14. Date Food
date food
Strider
“You do not come into my house like this.” Mirren’s hands plant firmly on her hips.
“You weren’t at home, and the lights were on. The code on the back door was available so how could I know I wasn’t welcome?”
“You call”—Mirren mimes a phone with her hand—“and wait for a response.”
“I did.” He mimics her gestures. “And there was no answer or reply. And I worried. You missed family game night. So I checked in like any good brother would.”
I slide around Mirren to the island, find my glasses, and put them on. The man is huge, has coloring like Charlie with the darker hair that’s bleached by the sun and skin that shows he spends lots of time outside. His bulk would be intimidating until I see how Mirren goes toe-to-toe with him.
“Who are you?” he barks.
“Strider Anderson.” I extend a hand. When he doesn’t take it, I add, “Is there a reason you’re lording over Mirren physically?”
The man yanks his head back and looks between Freckles and me. “Who is he?” he asks her.
“He’s already told you. Anything further is none of your business.”
He walks around the island as if she hasn’t put him in his place. “You cooked?”
“Strider did.” Throwing out a hand, she lays the sarcasm on thick as she watches him grab a dish, “But help yourself.”
He shoves a bowl in the microwave. “Thanks.” That won’t enhance the flavor, but I keep my mouth shut, watching the back-and-forth.
“Strider, this is Mikey, my brother. Everyone calls him Zipper.” To him she adds, “Zip, this is Strider, but you already know that.”
Once again, I’m thankful for normal parents who were only raving The Lord of the Rings fans and not insane.
I can’t help it, I have to know. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Five.” Mirren shakes her head as if utterly inconvenienced by this fact just as Mikey rounds the island with his bowl of pasta and red sauce, his laden fork almost to his mouth, and sees her vibrator in the melted ice water.
His bowl clangs to the island, and his eyes spear mine. “What the fuck?”
The woman at my side places a hand to my forearm, but I shake it off.
My thoughts exactly. “Not my place, because you should know better, but let me lay it out for you since you don’t.
Your sister is a grown woman, a business owner, and a badass.
How she chooses to spend her days, or her nights, is neither your concern nor your responsibility.
She speaks highly of her family and shows you respect.
Because I respect her, I’ll extend the same courtesy to you even when you haven’t shown the same to me or, frankly, to her.
Now, if it’s okay with Mirren and you can be reasonable, you can stay and have some dinner.
If you can’t, you can see yourself out.”
Silence descends, and I wonder instantly if I overstepped.
Her house. Her family. Her life. And it’s not as if she doesn’t know her own mind or is afraid to speak up.
His face morphs. From surprise to anger, anger to disbelief, disbelief to suspicion, and finally, suspicion to acceptance.
And in a move that shocks the shit out of me, he grins wide and forks up a huge bite of pasta.
Just before tossing it in his mouth, he looks at Mirren.
“I like him.” To me he adds, “Is that a Muppets t-shirt?”
Looking down, I deflate. Nothing says I can hold my own at an Army Ranger’s side like a tee with 1980’s puppets on it. “Yeah. A gift from my sister. It’s an inside joke.”
“We get that, don’t we, Scooter?” He flashes a smile at Mirren and annihilates his bowl of spaghetti Bolognese.
Mirren
Nothing says Zipper like flaming up in reaction only to settle down into jovial, easy-going, and accepting. I’d say he gives me whiplash, but I’ve known him too long and he’s so easy to love. He’s a teddy bear for his people and a porcupine for anyone who crosses his tribe.
“Yeah, we get it.” I mock the fire hydrant portion of Monica and Ross Geller’s New Year’s Eve Dance from Friends, and he does the same, his grin wide, his posture relaxed.
“Who am I missing?” Strider asks. “Charlie, Jamie, Davie, Mikey, and…?”
“Johnny,” I say at the same time Mikey says, “Wiggle.”
“I can barely keep up with all of you, having double the names is nuts.”
“Speaking of, want me to tell them to come here? I was on recon to make sure you’re okay, but if you have food…”
“I don’t have food.” I round the island and grab my uneaten bowl, throwing it in the microwave and asking Strider if he wants me to do the same for his.
