Page 33 of Jonesing for a Spy

Once again, I’m thankful for normal parents who were only raving The Lord of the Rings fans and not insane.

I can’t help it, I have to know. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Five.” Mirren shakes her head as if utterly inconvenienced by this fact just as Mikey rounds the island with his bowl of pasta and red sauce, his laden fork almost to his mouth, and sees her vibrator in the melted ice water.

His bowl clangs to the island, and his eyes spear mine. “What the fuck?”

The woman at my side places a hand to my forearm, but I shake it off. My thoughts exactly. “Not my place, because you should know better, but let me lay it out for you since you don’t. Your sister is a grown woman, a business owner, and a badass. How she chooses to spend her days, or her nights, is neither your concern nor your responsibility. She speaks highly of her family and shows you respect. Because I respect her, I’ll extend the same courtesy to you even when you haven’t shown the same to me or, frankly, to her. Now, if it’s okay with Mirren and you can be reasonable, you can stay and have some dinner. If you can’t, you can see yourself out.”

Silence descends, and I wonder instantly if I overstepped.

Her house. Her family. Her life. And it’s not as if she doesn’t know her own mind or is afraid to speak up.

His face morphs. From surprise to anger, anger to disbelief, disbelief to suspicion, and finally, suspicion to acceptance. And in a move that shocks the shit out of me, he grins wide and forks up a huge bite of pasta. Just before tossing it in his mouth, he looks at Mirren. “I like him.” To me he adds, “Is that a Muppets t-shirt?”

Looking down, I deflate. Nothing says I can hold my own at an Army Ranger’s side like a tee with 1980’s puppets on it. “Yeah. A gift from my sister. It’s an inside joke.”

“We get that, don’t we, Scooter?” He flashes a smile at Mirren and annihilates his bowl of spaghetti Bolognese.

Mirren

Nothing says Zipper like flaming up in reaction only to settle down into jovial, easy-going, and accepting. I’d say he gives me whiplash, but I’ve known him too long and he’s so easy to love. He’s a teddy bear for his people and a porcupine for anyone who crosses his tribe.

“Yeah, we get it.” I mock the fire hydrant portion of Monica and Ross Geller’s New Year’s Eve Dance from Friends, and he does the same, his grin wide, his posture relaxed.

“Who am I missing?” Strider asks. “Charlie, Jamie, Davie, Mikey, and…?”

“Johnny,” I say at the same time Mikey says, “Wiggle.”

“I can barely keep up with all of you, having double the names is nuts.”

“Speaking of, want me to tell them to come here? I was on recon to make sure you’re okay, but if you have food…”

“I don’t have food.” I round the island and grab my uneaten bowl, throwing it in the microwave and asking Strider if he wants me to do the same for his.

“Why not?” He doesn’t sound convinced, more so resigned, but takes his former stool as I move around the kitchen he did all the work in as if we’re some couple used to this dance.

I serve him and excuse myself to throw on my jeans. When I return, I plant myself against the counter on the far side of the island eating delicious sauce and pasta, wearing Strider’s dress shirt and pretending my kitchen doesn’t hold the faintest smell of sex.

Strider’s eyes hold mine as we all chat. His lip curls up on one side, and he winks when Mikey’s not watching.

I dip my head to let my loose hair frame my face, covering my blush and hiding my response from prying eyes— both his and my brother’s.

“About game night?” Mikey starts again.

“I’m not available tonight for game night and neither is my house.” I level my brother with my gaze. “The Jones boys don’t need to know about tonight. Got it?”

Strider’s gaze whips up. The look on his face will haunt me for all my days. “Don’t look at me like that, Anderson. You have no idea what four more brothers bring to this mix. And I’d assume you’re not interested in Charlie being clued in right now either.”

“Charlie?” my brother asks with one word.

“They know each other from way back. Strider and I met prior”—I clear my thoughts—“to me knowing they were old friends.”

“Colleagues,” Strider corrects.

“Regardless,” Mikey goes on. “What am I supposed to tell them?” He whips out his phone.

“Tell them I’m abstaining from kicking their asses and embarrassing them just this once. I’ll be back at it week after next.”