Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security 2)

“The other was fine,” I remind her, speaking of the last time we had Sunday brunch two weeks ago.

“I had a coupon for this.”

“Of course, you did.”

“Saving money is important,” she chides when I roll my eyes.

Nana doesn’t ever have to worry about money. If she ran out of the life insurance money my grandfather left behind, which would entail her going on a very long spending spree, I’d have her covered. But she’s a very independent woman, often reminding me that if she spends all of her money, then she’ll have nothing left to leave me.

Even though I’m twenty-six and in no way in need of help from someone else, she’s hell-bent on providing for me when she’s gone. To avoid the conversation about how everyone dies and that’s okay, I just agree with her.

“You made too much food,” I say instead as she pours the pasta into the boiling water on the stove.

I’d offer to help, but she’d only shoot me down, which she’s already done a half dozen times since my arrival an hour ago.

“I was hoping you’d bring a lady friend with you.”

“Of course, you were.”

“Or a male friend.”

“Flynn had plans.”

She spins around to face me as fast as her old body can manage. “I told you about that warlock.”

“Flynn, not Finn. I learned my lesson the last time Finnegan joined us.”

How could I forget? The woman threw the sign of the cross enough times she looked like a religious gang member spearheading a Crusade right in the middle of her kitchen. Let’s ignore the fact that she isn’t particularly religious, nor Catholic for that matter.

“The British young man?” she asks when she finally gets her bearings.

“The one and the same.”

“Do you spend a lot of time apart on the weekends?”

I might have tried to interact with women more growing up if I knew it was going to lead to my grandmother thinking I’m a closet case so in fear of my sexuality that I refuse to come out.

“He’s just a friend and colleague,” I assure her.

“Of course he is, dear. He’s welcome, anytime.”

“He likes girls with big tits.”

If my eyes could open any wider, you could drive a semi-truck through them. I glare over my shoulder at my fucking bird, but he doesn’t do very well with nonverbal communication. At least he pretends to not understand the daggers I’m throwing his direction.

“Isn’t he just the cutest little thing?” Nana asks as she slowly makes her way across the room with another treat for the traitor.

“Thank you, Nana,” the bird coos. “I’m so hungry.”

I get another nasty look from her. “Aren’t you feeding him properly?”

I don’t even open my mouth to argue that the bird has access to food all the time, but treats are supposed to be limited. She wouldn’t listen to me, anyway. The way she fed me as a child, always insisting I needed a snack, I’m surprised I’m not four hundred pounds right now. Thank fuck for good metabolism and the exercise I get in my apartment.

I have been contemplating a few workouts in my building’s gym, but I’m sure to fuck something up if I run into Whitney there. Besides, it’s incredibly hard to hide an erection in gym shorts—make that impossible.

“Do you want some pasta?” She’s no longer speaking to me. Puff Daddy has all of her attention. “You’re looking a little thin.”

He’s not. He’s literally the same size within a few ounces of when I got him. I take pride in the way I treat my bird, and even though he’s insufferable most days, especially recently while he’s watching me watch Whitney, he’s very well kept.

“He can’t have the spices in the tortellini. It’ll upset his stomach.”

“I love pasta!” Puff argues. “Give me pasta!”

“If you say so,” Nana says, agreeing with me. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt him either.

“This bi—”

I spin and point a finger at him, muttering under my breath so she can’t hear, “I will defeather you.”

“My body, my choice!” He scoffs, the rush of air hisses past his beak. “Asshole. Give me pasta!”

“How about dried pasta?” Nana offers in consolation.

“That would be much better,” I agree, practically snarling at the way Puff cackles because he’s won this damn battle.

Nana busies herself with supplying my overeager bird with more pasta than he’ll eat, and it’s the smile on her face for feeling useful that I’ll try to remember when I have to sweep the floor after this messy fucker is done. He tolerates her touching his head even though he hates people in his space, and for that I’m grateful.

“Maybe Puffy needs a lady friend as well.”

Oh shit.

“Hey pretty lady! Wanna fuck?”

I hang my head in shame, but thankfully Nana doesn’t have the best of hearing and can only understand half of what he says.

She turns to look at me over her shoulder, hand still rubbing the top of his head. “What did he say?”