“Why not?” He doesn’t sound convinced, more so resigned, but takes his former stool as I move around the kitchen he did all the work in as if we’re some couple used to this dance.
I serve him and excuse myself to throw on my jeans. When I return, I plant myself against the counter on the far side of the island eating delicious sauce and pasta, wearing Strider’s dress shirt and pretending my kitchen doesn’t hold the faintest smell of sex.
Strider’s eyes hold mine as we all chat. His lip curls up on one side, and he winks when Mikey’s not watching.
I dip my head to let my loose hair frame my face, covering my blush and hiding my response from prying eyes— both his and my brother’s.
“About game night?” Mikey starts again.
“I’m not available tonight for game night and neither is my house.” I level my brother with my gaze. “The Jones boys don’t need to know about tonight. Got it?”
Strider’s gaze whips up. The look on his face will haunt me for all my days. “Don’t look at me like that, Anderson. You have no idea what four more brothers bring to this mix. And I’d assume you’re not interested in Charlie being clued in right now either.”
“Charlie?” my brother asks with one word.
“They know each other from way back. Strider and I met prior”—I clear my thoughts—“to me knowing they were old friends.”
“Colleagues,” Strider corrects.
“Regardless,” Mikey goes on. “What am I supposed to tell them?” He whips out his phone.
“Tell them I’m abstaining from kicking their asses and embarrassing them just this once. I’ll be back at it week after next.”
He thumbs his phone. “Group text is popping off. How are you not responding?”
I tap my jeans pocket, fighting to not press my unbound breasts against Strider’s shirt as I do. “Must’ve left it at my place.”
“And you were here without it because…”
“If you have to know, I had a date.” I gesture to his bowl. “That’s my date food you’re eating.”
“I’m calling a do-over,” Strider puts in. “This doesn’t count.”
I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as Mikey lifts a fist to Strider to bump. “I like you.” He lifts his empty bowl to me and with his best British accent says, “Please, ma’am, can I have som-more?”
“Get it yourself but leave some for leftovers. It’s too good to not be able to experience again.”
When my brother turns his back to us, Strider waggles his brows and mouths, “too good,” and licks his lips.
My eyes flare.
My fingers flex.
And my face flames.
I pick up my deserted salad and throw it back. It’s just as good soggy as it was fresh. Using my fork, I point at the bowl. “What’s the secret here? Why is this so much better than anything else I’ve ever eaten?”
Strider shrugs. “Could be the cook. Could be you’re hungry. That always makes things taste better.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Out of nowhere, my brother’s fork scoops into my salad, and he hums behind me. “Yeah, that’s delicious. Mexican oregano?”
“You keep spilling my secrets, I won’t have an excuse to cook for Mirren again.”
“I like you, but I’m not going to help facilitate whatever this is.” My brother points between us with his fork, a noodle wiggling precariously on the tines as he does.
“I was doing just fine without you, ahem… facilitating.” I stretch out the last word.
“I was doing fine without you anti-facilitating,” Strider mutters under his breath.
“I like you less than before.” Mikey’s smile belies his words, but there’s a hint of truth there.
My brothers—all of them—protect me like I’m six years old and got knocked off my bike by a bully.
If they knew about my current job, they’d shit themselves.
They all had a collective blackout about me while I was in the special forces.
Well, all but Jamie. But he knows all too well what that took from me, what it’s still taking from me.
My brother’s phone rings, and he answers before I can protest. Cartoon me is slow-motion, running and stretching, screaming no that leaves my voice low as if slowed down to half speed. Real me takes an inhale hoping I can handle the next bit of BS coming my way.
“Hey, Skip. What’s up?” Mikey nods at his shoes, apparently noticing my panties, his eyes flying to mine before slicing to Strider. “No. She’s fine.” There’s a pause. “A date apparently. Friend of yours… Strider something or other.”
I close my eyes and sigh.
Loving my brothers is easy, except when it’s not. And me being a woman, especially one with adult needs is one of those times it most certainly isn’t.
“Yeah. No. She says it’s not a good time. I’ll spare you the details.”
My eyes fly open, and I spear my brother with a look that would make a lesser man cower. He drops the phone to his chest to cover the mic. “Might want to cover that hickey.” He juts a chin to my neck. “Charlie’s on his way.”