Page 27 of Jonesing for a Spy

“With that hair?”

“We’re so off topic.” Strider shakes his head and twists back to stab his salad.

“What was the topic again?”

“Lies and deception.”

“Well, that and first date talking points. Do I want to know?”

The amusement on his face says maybe I overcame that hurdle. Maybe.

“Finish your salad, Freckles.”

“Gotta say, I didn’t have Bob Ross on my bingo card for first date talking points.”

Lies, deception, and Bob Ross… Sounds like a board game.

He slides his salad plate away, having eaten less than half of it. Maybe I didn’t overcome that hurdle like I thought.

“Strider?”

He tilts his head my way. “Yeah?”

“You’re clenching your jaw so hard, it looks like it hurts. I…” I release a huge sigh and hesitate before setting a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I mean, I won’t apologize for looking into you, but I’m sorry if it came off deceitful.” I let my gaze drift away like a coward before returning my eyes to his. “It wasn’t personal. I have to protect myself. You get that, right?”

“Thanks. But I cannot abide liars. It’s a hill I’ll die on.” With that line in the sand, he stands, moving around the island to stir the sauce, and rattling the cooling pasta around in the pot.

Grabbing the bowls he’d laid out, he scoops pasta and thick sauce into both and brings one to me along with a side dish of freshly grated cheese. He returns to the stove to grab his, not bothering to fill the awkward silence that’s fallen.

They say the first person to break the silence in a negotiation loses. But the silence screams… and it tells me I’m to blame. Go ahead, call me a loser, because in this case, I can’t stand it.

Strider

“Fresh parm?” Mirren gestures to the bowl with her fork.

“Romano. Sharper, saltier, a little less nutty.” I grab a healthy pinch and sprinkle it on the Bolognese, repeating the action. It melts like grated butter, and I watch it dissolve.

I ruined the night with my declaration. Better said than unsaid, I guess, but I didn’t have to tack it to the church doors like Luther.

I hate lies. Hate them. There is no acceptable lie. Christmas surprises get a pass, but just barely.

Not that I think most people are okay with it. They simply don’t announce it on a first date like it’s a gauntlet thrown down in challenge.

Not that it matters this far away, and since I’m on vacation, and the age gap, plus all the other things—it’s not a relationship or anything—but I don’t want this kind of tension between Mirren and me.

“I’m sorry too. And not like parents say it when they’re mad and really want to chew kids out. As in, I’m sorry.” I spin the spaghetti around my fork as I speak. “It’s not your problem. It’s a me thing. And I shouldn’t have laid it on you.”

She releases her tension like a balloon releases air. “Thank you. I… Wow. You apologized, and for something that wasn’t on you. My brothers would never. I would never.”

I fake tipping a hat. “Certain things are worth it. Telling people you love them. Apologizing when you’re wrong. Choosing to be brave. Pride should never get in the way of those things.”

“I knew I liked you.” She grins, her nose scrunching as lightness takes over her features, and digs into her pasta. She moans, staring at the bowl, and I go hard. “Oh my God, this is delicious.” She whips her face to mine. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

She doesn’t keep her focus on me, which is good. If she were to, she’d see the intensity on my face, and the steel rod in my jeans.

I push my glasses up and fight not to adjust my dick. “Mom assumed what was good for her daughters was good for her son, and vice versa. Though, I never got the knack for baking. I don’t have the patience.”

“Your mom sounds cool.”