Page 45 of The Spy Ring

“You. I need to tell you something. But not here. This place is too grimy,” Jagger said and I heard some yelling in the background. “Sorry, Benson. Right, I mean Leo.”

This back and forth had to stop. It was hard to say goodbye to him. I admit the warmth in my body upon hearing his voice made me a little eager but was this just another goodbye? Did he need to have me sign another document only to walk away again?

“I’m coming over,” Jagger said.

“That’s really not necessary. Can’t you—”

He hung up.

I stood and went into the bathroom, inspecting my appearance. Running my fingers through my hair, I wondered if I should put it up. Maybe a little makeup or a skirt?

Leaning my hands on the gray marble countertop, I sighed. What was I doing? Jagger’s job was everything to him. I can’t expect to come along and make him risk that, even if he wanted to. It was selfish to expect him to risk so much for me.

The buzzer went off.

“Wow, that was quick,” I mumbled to myself.

I did one last once-over before leaving the bathroom and headed to the front door. Pressing the call button, I said, “Hello?”

“Sweet Tiffany.” I heard Jagger with clarity and trepidation.

Buzzing him inside the building, I waited. My hands fumbled with my fingers. My hair chose that moment to settle stray strands onto my cheek, then my nose, and every second I was pushing away another tickly wisp.

I needed to do something so I went to my cabinet of delight in the kitchen and grabbed a lollipop. It was cherry and I could barely taste it thanks to my nerves.

Finally, there came a knock on my door.

Taking a deep breath and a hard suck, I made my way to the door and opened it. Jagger stood there, with his hands bracing the doorframe and his head hanging forward. When he lifted his head, I noticed the normally disheveled brown hair was in even more disarray.

Even his red T-shirt had stains on it. There was a laziness to his eyes and when he let go of the doorframe, he stumbled forward, into me.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Jagger said as he clumsily worked himself out of our embrace.

That’s when I smelled him.

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

He stood straight, but swayed. He brought his finger and thumb together in front of us to pinch the air. “A lot. I’m a whole lotta drunk.”

Wonderful. Now I have to deal with a drunk man in my home.

“Is there someone I could call for you, Jagger? A friend or relative.”

He shook his head like a toddler, making his hair fly in all different directions. “No, my family is gone. The ones I care about and who care about me. The others can go fuck themselves because they know what they did.”

His voice grew and I wondered if he might punch a wall. It broke my heart to hear him talk of his family like that. What sort of life did Jagger have? I wished I knew and that he could tell me.

“How about friends? Can I call anyone?” I asked and helped him farther into my place, guiding him to the couch in my living room.

He flopped back on the mint green sofa and melted back like it was made for his huge body.

I sat on the end, closest to his feet. I realized his eyes almost matched my couch but they were a little darker. Where the sofa was comfortable, how he stared was not. There was an intensity in him and he directed that intensity straight at me.

“Your friends?” I asked again.

“Don’t have any,” he said

I frowned but he laughed.

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