Page 24 of Jonesing for a Spy

Instead of being truthful, I shrug. “Change of scenery, I guess.”

“Bullshit, but I’ll let you keep your secrets.” I can’t see it, but there’s a smile in his voice from behind me.

Let me? I’m sure he doesn’t even hear the language, but no one has let me do anything since I swore my oath at the recruiting office.

Dear old Uncle Sam doesn’t count—no one is free of him. That old “death and taxes” line is true. That’s when we’re clear of his requirements. Well, mostly. And only if we did everything else required.

“It’s not a secret. This is one of my happy places. Remember when Wiggle scared the crap out of Mom?”

“Johnny should’ve known better. She was so pissed she wanted me to write him out of the will after that stunt.”

“In the literal sense, she wasn’t pissed.” The emphasis on the word can’t be overplayed.

Johnny borrowed Jamie’s scuba gear, planned when Mom would be in one of her frequent spring yoga-on-the-pier sessions, and waited until she was in a beautiful, meditative Malasana. Her yogi squat was the perfect position to crap her pants when he sprang from the water, holding a fake decapitated head.

Dad’s laughter rolls over me and ripples across the water. “She was so mad. Badass June Jones with shit in her drawers—not from terrorists, but from her son.”

“And you’ve never let her forget it.”

“Nope. Never will. Payback’s a bitch, and she bought that one many times over.”

“That she has.”

“Her response will be epic,” he continues.

“Do you know what it is?” I twist to face him.

“I don’t even know that she does, but you know it’ll be brutal.”

I fake a shiver. “The queen was toppled, but she still reigns.” Mom is a terrible and creative prankster.

The world thinks she’s sweet.

We all know better.

Strider

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Fairhope is idyllic. Maybe it’s the warm sun and the cool breeze. Maybe it’s the escape from the mundane in Peoria.

Then again, it could be because I had the best sex of my life last night.

Mirren is witty, smart, and a temptress in bed. And she knows how to use all of it to bring me to my knees—a place I’d gladly stay.

I haven’t heard back from her, and honestly, I expected to, even after grabbing lunch and hitting the grocery store for dinner tonight. She seems to rise to any challenge. The dare of stealing her vibrator didn’t do what I’d hoped.

I have to say, I never expected to write a note, get dressed, and quietly leave a woman with her purple toy sticking out of my pocket. Chalk that up to a once-in-a-lifetime experience. At least, that’s my hope. I’m not equipped for multiple vibe thefts.

On a deeper level, I can’t imagine wanting another woman’s battery-operated boyfriend. It’s not like I’m starting a collection. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want Mirren wanting something besides me… or getting satisfaction from something—or someone—else either.

Setting thoughts of sex toys aside, I chop the peppers and onions and sauté them down with some garlic. Bolognese isn’t sexy, but it’s good, and mine is great. I credit the meat mixture and the red wine. That and browning the tomato paste.

While that’s marrying, I start my Caesar dressing. I’m no baker. I leave that to my mom and sister, Lorien, even if she’s terrible at it. But I can cook, and sauces are my thing. Dressings count.

Garlic infuses the air, and the sizzle of veggies has been replaced with the pop of air bubbles as the sauce reduces. It’s in that moment that I hear the groan.

“What smells so good?” Mirren appears from the hall that leads to the rear of the house.

My brain wants to play it cool; my body has other plans. Long strides take me to her. I look from her eyes to her mouth as my arms wrap low on her back.