With a wink, Jace grabbed the half-empty box, pulled a cookie out, and dangled it in front of my face. "You were hungry. I told you to eat a cookie. You said no."
"So?" I shrugged.
"So, your reason for saying no was because you didn't get a workout in, so I offered to—"
"Pretty sure I know where that story ends." I held up my hand.
"Right."
Jace ate the dangling cookie and then another, making my mouth water. Dirty rotten Clinton-lover!
"But, you turned me down. Said squats are just as good as… you know." He cleared his throat. "So you proceeded to—" He waved the cookie in the air and smirked.
"Please," I bit my lip and closed my eyes. "Please tell me I didn't do a naked workout in order to eat cookies."
"Okay." He ate another cookie and headed toward the bathroom.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the shower turn on.
I was about five seconds away from going into the fetal position when he called out, "You ate five cookies and, according to your extraordinary math, decided that thirty squats per cookie equaled to the caloric intake, though you did keep sputtering some sort of nonsense about how exercise doesn't kill cancer, and then you said a whole bunch of shit and finally passed out after yelling, Die, mutated cells, die." Much laughter followed. "Oh, and you thrust your fist into the air. I think you were trying to be dramatic."
And utter silence.
And I wanted to die.
"That's what you get for waking up in Vegas." A voice sang from the shower.
Great and now he was mockingly singing Katy Perry.
Things could not get worse.
Chapter Two
"Guilty?" The FBI agent sighed heavily and reached for his coffee. "You do realize you'll be going to prison."
Grandma shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time I've gone to the slammer for the greater good."
"The greater good?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Why yes. I served a few months in a Russian prison after The Cold War. I was a spy and was guilty of poisoning a government official. Then again, they could never prove it. I'd slipped something into his mouth during a heated kiss." She reached into her leopard purse. "Breath mint?"
Jace
"Great, they're going to put Cradle Robber on my tombstone," Beth yelle
d, interrupting my rendition of Katy Perry as she made her way into the bathroom.
I was trying to lighten the moment until she started having a panic attack in the middle of the bathroom. I was still trying to figure out how long it would take her to realize I was showering, naked, and she was standing there rocking back and forth like someone about to have a nervous breakdown.
"I can't believe I'm thirty and still can't make sound decisions!"
Something I'm guessing it was a shoe slammed against the wall. More cursing. Damn, it was hot when she cursed.
"Why the hell don't I have that drunk text thing? Wait. Does that exist yet? Son of a—" More banging around. And then silence.
To be honest, the silence freaked me out more than the nervous breakdown. Yelling I could deal with. I was a politician for shit's sake. I cut my teeth on people who yelled and bitched every day of their lives. But silence? Kryptonite. Superman was officially going to crash into the moon if Beth didn't pull herself together.
Her eyes were more green than I remembered them. Then again, my memory wasn't so great; it had been over ten years. Ten years, and I still couldn't get those damn eyes out of my head. Instinctively, I reached behind my ear and touched the scar; it may as well be a blazing red sign that read Danger. Last time I had a run-in with Beth, I landed in the hospital.