Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Mandie
The flickering glow of the TV was the only light in the room, casting long, shifting shadows across the walls as I slumped deeper into the couch.
I finally settled on the news. Victor was being interviewed again. You would think they would have something more important to report on. I flipped the bird to his smug face as he talked.
"I can assure the public, this safety program we are developing is not an invasion of privacy to any citizen. It will be a new protocol that will make us safer than what these so-called superheroes are doing," he said, winking at the camera.
"How can you be so certain?" the reporter asked.
"We are using large amounts of data that is being analyzed by hundreds of analysts. They are working countless hours, and we commend them for all their hard work."
"Speaking of analysts, any word on the missing Sum Zero Tech analyst, Amanda Weaver, who went missing weeks ago?"
His expression turned somber. "Unfortunately, no. I have raised the amount of the reward for her safe return. I really do hope she is found safe. Here at Sum Zero, we are like a family. Even if it doesn't always seem like it."
That last part irked me, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Like a weird déjà vu.
The news anchor’s voice droned on about some humanitarian bullshit Sum Zero Tech was a part of. Tax write-off, I thought to myself.
I couldn't listen anymore. My brain was too fried to care. The aftershocks of Gorath still hummed under my skin, a low, throbbing reminder of how thoroughly I’d been wrecked. My thighs ached in the best way. It was the kind of soreness that made me shift every few minutes just to feel it again.
I reached for the half-empty glass of wine on the coffee table, swirling the red liquid before taking a slow sip. The news cut to a live feed of some superhero press conference. I rolled my eyes. These guys were on the news more than Victor.
But then I saw the headline.
brEAKING: MYSTERIOUS ENERGY SURGE DETECTED IN DOWNTOWN—LINKED TO RECENT VILLAIN ACTIVITY
My fingers tightened around the glass. Energy surge. That wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill power spike. The screen flashed to footage of a crater in the middle of a street, the edges glowing faintly red. My stomach twisted.
What the fuck is happening out there? How do I fit in to all this?
Before I could grab the remote to turn up the volume, the air in the room shifted.
Not a sound. Not a breeze. A pressure, like the world had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
Then, a blur of motion.
One second, I was alone. Next, Johnny zoomed into the room, filling the kitchen with enough shopping bags to make a Black Friday shopper jealous.
The scent of cologne and leather hit me first, sharp and electric.
His spiky blond hair was windswept, as if he’d just run a marathon at Mach 3, and his green eyes were bright with that same reckless energy that made my pulse jump.
I didn’t startle. Didn’t even blink. Just took a slow, deliberate sip of wine and said, "Took you long enough."
Johnny grinned. It was the kind of grin that promised trouble, or at least a misdemeanor. "Had to hit ten different cities for double-stuffed peanut butter Oreos, Princess."
He dropped the bags onto the coffee table with a heavy thud.
I set my glass down and swung my legs off the couch, standing slow enough to let him get an eyeful. His gaze flicked down, then back up, lingering on the way my tank top clung to my curves. Men are simple. I gave him the show because I wanted the goods.
I crossed my arms. "Ten cities? What, did you crawl? I’ve been waiting so long my blood sugar dropped into the negative digits. I hope you got at least five packs. If you tell me you only got one, I’m selling your kidneys on the black market."
"I got the last one. Turns out, double-stuffed peanut butter Oreos are the holy grail of snack foods. Who knew?"
I narrowed my eyes. "It’s called supply and demand, Flash. In that case, you should have gone to eleven cities. Violate international borders if you have to. I don't care about treaties; I care about peanut butter."
His smirk deepened. "Yeah, well, maybe next time you can go on the grocery run."
A beat. Two.
I lunged.
Not at him, at the bags. I attacked the plastic like a drug dog at a rave. My fingers tore into the nearest one, sending a shower of plastic dividers flying. Johnny laughed, low and rough, as I upended the bag onto the couch.
Three tubs of Nutella tumbled out, a box of Fruity Pebbles, a family-sized bag of gummy worms, and a giant bag of sriracha-flavored popcorn.
"You bought black licorice?" I held up the offensive bag by the corner, glaring at it like it was radioactive.
Johnny shrugged, unrepentant. "That one is for me."
"Gross. Who are you, an eighty-year-old man named Mortimer? That stuff tastes like depression and cough medicine." I tossed it at his chest.
