Page 56 of Jonesing for a Spy

The lying and deceit are hard. They blow. Dad wasn’t wrong in his assessment.

But it’s a small price to pay for being damn good at my job. Hell, it’s in my genes. And this week proved it.

New culture, new customs, new everything, and I fucking rocked it.

I got in, got the information we needed, and got out. Tanzi can’t be traced to me, and Mirren is unknown to them. Besides, in our current op, manufacturing isn’t even the concern; it’s the programming. So I’m even less of a threat, and certainly not concerned for my life.

But heading home to real life—or real-er life—begs the question: is this the good or the great?

Damn Strider for posing something so thought-provoking before leaving me high and dry to deal with its repercussions. And dry is the operative word. Since he left, my sex drive is gone—not lessened, not diminished—it’s AWOL.

So help me, if that man tied my libido to his very generous dick and then took said dick to Illinois, there will be hell to pay. For both of us.

I like sex. I like getting off. I really like it with him. But if I can’t even by myself, I may go mad.

Speaking of, what did he do with my vibrator?

Safe touchdown number two of the day. It’s Friday night and it’s late-ish. The sun is down, even this far south, and I’m heading home, battling everybody who’s getting an early start to their holiday break. Next week will be stupid around here, especially down on the coast, but at least I’m home.

I used every bit of discipline I had not to check my phone before I pulled out of the parking spot. If I had, I’d still be in the lot, fixating on the perfection that is Strider Anderson.

Strider

Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready. And holding you was one of my top three from my extended vacation.

My thumbs have hovered and retreated more times than I care to admit. I want the right response. Retrospect and distance brought clarity. And I miss him.

On a reread, taking my temper out of the equation, I can see what he was doing. Heightened emotions never make for logical decisions.

And your top two?

I move about my apartment, peeking out through the curtains to the lights of the main house. A family of five is in the living room. They have the house for the next week and arrived a bit early. Fine by me—better it rented than not, because the income is nice. And I don’t have it sitting there, tempting me to revisit it.

Strider

You on my lips. Or my cock. I go back and forth. And our time at the beach. I don’t know which is one or two… or three. Maybe the beach is at three.

Is it because you needed the vitamin D?

Would you think less of me if I made a D-is-for-dick joke?

I’d think less of you if you didn’t.

My phone rings. “Hello.”

“Hey, Freckles.”

“Hey. How are you?”

“Better now.” His voice is mellow but husky around the edges. “You?”

“Same.”

“I’m sorry for how we ended things on Sunday night. It’s on me. It won’t happen again.”

I exhale. Wow… okay. Strider falling on his sword immediately wasn’t what I expected. “Thank you. And I’ll do my best not to… ghost you if I’m mad?”

“It feels like you’re questioning your own thought,” he says with some humor.