Page 34 of Jonesing for a Spy

He thumbs his phone. “Group text is popping off. How are you not responding?”

I tap my jeans pocket, fighting to not press my unbound breasts against Strider’s shirt as I do. “Must’ve left it at my place.”

“And you were here without it because…”

“If you have to know, I had a date.” I gesture to his bowl. “That’s my date food you’re eating.”

“I’m calling a do-over,” Strider puts in. “This doesn’t count.”

I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as Mikey lifts a fist to Strider to bump. “I like you.” He lifts his empty bowl to me and with his best British accent says, “Please, ma’am, can I have som-more?”

“Get it yourself but leave some for leftovers. It’s too good to not be able to experience again.”

When my brother turns his back to us, Strider waggles his brows and mouths, “too good,” and licks his lips.

My eyes flare.

My fingers flex.

And my face flames.

I pick up my deserted salad and throw it back. It’s just as good soggy as it was fresh. Using my fork, I point at the bowl. “What’s the secret here? Why is this so much better than anything else I’ve ever eaten?”

Strider shrugs. “Could be the cook. Could be you’re hungry. That always makes things taste better.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Out of nowhere, my brother’s fork scoops into my salad, and he hums behind me. “Yeah, that’s delicious. Mexican oregano?”

“You keep spilling my secrets, I won’t have an excuse to cook for Mirren again.”

“I like you, but I’m not going to help facilitate whatever this is.” My brother points between us with his fork, a noodle wiggling precariously on the tines as he does.

“I was doing just fine without you, ahem… facilitating.” I stretch out the last word.

“I was doing fine without you anti-facilitating,” Strider mutters under his breath.

“I like you less than before.” Mikey’s smile belies his words, but there’s a hint of truth there. My brothers—all of them—protect me like I’m six years old and got knocked off my bike by a bully. If they knew about my current job, they’d shit themselves. They all had a collective blackout about me while I was in the special forces. Well, all but Jamie. But he knows all too well what that took from me, what it’s still taking from me.

My brother’s phone rings, and he answers before I can protest. Cartoon me is slow-motion, running and stretching, screaming no that leaves my voice low as if slowed down to half speed. Real me takes an inhale hoping I can handle the next bit of BS coming my way.

“Hey, Skip. What’s up?” Mikey nods at his shoes, apparently noticing my panties, his eyes flying to mine before slicing to Strider. “No. She’s fine.” There’s a pause. “A date apparently. Friend of yours… Strider something or other.”

I close my eyes and sigh.

Loving my brothers is easy, except when it’s not. And me being a woman, especially one with adult needs is one of those times it most certainly isn’t.

“Yeah. No. She says it’s not a good time. I’ll spare you the details.”

My eyes fly open, and I spear my brother with a look that would make a lesser man cower. He drops the phone to his chest to cover the mic. “Might want to cover that hickey.” He juts a chin to my neck. “Charlie’s on his way.”

15

get some of that

Mirren

“I suppose it doesn’t matter that I said no? That I specifically said I wasn’t available or that my home wasn’t? I guess you, and Charlie, too, are showing me exactly how much respect you have for me by violating my wishes. No, not wishes. I spelled out plainly what I would accept and what I refused to allow. And none of that was good enough. Get out, Mikey. Now. And you can tell Charlie you overstepped.”