He caught it one-handed, still grinning. "Admit it. You’re impressed."
I ignored him, ripping open the Oreos. The plastic seal gave way with a satisfying crack. Inside, three perfect rows of cookies stared back at me. Double-stuffed. Peanut butter. The only things that have never let me down.
I popped one into my mouth.
The first bite was a religious experience. The rich, salty-sweet peanut butter filling melted against my tongue, the chocolate wafers crunching just right. I closed my eyes. Better than sex. Well, better than average sex. Maybe not better than what happened with Gorath, but it was a close race.
When I opened my eyes again, Johnny was watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"What?" I said around the cookie. "Stop looking at me like I’m a stripper pole. It’s a cookie."
"Nothing." His voice was lighter than usual, almost teasing. "Just never seen someone look so devout over processed sugar."
I swallowed. "You’ve clearly never had the good stuff. When you grow up eating generic ‘creme sandwiches’ that taste like chalk, you appreciate the real thing."
"Oh, I’ve had good stuff." His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, before snapping back up. "But I’m starting to think I’ve been missing out."
The air between us thickened, charged with something that wasn’t just flirtation. Not after last night. My body still hummed, sore in places that don't have names, and Johnny could smell the bad decisions on me.
His pupils dilated slightly. He knew. Or at least suspected.
I reached for another cookie, deliberately slow. "You’re insufferable."
"And yet, here you are." He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint smudge of dirt on his jaw. "Eating my cookies."
"They’re my cookies." I broke off a piece of wafer and flicked it at him. It bounced off his nose. "You didn't bake them. You didn't invent them. You’re just the delivery boy."
Johnny caught the next piece I tossed before it could hit him, popping it into his mouth. His tongue darted out to lick a crumb from his lower lip.
"Careful, Weaver," he murmured, voice dropping an octave. "I like playing delivery boy for you. I might even work for tips."
The way he said it with just enough edge made my thighs clench and sent a jolt straight to my core. I turned away before he could see the effect he had on me, busying myself with sorting through the rest of the bags.
"Did you get everything that was on the list? Or did you get distracted by a shiny object halfway through?"
"Every item. Your kindergarten crafting supplies are in the bags in the corner. Your books are in that heavy bag in your room." He leaned against the table, crossing his arms. "You really like to read the spicy stuff, huh? Not very ladylike."
I shot him a flat look. "Ladylike? I’m wearing boots I stole from a Goodwill bin and I’m currently eating Oreos for dinner. We passed ‘ladylike’ three exits ago."
"Still. That’s a lot of smut."
"Look, men treat sex like a drive-thru window, in and out, two minutes, quality optional. Women want the five-course meal. Men want a two-minute porn video; we want four hundred pages of tension and raging emotional trauma with spice all over. It’s called literature, look it up."
He sighed dramatically, crouching to dig through the bags. "Yeah, well, between all those books, you probably have six thousand pages of porn. Happy?"
"Ecstatic. It’s the only reliable thing in my life."
"You know, you could say thank you."
"I could. I could also learn to play the harp, but neither is happening right now." I paused, seeing his expectant look. "Fine. Thanks. You’re a hero. Literally."
Lucky for me, I had my period right before I got there.
But it was coming up, and I needed to be ready.
I reached into the next bag, expecting the familiar box of cotton saviors.
Instead, my hand closed around something bulky and crinkly.
I pulled it out and held it up to him, my face twisting in horror.
"What the hell is this?"
"You asked for tampons. I got you tampons."
I stared at the package of Depends. "Johnny. These are not tampons. These are adult diapers."
He frowned, looking genuinely confused. "Isn't that what tampons are? It absorbs stuff. Same difference."
"No! It is strictly not the same difference!" My voice pitched up. "Tampons are for biology. Diapers are for people who leak when they sneeze! Do I look like I’m seventy years old with a prostate problem?"
"They were in the same aisle! It was confusing!"
"It’s not confusing! One fits in a purse, the other fits on your entire ass! What is wrong with you?"
"Apparently a lot."
"No kidding," I said, tossing the package of diapers at his head. "Congratulations. You just failed Anatomy 101."
I combed through more bags, including the ones on the counter. Then I spun back towards him.
"Where is it?"
"Where's what?" He shrugged with a hint of annoyance.
"You know what."
"If I knew, then I would know what you are talking about."
"You know, the device..."