Of course, headquarters sent Cara to help the new guy, who else would have her on their mission?

El Oso, his file read.

Anxiety and clumsiness were unfortunate ingredients to add to an undercover operation. Cara always managed to, pulling it off every single time. It gave her confidence, even if few agents wanted to work with her.

The Bear -- as his codename translated -- wasn't very talkative but he made up by being friendly, always grinning amiably as if to erase from people's minds the threat of his huge frame.

The fact that he could hold two men hostage by sitting on them, not even noticing, was something immediately made evident by the six foot six man sporting a biker beard. It was his undercover persona: 'alcoholic biker wasting time in Tony Romo's bar'.

A boring surveillance mission, in which Cara would be his 'girl' for a few days: 'same addictions, slutty, tends to roam'. To cover her bug planting operation, the reason for her short-term presence in his long-term mission.

"How much longer?" Cara asked.

"Half an hour. The bar opens at seven, I'm usually there, quarter past. Drink my brains out, talk hippie nonsense to the libertarian bartender. She hates me," he winked.

It was clear that in the weeks he'd spent undercover the dusty motel room had become his home. The old chopper was parked directly by the only window, which shared its wall with the door.

No closet, just a rail of black t-shirts, two greyed out pairs of jeans thrown over them. The ones he was wearing were pitch black, making his t-shirt look antique. Some rock band remained a mystery to Cara, she didn't read the name aggressively fonted on his chest, distracted by his thick biceps, black with tattoos.

He followed her stare to his hairy hand, forcing Cara to try to save face, "Are the tattoos yours or did they come with the backstory?"

"Some mine -- covered with menacing lyrics, flames, the Grim Reaper. Those should fade away in six months," his big palm rested on his leg as he sprawled on the bed. He let his head down to stare at the ceiling, big hair drawing an aura around him in dark brown brushes. His file photo showed a trimmed beard and same length hair, a pretty face, good eyebrows.

Cara didn't care about someone's exterior: if she liked a person, they could look however they looked, be whoever they were. It was a gift she gave in advance so that they too accepted her as she was.

Clumsy, benevolent friends said. Airhead, her exes complained. Dumb, her co-workers mocked her in meme emails.

El Oso must've heard the rumors.

About the girl who arrested the drug lord's brother, revealing that -- while she did do a great job getting everyone to confess into her microphone -- she had followed the wrong person of interest all along her three-week mission. It didn't matter much -- the wires had caught both brothers boasting about their involvement. Still, the closed-door deposition where an agent had to confess under oath she had no idea who she was supposed to be tracking was the agency's most talked-about news for weeks, her co-workers supporting her with "It's twins?" and "Welcome home?" banners. Drawing question marks on generic greeting balloons to make them sound as stupid as Cara.

She begged for a chance to wash that stain off her reputation, swearing her next mission would be uneventful. It wasn't.

Undercover as a live-in maid into the home of a billionaire suspected to have killed his first wife, Cara had brought her cheap straightener with her. Then plugged it in, turned it on, and forgot all about it. The fire that brought a skeleton out of the walls of the biggest mansion in the city, reopening a ten-year-old case, had officially been started by "C.C." -- papers couldn't reveal her name. To be fair, that mission had also been a success: the billionaire ended up behind bars.

El Oso got up with lazy moves, reminding Cara of those cute panda videos, taking forever to find a comfortable position once sitting upright on the bed. She smiled, warmed, but he didn't respond, looking over her revealing dress.

"So, there are some stories about you," a grin spread on his face, failing to make him endearing. It did make him hot, though.

"I don't think they're true," he teased her.

"Oh, everything is true," she bit the bullet. She could play.

"It can't be!" he laughed, dark eyes shining at her.

"Every single detail."

"You mean you had sex with a sheik because he caught you snooping in his bedroom?" his eyebrows became impertinent.

"I couldn't think of another lie!" Cara defended herself, serious despite his open amusement. "With his ego, of course he believed I was there for him -- there was no time to think!"

Because he didn't answer, she added, "The USB I took ended his oil company!"

His big body fell back, making the mattress work overtime. "I'm dying tonight, aren't I?" he said in a monotone, already used to the thought.

"Only if you get distracted," Cara left the uncomfortable armchair. Spread over The Bear would've been comfier.

As if reading her mind, he watched her pull her dress down by the hem, trying to cover at least her underwear. Luckily, the dress was wrapped so tight it tended to stick where stretched.

"You can't wear that," El Oso showed the rusty bike out the window. "That's our transportation. You need proper protection."

"You mean the alcoholic who's drunk on his bike every night would show up with his..." Cara didn't find a better word, "Woman -- fully strapped in safety gear? It's only two miles away!"

His eyes widened as he showed her the door, Cara power-walking on ten-inch platforms like they were running shoes. He followed her, wordlessly pushing a cap helmet in her hands.

