Chapter 22
Antonio
Miriam is full of surprises. Like choosing violence for fun.
“Doe, I swear to—Doe!”
My fingers fly over the controller, but it’s too late. Miriam’s character not only decapitates me but manages to rip out my spine.
Shock with a hint of pride have me looking at her cackling figure sideways. She’s curled on her side on my sofa in my damn sweats and jersey. Her shoeboxes for feet flail in the air as she hiccup-snorts, tears rolling across her cheeks.
I check the controller for signs that the game didn’t freeze on me before shifting my attention back to the world’s cutest serial killer. Miriam has no bodies buried in real life—at least, not that I know of—but she sent every character I played to a gory death.
We came back to my place after grabbing dinner at a nearby burger joint. When I asked her how she wanted to celebrate her new job opportunity, I was happy she chose something low-key.
It’s her first time at Steel House, first time in my apartment of bare walls and honey-colored wood flooring. The space is smaller than my DC condo, but it fits a large sectional and an eighty-inch television in the living room, the current scene of the crime.
Training kicked my ass. Now, she is.
Miriam talked big about beating me in a game I’ve played since I was little. No one, not even Julian, can touch me in Mortal Kombat.
“You cheated.”
Miriam holds up both hands, wearing a straight face that cracks under my glare. She’s cold as hell.
“Let me see your phone.”
“What?”
“Your phone.” I motion for her to fork it over. When she does, I hold the screen in front of her face to unlock it and go to her contacts.
Her brow lifts. “What are you doing?”
“Getting to the bottom of this.” I stick out my tongue and hit speakerphone. “Councilmember? I’d like to report a crime.”
“Oh my gosh!” Miriam falls back on the couch and holds her chest in a fit of laughter.
“Antonio? I know good and damn well you aren’t playing on my line at ten at night,” Marcela spits.
I glance over at the clock on the oven. “It’s nine forty-seven.”
“Boy!”
I mush Miriam’s head when she reaches for the phone and jog around the couch. “This is an important district matter.” I dodge a smack to my chest.
“For the last time, I’m not your councilmember,” Marcela grits out. “Where is my sister?”
“Right here, cheating.”
“I didn’t cheat!” Miriam cries.
“What kind of household raised her to be a liar and a cheater? I’m calling your mama next. Aye! Watch my nuts.” I raise the phone over my head, out of Miriam’s reach.
She uses the couch to climb up my shoulders. “I promise I didn’t cheat!”
I swat her hand away. “How do you explain killing me for two hours straight, huh?”
The beatdown was a massacre if ever I saw one. I never stood a chance and had to keep pausing the game to make sure Dr. Engineer over here didn’t rewire my system during my quick shower.
“Miri,” Marcela sighs.
“Dime,” she responds, strangling my traps with her thighs.
“Mátalo y vayan a culear.”
Miriam gasps. “Deja de joder. Solo somos amigos!”
I don’t catch anything but “friends” in the sibling exchange before I’m falling backwards to catch Miriam from breaking her neck. I grip her thighs, which are now smothering my face, and brace us for impact. She uses her bodyweight in a last-ditch effort to flip us onto the couch.
She snatches the phone and tells Marcela, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” before hanging up. “Are you okay?” Her chest is heaving, her thighs still around my face.
I tell myself that the sharp inhale of her center is for breathing, but that would make two liars in this house. I’m fighting the urge to replace my nose with my mouth.
My apartment door smacks into the wall. Quincy rolls inside with a Nerf gun, followed by Bread in full tactical gear. Don’t ask me where he got it from.
Quincy lifts the visor on his helmet. “You good? We heard a thud.”
Miriam squeaks when I bench-press her weight. I slide her off of me and adjust my sweats. “We’re good.” I picture my granny at her eighty-second birthday last year to deflate my erection.
“If you say so,” Bread says. He motions to Quincy. “Let’s roll out.”
“Don’t forget to pack—and close my door!” I shout.
“Yes, Papa Smurf,” they say on their way out.
I look back at Miriam. My eyes are on her face and not her sharp breaths stretching my jersey across her chest. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pushes me away with a laugh. “Thanks for tonight.”
I shrug. “I’ll always turn up for you.”
“I don’t have the job yet.”
“It’s yours if you want it.” I brush her knee and take a pull of my beer. “You could be the next Tony Stark to those kids.”
Miriam’s curls tip back with her laughter. “I do like him.”
“Is that what got you into engineering?”
She sips the red wine I picked up for her after training. “Bill Nye the Science Guy and Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.”
“Power Rangers?” Her teeth seep into her lip at a dimpled grin. “How does that make sense?”
“Someone had to build Alpha 5 and make morphers functional. I tried to mimic the wrist communication but couldn’t get the wiring down. What?”
How do I put into words how incredible she is? Everything about her is magic. “You’re one of a kind, Doe.”
Her blush resurfaces. “Thank you.”
“For real. Those kids would be lucky to have you. I was jumping off roofs when I was a kid.”
Her breathy laugh mixes with a giggle. “Which explains why you needed a babysitter in middle school,” she says.
“I’m glad it was you. I’m happy to know you.”
“I’m happy to know you too.”
I ignore the ache in my throat and reach for the controller. “Well, Inspector Gadget. Round two?”