets the nerve to tilt his glass towards Zoe’s room and ask, “So…how’s that going?”

I shrug.

“Every time I walk in on you guys, you’re either fighting or going at it.”

“Then stop walking in on us. And that’s only happened like twice.”

I toss back the rest of my drink and he snorts, then does the same before refilling our glasses. “If I’m not mistaken, when I snuck in tonight I distinctly heard her shrieking something about the ‘M’ word…”

I roll my eyes. “It was a
joke
.”

“She must’ve thought it was hilarious,” he taunts. “So, since you’re cracking jokes about Vegas and vows, does that also mean you’ve told her about Eman?”

I sigh and take a drink, then mutter, “Nope.”

“And why not?”

I drop my head back onto the couch cushion, throwing up a hand in exasperation. “I just barely worked my way up from detested to tolerable. I’m not about to purposefully nose dive back into loathsome.”

“Man,” he says and chuckles, “you really need to let that go.”

I level a hard look at Scott, and he stares right back before calmly taking a drink.

“Regret is worthless,” he says, just like he’s told me dozens of times before. “It only slows you down.”

“You know, you say that, and yet here you still are.”

He arches an eyebrow at me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and he flares his eyes like he’s offended.

“Fine,” he says, then moves to set down his glass on the coffee table.

“Not here in her house. Here in Moab.”

He snorts. “Please, don’t be shy. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I just recall you saying, ‘Hey, Luca, let’s go hang in Utah for a few
weeks
. Tough cracks, high jumps, fearless and hot women.’ But it’s been over a year and you’re
still here
.”

“As
I
recall,” he says, “we were both broke and had to get jobs.”

“Yeah, I was. But
you
could’ve moved to wherever you wanted. You didn’t have to stay.”

He shrugs, then takes a drink, and that just pisses me off to no end.

I set my glass down harshly, pointing at him. “I am not your responsibility.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t begin to pretend you know anything about responsibility. Or what happens when you fuck it up.”

“That’s bullshit! I was just as responsible as you were. Let it go!”

He sits forward, his voice dropping dangerously. “I was your cover.
Me
.”

“So, what? You’re going to follow me around the rest of my life? Checking up on me and being my guardian angel?”

“You need a guardian angel,” he hisses. “You don’t exactly have the greatest track record with thinking shit through. You just do it and figure you’ll work out the consequences as you go along.”

“Fuck you, and that is not my fault,” I growl, and he grits his teeth before sitting back in his chair.

He takes a deep drink, then nods. “I know. Which is why I’m telling you the next time you pick up a bottle of whiskey? You call me first, and I’ll come drink it with you.”

I roll my eyes, then take a pull off my glass. “I’m not drinking that stuff again.”

“Luca,” he says gravely, and I look at him. “Soon, you will. The question is whether the bottom of one bottle is going to be deep enough.”

I swallow, then nod.

He stays quiet for minute as we both drink, then he jerks his chin at me. “Twenty bucks and two shots say you don’t remember what you spouted off to me when you arrived at indoc.”

I chuckle, then try to remember, but all I can think about was the endless torture of underwater Buddy Breathing exercises while the Sergeants basically tried to drown us, and of course there’s Hell Night… But I don’t really remember meeting Scott.

We bunked together through the ten grueling weeks at Lackland, and I recall asking him to keep his hemorrhoid cream away from my stuff because I was a punk little eighteen-year-old and he’s a few years older than me, but that’s all.

“Pay up,” he says and I groan and pull out a twenty dollar bill from my wallet, slapping it on the table. He pours two shots in my glass, and after I gulp them with a wince he punches my shoulder in a job-well-done before he leans back in his chair.

“You gonna spit it out or stitch it on a pillow?”

“Cocky little…” he trails off, then pretends to go for a handshake. “‘I’m Luca Roark,’” he says in a shitty impression of me, and I snort. “‘Hope you’re prepared to get your ass kicked, old man, because I’m the baddest motherfucker there ever was or will be. And don’t touch my stuff or I’ll drop you in a move that Vince McMahon tried to recruit me over.’”

I burst out laughing, then Scott kicks at my foot with a pointed throat clear.

