Page 37 of Jonesing for a Spy

“No. What I mean is… My oldest little sister is married. The baby is engaged, getting married in May.” I size him up. “Even with your bulk, I wouldn’t put you up against her fiancé.”

“Pity. I like a challenge.”

Why does that not surprise me? I extend my hand again, knowing the last time he left me hanging. “Good to meet you, Mikey Jones.”

“Right back atcha, Strider Anderson.” He grips my hand. “Though the circumstances sucked.”

“You are not wrong.”

A car door slamming takes our attention back to the driveway where Mirren stands, hands on hips, facing the car reversing from her driveway.

“Hmm. That’s weird.”

“Everything about tonight has been weird,” I reply and watch Mirren return to her apartment.

She finds us standing at the window overlooking the scene when she opens the door. “Crisis averted,” she offers on a sigh.

Now why would her mother being here constitute a crisis?

16

garlic and sex

Strider

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. After excusing myself from Mirren’s apartment, I returned to the big house, put away the leftovers, and straightened the kitchen.

After a stare down with the glass of iced vibrator, I returned it to its previous hiding place in my luggage. Once the house was dark and locked up for the night, I took a hot shower and dropped into bed to read. Or so I thought.

I’m sound asleep in the same position two hours later, when the sheet and comforter on the far side lift and Mirren slides under.

Her body stills as she stares at the ceiling in silent contemplation. If it hadn’t been for the beeps of the alarm system being disabled that warned me, I would’ve been shocked to see her.

As it is, she’s not touching me, isn’t facing me, and is unusually quiet. I want to roll her into me, hold her, and hear her secrets. Since that’s not on the agenda, I slide my hand over to find hers and intertwine our pinkies. It’s the least I can touch her while having some contact. That’s never been me. In fact, I don’t know where any of these thoughts come from.

Her exhale echoes around the room, and she speaks so quietly, I have to focus to hear each word. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my family barging in. I’m sorry for being a mess. I’m sorry you had to deal with so much tonight. You keep giving, keep showing up, and I keep ruining everything.” She slides her hand into mine and interlaces our fingers. “Dinner was delicious, by the way. The after-dinner festivities were even better. And my shit got in the way. I’m sorry.”

I squeeze her hand, not needing to explain that she alone is the reason I keep showing up. She’s my crack, my addiction.

“My mom. My brother.” She throws her free hand over her head. “The kitchen smelled like garlic and sex. I wanted to dissolve into the floor in my embarrassment while simultaneously screaming at Mikey to get out.”

“I’m sorry you were embarrassed.”

“I was mortified. You can’t know, but being the youngest is a whole vibe. The only sister is another. My panties were on the floor, and I was wearing your shirt and no pants.”

“Yeah.” The satisfaction in my voice cannot be more obvious. “I liked you in my shirt.”

“Don’t be smug.” She reaches over to slap my hand holding hers. “My bits were in the breeze, and my brother was eating your pasta.”

“That sounds kinky and not in the way I like.”

“Hush. I’m trying to apologize, and you’re being cute.”

“I like that you think kinky is cute. I can work with this,” I say with a grin.

Her hand in mine squeezes tight, but before she can speak, I cut her off. “And you don’t need to apologize. In fact, I won’t accept your apology. There’s no need for one. I’m in your home, in your town, near your family. There’s no reason to assume they wouldn’t be around.”

“But butting in on our date?”