5. Delicious Poison
delicious poison
Strider
Jamie isn’t gone long. He returns with plates of food, setting appetizers on the bar in front of us, and taking a position behind it with his shorter, far-less-serious brother.
Davie, true to what I’m learning is his personality, keeps the conversation going. “Arcade-slash-bar-slash-kitchen on the weekends. Life is grand.” He gestures to the food. “It’s not fancy shit, but apps with good ingredients sell lots of beer.”
My sister would concur. Fried shrimp, egg rolls, and a couple of hot dips with chips are joined by fried chicken fingers and more sauces than I’d ever consider.
“It’s Alabama. You know I couldn’t skip the chicken fingers,” he continues, sliding another beer my way, and passing what looks like a Sprite to Mirren. Charlie’s already working on beer number two, and Jamie sips water as if he won’t let his guard down, even with his family.
“It’s a thing,” Mirren adds from my right. “Georgia just outpaced us, but Alabama’s been the number one producer of broiler chickens in the nation for years.”
“That’s a weird factoid.”
“Until you start discussing chicken fingers in a state that perfected them. Then it’s common knowledge. Try the comeback sauce.”
I bite my tongue for the joke that’s there for the making and do as she suggests. At this point, the woman could invite me into a dank basement dungeon and I’d follow along to see her ass swish ahead of me.
“Yeah, that’s good. Davie, remind me to get you a recipe my sister shared with me for fry sauce. It’s a Utah thing, but the Denverites have it down.”
“I love Colorado,” Freckles offers. “But I’m more of a Pagosa Springs-Durango-kind-of-girl. Denver is traffic and concrete.”
“And you’re more moose and death hikes?” I hope it comes off funny and not sarcastic.
“Something like that.” She smiles as she takes another bite.
“Everything like that,” her eldest brother says from my side. “The girl—”
“Woman,” she corrects.
“…Woman would be outside every minute of every day. How do you think she keeps those freckles? You’d think the Army would’ve ruined tent camping for her, but no.”
“The Army doesn’t create new. It engrains what’s already there.” Jamie holds his sister’s gaze, and he visibly softens before his stoicism returns and he becomes a soldier once again.
The two of them have a connection that’s deeper than the others, or at least different from the rest.
“Were you Army as well?” I ask him, scooping up what turns out to be a hot seafood dip. Melted cheese burns my finger as I lift the bite to my mouth.
“Navy.”
So sailor, not soldier. Seems the nickname thing was missed a little. I’ll ask at some point, but the serious turn makes it hard to joke or even ask.
“Are you still active duty?” It’s innocuous enough. Or so I think.
He shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate further.
All righty then.
“Jamie’s in shipping and boating. He’s—”
Davie cuts her off. “Bubba Gump.”
“Not exactly,” the man in question corrects.
“Eh.” Davie mimes juggling. “You say potato, I say po-tah-to.”
“I was willing to die for his shit.” Jamie says directly to the woman at my side. Is it just me or is she leaning closer to me? Or is that me leaning closer to her?
“Same, Hambone. Same.” She lifts her glass. “Stupid fucking knee.”
Jamie doesn’t respond. Davie hangs his head for a brief moment, and Charlie drinks deeply from his beer.
“Never would’ve thought,” Charlie pipes in. “That all six of us would stay in this silly little town.”
“It’s not little anymore,” Jamie puts in.
“The growth is noticeable,” I add.
“Delicious poison,” Charlie replies. “But the point still remains. How did we all end up here?”
It’s Davie who answers. After this little time knowing him, that isn’t a surprise. It’s expected. “Good weather. Good food. Good people. Good family. Why would we leave?”
“You know what I meant.”
“The pros outweigh the cons, Skipper. You know that or you wouldn’t still be here either.”
“My job is here.”
“Only because you want it to be,” Mirren puts in quietly.
He nods and looks at his beer as if it holds the answers.
And let’s be real. So much of the time, it does.