I look over to where he jerked his chin, and shit. Zoe’s leaning against the wall wearing silk pajama pants and a tank top covered by a long-sleeved, thin cotton robe tied loosely in the front, complemented by an arched eyebrow and crossed arms. But at least there’s a tiny hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “Did we wake you?”

She doesn’t respond.

Not good.

That’s a loud and clear: I never fell asleep because you two were being obnoxious.

“Sorry, Zoe,” Scott says, a little slurred, and she pushes off the wall and walks towards us, hand held out expectantly.

“Car keys, both of you.”

Scott and I exchange a look and then reach into our pockets, pulling out our keys and handing them over.

“There are two guest rooms on the right side of the hall,” she tells Scott. “Take whichever one you like, and there are towels and toiletries in the guest bathroom. If there’s anything else you need, you can suck it up and get over it because I don’t own a hotel.”

“Oh shit,” I mutter with a chuckle, pressing a fist to my mouth to try and cover the sound but I’m already busted.

“
You
,” she says and I swallow, getting myself under control. “Have work in the morning.”

“Yes, Boss,” I say and sloppily nod. And she immediately hurls the keys at me while Scott laughs and I twist away to block them. “Ow! Hostile work environment, I’m filing a complaint with HR.”

“You’ll be filing for unemployment if you keep calling me that.”

“Ooh,” Scott drawls, then whispers, “bet she’d deny the claim too.”

“See?” she says to me, but gestures to Scott. “A man with observational skills. Now why can’t
you
put two and two together?”

“Because you refuse to buy a wardrobe that doesn’t hinder my ability to do basic math.”

I smirk and Scott erupts in laughter, holding his fist out to me and I bump it with my own.

She sighs and crosses her arms. “And that just saved you from guest room number two.” I fist pump and she shakes her head with a chuckle, then turns on her heel and walks back towards her bedroom, calling behind her, “Make sure the front door is locked. We’ve had enough intruders for one night.”

I drink the last of the cognac in my glass, then get up and pick up the car keys. Scott holds his hand out and I put them in my pocket.

“No way, she’s gonna collect as soon as I go in there.”

He makes a mockingly-apologetic face and I stumble off to lock the front door, then check the back one and the third that leads into the garage. When I come back from turning off all the lights, Scott is stretching with a yawn.

“I’m fine on the couch, man.”

“She doesn’t want you on her couch. Now get up,” I say and grab him by his collar, then steer him towards the guest room farthest from Zoe’s. “And do what she says before you get me in more trouble.”

“She’s got you completely—”

“Shut up,” I say and lightly shove his back, and he stumbles forward but catches himself on the closed door.

He opens it and when he sees the caliber of furniture, he immediately bursts out, “Jesus Christ! Is she secretly royalty or something?”

I roll my eyes. “I know,” I say and push him in. “Don’t break anything, make your bed in the morning and put the pillows and everything else back where they go, or I’ll remove something you’ll miss. And if you have to get up before she does then be fucking quiet about it. Do
not
wake her up.”

Scott turns and shoves his hands in his pockets, then jerks his chin at me. “What time are you out the door in the morning?”

“Early. Like six, maybe seven depending. But she won’t leave until around nine,” I say, then add quieter, “possibly ten depending on how sick she is.”

He nods, then barely whispers, “Want me to hang a bit in the morning, keep an eye on things?”

I chew the inside of my lip. “Keep an ear out, but don’t go in there unless she says it’s fine or you absolutely have to, and call me
first
.”

“You got it,” he says, then tilts his head with a smirk. “She doesn’t by any chance sleep naked, does she?”

I stare at him and he puckers a kiss at me, but when my right hook flies he lets it land: his head whipping to the right as he curses because he knew that was coming and it’s not like it was a full swing anyway. But still. That wasn’t fucking funny.

“Luca!” Zoe shrieks from a few feet behind me, and I peek over my shoulder to see her standing in her doorway, mouth agape.

I check my hand, then shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Wha…” she trails off, and Scott pokes his head out of the room to smile at her.

“Just a little love tap, my dear. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

I shove him back in the room and then pull shut the door, holding it closed when he yanks on it.