Cameron Taylor is an independent, strong-willed girl who happens to have a knack for violence. After completing her junior year at UCLA, she's not looking forward to spending a Summer at home. Besides having a dark past that she keeps locked away fr...
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Neither of us have said anything in about 15 minutes.
After that awkward meeting, I think we're both trying to avoid making it more awkward.
I just froze when I saw him. I never just freeze. What the hell is wrong with me?
I give myself five minutes before I fall asleep if he's not gonna talk.
As if he heard me, he finally says something.
"So what's your name? Brady didn't me tell anything, just that you're a new recruit," he says while not looking at me. His voice is deep and sends shivers down my back. I shift in my seat a little before I respond.
"Cameron. And yours?" I ask, grateful for finally being able to speak.
"Cole," he replies.
"How long have you been in the program?" I ask.
It seems like this guy is just as good at hiding his emotions as I am. We're both answering in flat, bored tones, not looking at the other.
"I joined last summer," he answers.
That's surprising, considering he looks like he's been doing shit like this for years.
Before I can continue the conversation, my phone vibrates with a text from my mom saying she loves me and good luck.
He glances over at me as I type a reply and scoffs before facing front again.
"Do you have a problem?" I ask bluntly.
He shakes his head while running his tongue on the inside of his cheek, which, damn me, but I find really hot.
"This is why I hate picking up new recruits," he mutters, more to himself, out of nowhere.
I raise my eyebrows at that. Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
"Care to elaborate," I say as my temper is starting to rise.
"You new recruits are always the same. Never having to actually work for anything and getting into the program by connections alone. You know, some of us were picked because of our achievements and hard work."
I genuinely cannot believe what I'm hearing. I met this guy fifteen minutes ago and he's blatantly insulting me, and failing because that shit isn't true.
"You don't even know me. Who the fuck are you to talk," I say.
He looks at me with a slightly confused face, like he didn't expect me to talk back.
"Darling I'm in the FBI, it's kind of my job to be observant. And I've got you all figured out," he responds cockily.
"Please, do tell. Give me the rundown of who I am if you've got it all figured out," I say with feigned interest.
