Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

I was beginning to think there was a strong possibility I was having delayed effects of a TBI. Or the many concussions I'd sustained while in the field had finally caught up with me and that was what was impairing my cognitive function. There was no other excuse for my lapse in judgment.

My house?

What the fuck had I been thinking telling Aria she was coming home with me? There were a plethora of options at my disposal. I didn't need to offer my home up to keep her safe.

Christ, I was a fool.

My idiocy hadn't stopped there. I'd moronically called in to inform my team leader there was a change of plans knowing damn, good, and well Layla would sell me out. The woman was on assignment with the rest of my team. She never would've known if I hadn't opened my trap. That particular gap in whatever good sense I had led to a fifteen-minute call from Zane, whereupon he took his time explaining, yet again, what he'd do with my testicles if I touched Aria. It was safe to say I enjoyed Aria's exploration of my balls a fair sight more than I'd like what Zane would do with them if he found out I'd disobeyed his orders.

Then there was grocery shopping with Aria. Like some sort of lovesick jackass I pushed the cart while Aria tossed shit in, declaring she needed snacks for stamina. It was the insinuation she'd need sustenance for an all-night fuckfest that had me giving in to Goldfish, chips, hummus, crackers, and sparkling water. If the woman needed saturated fats and MSG to keep her topped up for the night I'd buy her ten bags of Goldfish.

Now I was in my kitchen browning chicken while she was lounging on my couch with her laptop and notebook, working.

"Oh my god that smells amazing," Aria called out from the other room.

"Told you, baby, it's passable."

I waited for a smart ass reply. When none came I leaned back so I could see into the living room. Aria was staring at her laptop screen, frowning.

"Something wrong?"

Her gaze lifted and she shook her head.

"No. Just some jerk who left a shit comment on one of my videos."

I didn't like the sound of that.

"What's it say?"

"Nothing important."

"Humor me and tell me what it says."

With a sigh she glanced back at her computer.

"I quote," she began. "Not throwing shade but your ass looks better than your finish carpentry work."

I tried not to think of some asshole watching one of Aria's videos, pausing on shots of her ass then having the balls to comment on it. Not that it was surprising, in today's world everyone was an internet shit talker. Though when I was scrolling her comments I didn't see any commentary on her physical appearance.

"Do you delete those comments?"

"Yup. And the ones from the Timmy The Toolbelt Twits."

"Timmy The Toolbelt Twits?" I asked, going back to flip the chicken.

"Originally I called them Toolbelt Thundercunts but I felt like I was offending all the females who enjoy their lady bits being called cunts…just and for your information, if the mood is set, I am one of those females. Anyway, I thought about twat but again, there might be a sister out there who likes a naughty twat to change things up. So, I went with twit."

I didn't want to find her more amusing than I already did. I didn't want to enjoy her company or the way she made me want to bust a gut laughing but I did. I certainly didn't want to admit that I found her sense of humor even more appealing than her looks, but there it was. More proof my brain had sustained one too many injuries.

"Good call going with twit. And your preference is noted."

"Only if the mood is right. Don't go over-using the C word and cunt this and cunt that. And never—I mean never, ever—call a woman a see-you-next-Tuesday unless you want a kick to the nuts. That insult is saved for women to use and only sparingly when the offending woman has done something seriously egregious."

For some insane reason, I had to know what would be so outstandingly bad for the use of the C-word.

"What constitutes the use of?—"

"Betrayal," she interrupted me. "Not man stealing. That's lame. You can't be mad at the woman if your man strays. She didn't make any promises of fidelity to you. If your man cheats, you send the woman a thank you card for exposing the dickhead within and you send your man packing and move on. Admittedly there are some circumstances where this doesn't apply. Say your best friend, your sister, your mother is the other woman in the scenario, then you cut them off, too. The C-word is saved for women who tell your secrets for the purpose of knocking you down. Gossip is one thing—that's petty and lowbrow. But when someone purposefully sets out to share your insecurities and secrets in hopes you fail—that's a cunt. That kind of betrayal is unforgivable."

Fuck. I didn't want to like that either, but I did.

"You're not wrong."

"I know I am not."

I heard her notebook hit the coffee table before I heard her footsteps.

"Damn, that smells even better from in here."

Aria's beer bottle hit the counter of the island a moment before her shoulder and tits hit the back of my arm and she leaned in to inhale.

