Noticing women taking second and third glances at Thomas made it hard not to stare at him myself. He was wearing a somewhat tight gray T-shirt with a navy sport coat and jeans, his brown leather belt matching his Timberlands. When I got close enough, I could smell his cologne and found myself breathing deeper.

He hid his eyes behind a pair of aviator sunglasses and kept a forced smile despite being loaded down with our luggage and the knowledge that he would see his family—and Camille—soon.

We sat in the terminal, and Thomas situated our bags around him. He’d only brought a carry-on. The rest was my medium-sized roller luggage, a roller carry-on, and a leather tote.

“What do you have in this thing?” he asked, slowly lowering the leather tote to the floor.

“My laptop, creds, keys, snacks, headset, wallet, a sweater, gum…”

“Did you pack a coat?”

“We’ll be in Illinois for one night, and then we’re off to the Virgin Islands. I can make it for that long with a sweater unless the bachelor party is outside.”

“I’m not sure you’re going to the bachelor party.”

“Trent is proposing to Camille at the bachelor party, right?”

“Seems that way,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet.

“If she can go, I can go.”

“She’s a bartender.”

“I’m an FBI agent. I win.”

Thomas stared at me. “I mean that she might be working the party.”

“So will I.”

“I doubt other females will be there.”

“I’m okay with that,” I said. “Look, I’m not leaving you to witness that alone. I’m not even in love with Jackson, and I can’t imagine how awkward I would feel being present while he proposed.”

“How did the next morning go? You never said.”

“He was gone. I called his mom, and she said that he got home okay. We haven’t spoken.”

Thomas laughed once. “Showed up at your place, begging. What a vagina full of sand.”

“Focus. We won’t have time to drop me off. We’ll have to go straight there, and I’m not waiting in the car. Just tell your brothers we go everywhere together. Tell them that I’m an overbearing, jealous girlfriend. Honestly, I don’t care. But if you wanted background decoration, you should have brought Constance.”

Thomas smiled. “I wouldn’t have brought Constance. She’s very nearly engaged to the S.A.C.’s son.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Really.”

“Another boat you missed while pouting over Camille.”

Thomas made a face. “Constance isn’t my type.”

“Yes, because beautiful, smart, and blonde is so icky,” I deadpanned.

“Not all men are into sweet and loyal.”

“You’re not?” I said, dubious.

He looked down at me, amused. “My type seems to be feisty women who are emotionally unavailable.”

I glared at him. “I’m not the one who is in love with someone else.”