Mystery ~ MV1

012. Truth for a Half Truth

[Agent A]

The café Max chose was tucked away in a quiet corner of South Beach, far enough from the tourist traps to actually hear yourself think.

The morning air was thick with humidity, but the café's covered patio caught just enough of the sea breeze to make it bearable. Palm fronds swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across our small table. I look away from the front door I purposefully chose my seating to be able to see and looked towards the blonde in front of me.

I watched him over the rim of my coffee cup as he studied the menu, taking the opportunity to observe him when he wasn't paying attention.

There was something different about him outside the paddock – more relaxed, less guarded. His hair was still a bit damp from our sparring session, and his shirt still clung to his shoulders like a second skin that made it a bit easy to lose track of what I was trying to think of about him.

"You're staring," he said without looking up from the menu, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Just trying to figure out if you're the type to put pineapple on pizza," I deflected smoothly, setting down my cup and rolling my shoulders. The ceramic clinked against the saucer, a sharp sound against the soft murmur of early morning conversations around us.

He looked up then, expression mock-serious as he put down his menu. "That's classified information. I'd have to kill you if I told you."

"Pretty sure I could take you," I replied, thinking of how easily I'd pinned him earlier.

The memory sent an unexpected wave of heat through me that had nothing to do with the Miami morning.

"Is that what you think happened in the gym?" His eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned back against the booth we sat in. "Because I remember things differently."

"Oh? Do tell. What exactly do you remember?" I challenged, leaning forward slightly.

He matched my posture, voice dropping low and  conspiratorially. "I think I remember tripping? Maybe I went a little too easy on you."

"That's not how I remember it at all," I countered, trying to ignore how the morning light seemed to get caught in his blue eyes. "At least not in the ring. I do distinctly recall someone fumbling around with a weight rack trying to look cool before that though."

"I wasn't fumbling," he protested, but his grin gave him away. "I was... strategically positioning myself."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

The waitress arrived before he could respond, saving me from having to acknowledge the loaded undertone in his voice. We ordered – him a breakfast that was probably similar to his usual one based on how he seemed to order it from memory, me a more simple piece of toast and eggs that I probably wouldn't finish. I had already had breakfast, which made why I was doing this even less productive.

"You know," he said once we were alone again, "for someone who spends their life capturing other people's stories, you're surprisingly good at avoiding telling your own."

"This very poetic" I said instead of a real answer. Which only got me a unsatisfied expression from him.

"Maybe I prefer being behind the lens," I add, stirring my coffee even though I hadn't added anything to it.

"Or maybe you just like being mysterious." He tilted his head with a teasing smile meant to hide the way he's studying me with an intensity in his eyes that made me want to squirm. "Which makes me wonder what exactly you're hiding."