A man who wasn't as fucked-up as I was could get used to this—a sexy, outspoken, funny woman hanging around. And if I wasn't careful, she'd make me forget how fucked-up I was.

"Need help with anything?"

I tipped my head to the side and found her staring up at me. Our position far too intimate for the casual nature of our relationship. Which was absurd after what had happened back at her flip house but it was true, nonetheless. There was a difference between making out, which necessitated her being close, and her standing with half her body pressed against mine while making dinner. One said orgasms were forthcoming, one said something else. And it was the something else I needed to guard against. But damn if I didn't like her close.

"Nope. Chicken's done. I just need to make the sauce and mash the potatoes."

"I could mash."

"You could, or you could sit, drink your beer, and tell me how you got into the house buying, remodel, and flip business," I suggested.

The smile that hit Aria's face nearly knocked me on my ass. She smiled a lot. Most of those smiles were flirty or because she was amused. This one, however, was genuine—full of pride and unguarded happiness.

Fuck yeah, she could make a man forget.

With a smile.

"Real estate mogul."

"Come again?"

She stepped away but didn't lose her smile when she went on to explain, "That's the goal. The ten-year plan. I want to be a real estate mogul."

I waited until she was pulling out a stool at the island before I asked, "Not a social media icon?"

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling where they lingered before dropping them back to me with her nose scrunched.

"Um, no. The channel was started purely to document my journey. It also allowed my dad to stay connected. I never thought it would take off the way it has. I'm not complaining—there's a side hustle there which brings in extra money, and who doesn't need some extra scratch? But truth be told, I'll be happy when I no longer have to focus on making content. And not to be critical but you need new light fixtures in here."

I couldn't hold back the belt of laughter. Not only from her decree but her delivery.

"Anything else?" I asked through my waning chuckle.

"Well since you asked…" she started but trailed off.

"I take it you don't like my kitchen."

"No, your kitchen's great sans the ugly ceiling light. But you could use new flooring in your living. The dark wood closes in the space."

She wasn't wrong but when I bought this place I did it knowing it was temporary so I had no plans of updating anything, including the ugly ceiling light.

"That's a not-me problem. The next person who owns this house can worry about replacing flooring."

"This isn't your forever home?"

Forever home.

I'd never had a real home, never mind a forever one. The closest thing I'd had to real was a shitty apartment for two years.

"Did I say something wrong?" Aria whispered.

Fuck .

"When I came back to the US I didn't know where I was going to land so I was living in Airbnb's. It wasn't until Zane offered me a job I decided to stay in Maryland. I was tired of wasting money and moving around so I bought the first place that was tolerable."

"Were you stationed overseas?"

"Something like that," I mumbled and turned back to the stove.

"Sorry, are we back to third date questions?" she quipped.

If I was counting, which I wasn't, we were on date two.

Which was two more than I'd had in over twenty years.

"No, baby, you've hit personal versus private life territory," I returned.

My joke obviously fell flat when she dejectedly muttered, "Right."

It was then, because I hated hearing her disappointment, I made another stupid decision.

I shared.

"After I left the Navy, I went to the CIA. Worked there for a while before I left and went to work for NGO and spent ten years undercover."

"Ten years is a long time, Smith."

Ten years felt like a lifetime. An eternity living and breathing nothing but putrid air with men and women who committed the most atrocious crimes against humanity.

"Yep."

"Bet that transition was hard."

She had no fucking idea. I wasn't sure if I'd ever fully transition back to regular civilian life. Hell, after the things I'd seen and done, the places I'd lived, I didn't think it was possible to wash off the stench and live normal.

Not that I knew what normal was.

"I worry when my dad retires what he'll do," she mercifully changed the subject. "That's part of why I'm so determined to get and keep my business strong. I want to have something for my dad when he leaves the Navy. He'll go nuts sitting around with nothing to do. But if he has properties to manage and things to fix it'll give him something to fill his day."

I felt that down to my soul. That was one of the reasons I took Zane's job offer—that and I got to stay close to my brothers. Without them and Zane I'd be fucking lost. Most days knowing I'd made a commitment to Zane was the only thing that kept me going.

"Is he planning on retiring soon?"

"He's got three years left on this contract."

That was ambiguous. But I didn't get a chance to ask what she wasn't saying when there was a knock on the door.

I turned the burner down on the chicken that was now simmering in the sauce, checked to make sure the potatoes weren't going to boil over before I made my way out of the kitchen.

"Stay in here, yeah?"

"Sure."

