The 141 and Los Vaqueros finished wrapping up a mission in Las Almas, taking down another cartel stronghold. Alejandro and Rudy insisted that the team stay for a few days to unwind.

That's how you ended up in a bar, just outside the city. You swirled the drink in your glass, glancing around, your gaze landing on Simon—damn, he looked good. Blue jeans, white tee, leather jacket, and the hat.

A cowboy hat, perched atop his head like it belonged there. Alejandro's gift, insisting he embrace the Los Vaqueros spirit. Soap hollered from across the bar, your gaze peeling away from Simon, reluctantly joining him for a game of pool.

You could feel the eyes on your back.

For a while now, you and Simon have had this... thing. An unspoken attraction, a tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Gazes lingered a bit too long, and you swore there was something akin to hunger in his eyes.

Maybe it's the alcohol loosening him up. Maybe it's the way you looked in the dim lighting of the bar, bent over the pool table as you lined up for a shot. Or maybe it's because, for once, you're not in a warzone. But tonight, something felt different.

Simon didn't look away, not once. You ended up losing. And Simon, too distracted, hadn't heard the bet. Not until it was too late.

Soap snatches the cowboy hat off Simon's head, and before he could react, it was on yours.

The moment the hat settles, the bar gets quiet. Alejandro and Rudy watch, smirking—they know the rule. Up until now, Simon had been holding himself together. But seeing you in his hat—too big for your head, brim dipping in front of your eyes—something shifts.

A low, smooth chuckle escapes Simon—warm like whiskey, dark like smoke. His knuckles tapped against the brim, knocking it up just enough for your eyes to meet. You could see it. The hunger.

"You wear that, you best be ready to ride, sweetheart." The words slipped out low and steady, a quiet claim that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn't just teasing. Simon's words were laced with intent.