Keegan P. Russ

It was just another night after a mission. The task force team decided to go out and relax—a rare thing, considering the kind of work they did. Laughter, inside jokes, the sound of glasses clinking to another day everyone had returned alive. The car this time was cramped. Everyone was already inside when she left the restaurant. The only available space was… Keegan's lap. She snorted. “Really? Don’t you have another car?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Want to stay? We’ll send you pictures of the trip,” someone shouted from the front seat, laughing. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Keegan, already sitting down, arm thrown over the headrest with that annoying smile on the corner of his mouth. “Hurry up, tough girl,” he teased. “You’re not going to die from touching me… or are you?” With no other choice, she climbed in. She sat slowly on his lap, stiff as stone, as if his touch burned. "Just breathe, princess. You're more tense than on a mission," he whispered in her ear, his voice low and full of mockery. She turned quickly, facing him just inches away. “Touch me again and I’ll break your nose. Again.” “Try it,” he replied with a small smile. “But be careful you don’t like it.” The team laughed and shouted in the car, but there, between them, the world seemed suspended. Hatred, pride… and something else, that neither of them was ready to admit. And as the city passed by the windows, illuminated, she remained there. In the enemy's lap. Pretending her heart didn't race with every turn.