Mirren
Strider removes his glasses, wipes the corner of his eyes with thumb and forefinger, and replaces them where they belong. Those sexy dark glasses. Is it wrong that I want to see him read in them, perhaps in bed with the sheet only up to his waist?
This has bad written all over it.
Or it has one night written all over it. Or maybe a couple of nights. I could handle something raunchy, physical, and exhausting. And I bet Strider Anderson could keep up.
It’s been forever. Well, long enough I’ve forgotten what a non-self-induced orgasm feels like. I’m good with my hands. I’m good with tools. But I’m predictable. The idea of not knowing, of the edging, of someone else having the control for once has me clenching my thighs and wiggling in my seat.
His eyes track the movement. I know because they dilate when I sneak a peek at him.
Busted twice in a single day is two times more than I’ve been caught out since I left the service and joined the agency. Seriously, I’m a better operative than this.
But the look on his face, the heat in his eyes, the slight lean of his body toward mine says not only have I been caught, but he wants to catch me.
Yeah, this has bad written all over it.
A change of topic should help. “What do you do that you worked with Charlie after Samantha?”
“I own an electrical contracting firm. Co-own, really. My sisters have ownership, too, but neither are involved in the business, so I’m the owner plus everything else.”
The way he corrects himself about his family reminds me of mine. There’s a kindness, a humility, in it that’s rare.
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Two. And they’re complete opposites. One’s a watercolor artist and the other is a biochemist.”
Rookie cuts into our conversation. “And here I was thinking we were different.” He looks around the room. “We’re practically twins.”
“Speak for yourself.” Jamie tosses back the rest of his water.
My brothers break the spell, all right, but that doesn’t change what’s happening in my panties.
Charlie drops his empty glass on the bar with a thunk. “I needed someone to pull wire. Strider here showed up with supplies, a willingness to work, and a meter.”
“It was the least I could do.” Strider taps his glass against Charlie’s empty one. “And now I get free beer every couple of years.”
“Hey. Who said the beer’s free?” Davie asks, looking around like he’s offended.
“I did, asshole.” Charlie uses his big brother voice. “I promised him when we were sweating our asses off getting shit back up and running. Why do you think we’re here tonight? Add it to my tab.” He lifts his eyebrows, daring our brother to contradict him.
“You ever plan to pay that tab?”
“Nope.” He tilts his cup toward Davie to show it’s empty.
“Fine.” He pours Charlie another beer, letting it foam more than usual. “But I’m calling in mine when needed.”
Charlie takes a sip, fighting the foam on his upper lip. “Never expected any different.”
Strider turns to me. “Is it always like this?”
“I’d say yes, but that’s downplaying what it’s actually like. Usually, it’s double the dick-waving and the language is more colorful. They must be on their best behavior with you here.”
The look on his face is priceless.
“You’re used to sisters. I’m accustomed to brothers. While they protect me like I’m fragile, I’m not.” I drop my voice. “I’ll let them think that, though, because why not? They’ll figure it out eventually, but no sense in rushing it.” I smile and wink.
His eyes dip from mine to my lips and come right back again.
“You’re not fragile?” The question is loaded.
“Not like a flower.”
His voice drops. “Then like what?”
“What are you two whispering about?” Davie asks as Jamie overtakes him, “Why are you two whispering?”
I lift my chin and hold Rookie’s gaze for an extra beat before laying it out, “Whatever the hell we want to.” Turning to Jamie, I add, “Because we can. Are you worried about my virtue or about you missing out on the details?”
“Virtue? As if. Well, as if there were ever a question of it being intact. Anyone who messes with you”—his gaze whips to Strider—“should know better. Besides, he’s too old for you.”
“Ham, I love you. Butt the fuck out of my sex life.”
“Sex life?” Charlie groans. “No. We are not having this conversation.” He drains his beer and shakes his head on another groan.
“How old are you?” I ask Strider loudly, returning my focus to him.
“Old enough to recognize a no-win conversation when I hear it. Old enough to know what it means to want to protect your little sister. Old enough to know better than to mess with family dynamics, even if watching you put them in their places is a show I’d pay money to see.”