Page 80 of Smith

“People lie, Aria. They lie and scheme and do fucked-up shit,” Smith reasoned.

If Smith wanted to crawl through Phillip’s life, who was I to make a stink about it? But I thought it would be a waste of time.

“We’re gonna check and see if Phillip has a connection to Billy,” Jonas explained. “Could be Billy has an accomplice.”

Now that made sense.

I shrugged.

“If you’re waiting for me to argue how you do your job, or put in my two cents, you might want to order more food because you’ll be waiting awhile. Not me who’s the security expert at this table.”

Jonas gave Smith a pointed look that went hand-in-hand with the badass telepathy they had going on. I ignored this. Took a sip of my tea which was unfortunately alcohol-free but tasteda hell of a lot better, reached past the oysters I didn’t have the stomach for, and snatched a fully loaded potato skin.

I had a mouthful of deliciousness when Jonas was clearly done with the heavy atmosphere and decided it was on him to give me shit.

“Security expert?” he huffed.

I chewed, swallowed, and shoved it back. “Easy, Trashman, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Trashman?” He chuckled.

For the first time since I’d met Jonas, I took him in, really and truly studied the man behind the quick smiles and easy ‘darlins.’ There was an intensity he did a good job of hiding. Like Smith, Jonas worked hard to keep his natural aggression under wraps. There was a quote about rough and ready men who stood watch so the rest of us could sleep soundly in our beds.

Smith was the epitome of this.

Jonas, however, lived and breathed rough and ready. Civilian life went against his natural instincts. He had to work to fit into normal society.

I glanced at his wrist, noted his beat-up dive watch, remembered his Altama boots—expensive but not showy. If you didn’t know the brand or who wore them, you wouldn’t have the first clue why those drain ports on the side were important to men like Jonas.

“My bad,” I started. “You weren’t a trashman.”

Jonas’s playful grin waned and his gaze turned alert.

“What makes you say that?”

No longer wanting to play this game with Jonas, who didn’t look all that happy to play, I shrugged.

“No reason.”

“Tell me.”

Shit.

I’d pissed him off.

“This isn’t fun when the person I’m playing with isn’t up for my silliness.”

“Is that what you call being able to read people?” he shot back.

“Well yeah. It’s not serious. I’m a Navy Brat, I grew up surrounded by every rank and rate. Everyone has a tell, so it became easy. I didn’t mean to?—”

Jonas leaned in, rested his elbows on the table, and narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not pissed or offended. I’m curious. So humor me, Aria—why’d you say I wasn’t a trashman?”

I glanced over at Smith. He didn’t look curious, he looked pleased.

I blew out a harassed breath and gave Jonas what he wanted.

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