Watching him maneuver the bike, then climb it -- making it look smaller, the small seat behind him even tighter -- prompted Cara to evaluate that hugging him all the way to Romo's wasn't such a great idea, only two miles away and everything. It was too late to back down, so she took a deep breath and tied her helmet, annoyed that it was flattening her hair.

Having to squeeze behind him, naked legs failing to avoid cold denim, her hands trying not to grab too much of him, preferring to hold on to his t-shirt rather than touching his body too much.

"You need to hold on tighter," he said, "It's an old bike, it may surprise you."

"Okay," Cara lied.

The motor inched the bike forward with a jilt, completely throwing her off-balance. She fell on her back, pulling by his shirt in flailing desperation, knowing she'd meet the grovel anyway. Which she did, hard, rocks poking her back, legs spread to reveal everything that her lace thong couldn't hide. Cara realized that last part because he threw the helmet, coming to help her, but had a moment of hesitation when approaching her.

"I'm okay," she closed her legs to stop his eyes from going over her, they were checking for signs she was lying. Cara got up, ignoring his outstretched hand.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Just my pride," she smiled, deflated with sharp needles still too deep into her back, too proud to touch where it hurt. She dusted the synthetic fabric that kept harassing her skin, instead.

"Let's just say I'm out with my... woman," he teased her, "And I'm not gonna DUI her on our first 'date'. I'll call a taxi."

Cara didn't protest, crossing her arms to discourage conversation. They waited for the car in silence, not talking the entire trip.

Tony Romo's bar was not even trying to pretend it made the money it laundered.

Zero customers, half an hour past seven, it looked like it was closing time. Romo and his gang would show up later, bringing the headcount to ten, including the bartender, an older woman who obviously disliked her regular first customer. She slammed the giant draft in front of him.

"You vomit again, you clean it up!" she said, then returned to the glass she was polishing with the same towel she had wiped the bar with.

"It wasn't me!" El Oso said, and Cara laughed despite knowing he didn't drink all the beer he was buying, needing creative ways to get rid of it.

The bartender stared at Cara, "First date? Got yourself a winner. What'll be?"

"Beer... Bottled," Cara didn't want to take any risks. The fridge door should've been transparent over the bar's beer selection, but the labels were made blurry by the filth that had been spread on it in an attempt to remove it.

A heavy arm circled Cara, crouching her over the bar when resting on her shoulders, tensing her neck. She turned to meet a bright, full-teeth smile.

"We need to look like we like each other," El Oso winked.

Cara closed her mouth in slow motion, swallowing. She was gonna tank this mission too, she could see it.

"I'm gonna do a full recon," she extracted herself, getting down from the bar chair.

"Now? I thought we were waiting for closing time," he looked at his arm as if it was infected.

Cara couldn't wait. She marched to 'find the ladies room'.

Conveniently facing the bathroom door was another door, way more interesting to Cara. She picked its lock in six seconds, then got in and found a place for a bug, even if the room was basically a broom closet. Still, the shape was all wrong, it was too wide for its depth. Worth a shot.

Just when she was about to go back to her 'date', a familiar bear shape surrounded by excessive hair got highlighted in the door frame.

He shut the door behind him, "Romo is here."

"So early?!"

Manly laughs on the hallway made Cara search for encouragement, finding only the same panic in his eyes, in a darker shade of brown.

No windows. They were toast, she knew. It was why, when an idea came, Cara immediately implemented it.

Trembling, her hands went for his belt, undoing it while he watched, too shocked to move, wordlessly accepting.

Only when she grabbed him by the elastic waistband of his boxers, dropping on her knees, pulling his pants and underwear down with her, did he make a move to stop her.

It was too late, Cara was all-in.

Tony Romo opened the door and moved his eyes over the undeniable scene, amusement growing in his stare as Cara got up, obviously mortified.

A death stare, but maybe it was the face tattoos. Cara's partner was also shocked -- his mouth kept opening and closing, no words escaping it. He pulled his pants back up.

Behind Romo, bushy faces crowded to get a better look, disappointed the woman wasn't naked.

"The door was unlocked," El Oso found some words, but it was like his own voice didn't sound like him. "We got carried away."

Tony Romo had two guns on his person at all times, so the fact that he didn't pull one on them was encouraging.

He confirmed it, "Big guy, my money wasn't on you to be the first to successfully hook up, in this classy joint. I don't think that's ever happened," his judgmental stare went over Cara. Maybe she'd visit him in prison. Chat about the classy fauna there.

"Have a drink on me," Romo was entertained enough to let them live.

As they left everyone's earshot, waiting in the parking lot for a taxi, both silent, not looking at each other, Cara still hoped her... choice of escape... would never be brought up again.

If only she hadn't planted that bug.