There was a high probability Zane Lewis had come calling. Not that Aria being in the kitchen would prevent her from hearing my boss but I didn't think I could get her to go into my bedroom. Even then she'd be able to hear.

I checked the peephole and was both relieved and annoyed.

The door had barely opened when Jonas announced, "Damn, that smells good. I'm starved."

My friend and teammate muscled his way in uninvited.

"Kira briefed me," he went on, explaining his presence.

Of course she did. She probably sent him over with a box of condoms and some stupid slogan reminding me to use a rubber if I didn't want Aria to be a mother.

Jonas's sudden halt sent my attention in the direction of the kitchen. Aria was standing next to the island, one hand resting on the marble, the other shoved in her pocket. She looked her normal beautiful but more like she belonged, like she was comfortable, relaxed, like she'd stood in my kitchen hundreds of times. Or maybe I was projecting how I felt, how I wished a hundred days from now I'd walk in and find her still there with a welcoming smile. Even though I knew I could stupidly wish and want but it would never come to fruition.

A week at most was all I was going to get.

Then it'd be over and she'd be another regret to add to my ever-growing list.

"Aria, this is my teammate, Jonas Lang," I introduced. "Jonas, Aria Taylor."

I watched my friend come unstuck and finish making his way into the kitchen, bringing up his hand when he got close.

"Nice to meet you, Aria."

With a smile and shake she greeted him back.

"You, too, Jonas."

"You're home early," I noted for no other reason than to draw his attention away from Aria.

My friend's smirk said I'd given away more than I wanted. Which left me wondering if I was truly onto something and I truly needed to get my head examined.

"Traffic was light," he started and glanced at the stove. "And I didn't stop to grab food."

Bastard was weaseling his way into an invitation to dinner.

"Then you have excellent timing. Smith was getting ready to mash the potatoes. Can I get you a beer?" Aria jumped in playing hostess.

I wasn't sure how I felt about this mainly because I seriously liked it and I knew I shouldn't.

"Yeah, but I'll get it, darlin'. You need another?" Jonas tipped his head in the direction on her bottle.

"No, but thank you," Aria said, climbing back onto her stool. "And just to say, I'm sorry you got pulled from your mission to come home and deal with my drama."

Jonas lifted a brow in question.

"I told her you and the team were on a case," I informed him, going back to the stove. "And you were coming home to help."

"Right," he drawled like I'd gone insane.

Which I damn well fucking had, but he didn't know the extent of it. But if he stuck around long enough he'd puzzle it out. Not much escaped Jonas's notice. He was perceptive and read body language like it was his second tongue. And I was off my game. Or more to the point, Aria had inexplicably thrown me off my rocker and unnerved me.

Then to Aria he laid on the charm so thick I would've throat punched him if I hadn't known he was trying to goad me into showing my hand.

"No need to apologize. Besides, I watched some of your content the night before last. Your work is excellent. I'm looking forward to seeing you in action. That herringbone backsplash in the big blue house was inspired. And you stayed under your self-imposed ten percent waste rule. Impressive when cutting porcelain tiles."

"Why thank you very much. I was pretty damn proud of that kitchen. What did you think of the master bath? Some would say seven shower heads was overkill, but damn, it turned out rad."

I gritted my molars hearing her excitement.

"Darlin', I'm not one of those people. After living in shit for a decade, I'm all about luxury and indulge whenever and wherever I can."

It was the second ‘darlin'' that had my control slipping until I was damn close to give Jonas what he wanted—a reaction.

"Oh, were you in theater with Smith?"

Aria's question was met with silence. The room grew still and I could feel Jonas's eyes boring into the back of my head.

My issues were no secret.

She was no secret.

Thus I understood why Jonas was shocked into silence that I'd shared something personal with an outsider.

If Aria felt the change in the room she didn't let on but gave Jonas an out. "If you can't say, I get it."

"Darlin', I'm just surprised you know what ‘in theater' means."

The growl that slipped was unfortunate and Jonas wasted no time jumping on my screwup.

"Those potatoes giving you trouble, brother?"

"I could mash if you want to visit with Jonas," Aria put in, oblivious to Jonas's dig.

"I got it, baby."

Fuck.

Jonas cleared his throat.

I braced for the fallout of my slip.

Uncharacteristically, Jonas changed the subject back to Aria's remodels.

I went back to beating the hell out of a pan of russet potatoes while scratching finding a doctor into my mental to-do list and tuned them out.