Page 81 of Jonesing for a Spy

We’re back in our suite before I know it.

Strider shakes the bag expectantly. “I know it says you’re supposed to do it first thing in the morning, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Just to fuck with him, I say, “There’s no use in wasting them. Besides, I don’t have to pee right now.” Am I antsy to know? Yes. And no.

He slides a comically long water bottle from the end table.

“Those things are like eight dollars. I’m not spending eight dollars to take a test.”

He shrugs. “Eight isn’t much when we spent ten times that on tests.”

I shake my head at the thought. What? Shit. Babies are expensive even when you don’t know whether you have one.

I extend a hand, palm up. “Choose one.”

He hands me two.

“That’s not one.”

His lips tip up at the corners, and he pushes his glasses up at the bridge. “I seem to remember that I’m the only man to give you multiples. One will never be enough when it comes to you.”

I can’t help it. At that, I laugh. “Who am I to argue with that?”

I take the two into the bathroom, skim the instructions, and follow them as best as my frazzled mind allows. Leaving them on the counter, I return to find him lounging on the bed, back to the headboard, shoes and socks kicked off on the floor. “Come here,” he says, bordering on a command.

On wooden legs, I oblige. When I’m within arm’s reach, he tugs me onto his lap. I squeal as I topple.

“Tell me something. Anything. What are you most embarrassed about?”

My face flames. No way in hell am I playing this game. “My brother walking in on us with my vibrator on the island wasn’t fun.”

“That’s the most embarrassing moment of your life?”

I shake my head. “Not even close. But only because Zipper is the easiest to chastise. He’s mostly bluster. He has a huge heart and so long as his people are safe, he’s live-and-let-live.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

My eyebrows rise. “You’re willing to give me fodder?”

“I’m trusting you not to use it against me,” he returns.

“Hit me.”

“When I was in high school,” he starts, his eyes darting up and to the side reliving the memory. “A crew of guys went to the state fair. It was a fall weekend, and we thought we were big and tough. We were maybe sixteen, seventeen max. Anyway, the fair is almost an hour and a half away, and we didn’t tell our parents because we didn’t want the lecture.”

“And you didn’t think your cell phone location gave that away? Or was this back in the flip phone days?”

Fingers tickle my ribs just enough that I cackle.

“I’m nearly the same age as Charlie. Not your grandpa. Anyway. We drank a lot on the way. A lot. Tony stayed sober and was the designated driver, but the rest of us were hammered. So much so that after a couple of gnarly rides, I puked on a man in front of me. Like everything in my stomach was all down his back from hairline to his knees.”

“Gross.”

He holds up a finger and mimics the voice on so many commercials, “But wait. There’s more.”

My face must be a mix of horror and desire to hear the rest because he goes on.

“I ran. We all ran. Between the projectile puking and the running, I shit myself. I left my underwear in the parking lot and went commando as clean as I could be all the way home. That crew called me CSS for the rest of high school.”