Tate shoved me away with force that had me stumbling backward. “I hardly said a word. And if you touch me again, I’ll fucking lay you flat. Consider this your only free pass, asshole.”
With his eyes angered and glowering, he shoved past and resumed his seat at the dining table. He snatched up his half-eaten lunch and chewed savagely. I hated people meddling in my personal life. Especially now it crossed with my work life.
A shove to my shoulder severed the glare I aimed at Tate, forcing me to refocus on CJ.
“Brother, what was that about?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going home.”
Ignoring CJ’s confusion and Tate’s scowl, I stalked from the break room, gathered my keys and wallet from my office, then pushed through the front door of Cole Security.
Tate’s Hummer sat parked over two parking spaces. I snorted. Ridiculous fucking vehicle.
In my moment of rage, I regretted not collecting every scratch and dent I could while driving it earlier.
Exhaling sharply and shaking my head, I climbed into the driver’s seat of my Tahoe and gunned the engine. Jackson was right, I needed sleep. And a shower. And after having both, I was sure my temper would mellow the hell out again.
* * *
I cursed my predicament as I added milk and stirred vigorously, then exited the break room with my second coffee in-hand.
I’d managed a full night’s sleep and two decent meals, but woke this morning as cranky as a bear with a thorn wedged sideways up its ass. One look at Tate already seated at the oval meeting table was enough to shoehorn it deeper.
“Mornin’,” he drawled, casually kicking back in his chair with his arms linked behind his head.
“Hey,” I grumbled.
Despite the cocky smile, he seemed docile this morning. “Nervous?”
I scoffed. “Nope.”
His loud laugh bounced around us. “Still a little hot under the collar, huh?”
I lowered my chin and glared. He hadnoidea.
Our mini stand-off broke when Jackson entered the room. He tossed a couple of papers on the table while addressing Tate.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Observing.”
Jackson snorted and thumbed over his shoulder. “Get the fuck out.”
“Time for another coffee, anyway.” Tate rose to his feet and stretched leisurely, then smirked. “Hope you packed all your kinky shit, Manbait.”
I flipped him off. “Don’t need kinky shit when I’ve got the skills.”
He let out a hearty chuckle and sauntered from the meeting room like a seafaring peacock.
Running a hand down my face, I cursed and hoped to wipe away the residual irritation.
“What am I missing?” Jackson deadpanned.
I made a flippant gesture. “We’re nurturing a love-hate relationship.”
He snickered as he sat his huge-ass body in the chair Tate vacated. “He’s one of the guys I give a little rope. Try to leash him, he’ll fight it and create more problems than they’re worth.”
I knew the kind. Pittsy from my Green Beret team was the same: try to tie that fucker down and he’d kick up hell. Sometimes it simply wasn’t worth the effort. As long as he was reined in every now and then, he didn’t get into too much trouble.