Page 41 of Chief-of-Security

“A friend? Or a friend?” Megan’s air quotes come perilously close to smacking Mom in the nose.

“And why was he at your house this early in the morning? Hmm?” Grady crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, eyeing me.

Another private message pops up in the chat window.

Colin: And why was his shirt inside out? Did you get birthday nookie??????

“Julian’s just a friend, guys. He’s the security guard at Mailbox, Sophie introduced us. He stopped by to invite me to take a women’s self-defense class he saw was being offered at his gym. That’s all.”

“Listen, if Frankie doesn’t want to spill the beans on her secret boyfriend, who are we to pry? It is her birthday, after all.” Sheila picks Ada up from somewhere off camera. “Say happy birthday to Aunt Frankie.”

Ada babbles something adorably unintelligible at the camera, thankfully distracting everyone from Julian.

Sheila: You owe me details.

I roll my eyes but take the help. Dad is happy to let the subject go in favor of telling me about that morning’s church service and how many boys from the base came. It’s his favorite subject.

Messages from my siblings continue to pop up, but I ignore them, keeping my focus on Dad as he tells me about how he preached on Priscilla and Aquila in my honor.

Megan rolls her eyes, and Eleanor studies her phone, probably texting me her thoughts on Dad’s supposedly “progressive” take on working women in the Bible.

“Sweetie, you should have heard him,” Mom interrupts before Dad can give us a play-by-play of the hymns they sang. “It was just beautiful to hear about how even these women who could have been so secular, or even pagan, were part of God’s plan.” She stops to give Dad a soft smile. “Just like we know that one day he will use all of you kids.”

That’s the signal for Colin and Grady to jump in and turn the conversation again. “So what are your plans today, Frankie? Are you actually going to go out or are you going to stay home with your coffee maker?” Since we all moved away from home, it’s been an unspoken agreement between us kids to change the subject whenever Mom and Dad start preaching at us. Growing up, we were dragged to church multiple times a week, we’ve all had our fill—even though Colin is the only one of us who’s been brave enough to tell my parents to their face. Grady and I operate under a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.

“You need a dog or a cat. No, not a cat—you’re already dangerously close to crazy cat-lady territory,” Bianca pipes up, finally joining in the conversation. “A dog would force you to leave the house once in a while.”

I bristle at her words. “I get out of the house. In fact, I’m going out to lunch with Sophie and Lauren this afternoon, so there.” That’s not a lie. When Lauren cornered me at the office on Friday, she made me promise to have lunch with them today since I didn’t have any other plans.

It devolves into our usual family chat from there, although Mom has to keep getting my attention because I’m distracted by thoughts of Julian the whole time. The heat in his eyes when he’d declared I was on the menu for breakfast, and the cold, professional face he’d had when he came back for his phone haunt my thoughts.

Thirty minutes later, after we’ve all agreed we can skip our normal Monday chat since we had a good catch up today, I manage to get off the call. My stomach is in knots, and I debate calling Julian. Gut instinct says he’s mad at me, but I can’t puzzle out why. My family was calling, I had to answer.

Wouldn’t he have done the same thing?

Would he have preferred I stuff him in the bathroom until the call was over?

I need to shower and get ready for lunch with the girls, but first I need more coffee. The moment I touch my step stool, memories from this morning come flooding back to me. Just the thought of what Julian did to me with his tongue has me wet and needy again. How can he make me feel so good and so guilty at the same time?

Dammit, this is Julian. I’m not supposed to be thinking this about him.

I know him well enough to be sure that he has his choice of any woman he wants. Who wouldn’t throw themselves at that Nordic god? Especially one who makes a point of being kind and protective of the women he meets. He’s such a genuinely good guy, even if he didn’t have a body fantasies are made of, he’s walking catnip.

Julian is my friend. A friend I would give up my imported Italian roast to have back here doing more of what we just did.

Fuck. I need to stop imagining his hands on me. He left upset with me. Again. I should be more worried about how weird things are going to be when I see him again. Do I call him? Text him? Give him space? Indecision over what to do turns into nausea and I abandon my plan to make more coffee.

Shower. I’ll shower and see if I can get any good advice from the girls. I need to fix this, right?

I care about him. He’s my friend.

Maybe if I tell myself that a million more times, I’ll actually believe it.

Sophie is the best hugger. She gives those really great mom-hugs, the kind that squeeze just a little too tight, but feel so much like home that you don’t care.

“Happy birthday, Frankie!” As soon as Sophie lets go, I’m wrapped in a hug by Emma and then Lauren. Sophie and Emma, like me, are wearing jeans and thick sweaters against the chilly February weather. Lauren, on the other hand, is wearing a pair of leather pants with her off-the-shoulder sweater, her razor sharp bob slicing along the edge of her equally-sharp jawline.

Yeah, I have a little bit of a crush on her. Who wouldn’t?

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