Page 241 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
"I moved into a condo on the outskirts of the historic district." I could see by the attentive look on her face that she was expecting more. "It's nice."
"Nice?" She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against a shelf. "Tell me more."
Of course she was going to insist on continuing this farce of a conversation. "It isn't far from the waterfront. Two bedrooms, two baths. Quartz countertops and a tiled shower."
What the fuck else could I tell her? That the apartment was mostly empty? That my bed didn't have a frame? That my living room consisted of two canvas chairs and a lamp resting on the floor? That my kitchen had exactly one plate, one bowl, one glass, and one set of silverware?
"Hardwood floors," I finished lamely.
"It definitely sounds nice." I could tell from the light dancing in her eyes that she was teasing me. It reminded me of the way she and Matt had sparred so many years ago. She'd always had a quick tongue.
Don't think of her tongue. Don't imagine it sliding over your body. Don't think about her whispering what she wanted him to do to her before licking her lips with that tongue.
I swallowed, then pressed on. "There's a fitness room with a stair climber."
When she covered her mouth with her hand to try to hide her giggles, I realized how ridiculous I sounded, and it was like something shifted inside me. Some tightness released, and I broke into a grin.
"Did I mention the community room? I can request it for social events, as long as they don't go past ten pm."
"Stop," she said, and bent at the waist, holding her sides. "You're killing me."
I laughed then, a good laugh. A genuine one. It felt better than expected.
"You weren't always this funny," she said when she finally stopped giggling and caught her breath.
I shrugged a shoulder. "War does hone one's sense of humor."
She chuckled. "So does working with your father and older brother."
"I bet," I said. Her father was undoubtedly the authoritarian type, and Matt was a handful, no matter how you sliced it. "And apparently clients like this Dexter guy."
Emma let out a heavy sigh. "You have no idea," she said, then her eyes pierced mine. "But you will."
"That sounds like a threat," I said.
Emma smiled. "It's a promise. Private security isn't Uncle Sam's family jamboree. Instead of guys with stars on their shoulders telling you what to do, you have jerks with patent leather shoes and gold watches giving you orders. At least the generals worked their way up the chain of command."
I considered her words. In Delta Force, there had always been the belief that we were working for the greater good. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. Keeping the world safe.
I'd assumed Shadow Security would feel the same. But, as Emma pointed out, the greater good had been replaced by rich guys with money to burn on trained warriors to watch their bespoke-suited behinds. Just another element of my new life that needed adjusting.
Emma noticed that I'd gone quiet again and stepped in to keep the conversation moving. "How have you been spending your time since leaving the service? Any new hobbies?"
Should I confess the truth: I spent most of my time working out, or reading books on my small balcony? They qualified as hobbies, but they didn't paint a cheery picture of my life post-military.
"Just the same hobbies I've always had," I said lightly. "Working out. Running. Reading."
"Solitary pursuits, I see."
I was taken aback by her perceptiveness. I didn't deny it. I spent most of my time alone.
Emma eyed me for a moment, then nodded, as if deciding something. "Right. Well tonight, you're coming over to the Smith house for dinner."
"Dinner?" Had she seen through me that quickly? I started to brush off the invitation, but she wasn't having it.
"You're coming over, or I'm telling my Dad that you turned the offer down."
"Playing hardball, huh?"
