Tingles exploded on my scalp when Myles gathered my hair. I shoved that aside along with the pleasant quivers that accompanied the tingles by reminding myself my life was in shambles, I was marked for death, and Myles was not there to play hide the sausage.
I bit back my laughter, knowing if it became audible Myles would ask what was funny and I’d have to scramble to find a lie to cover up my immature sense of humor.
Myles didn’t answer verbally. His fist tightened in my hair, and then the pressure was gone. I didn’t even hear it; just like that in a flash, he was done.
His soft question took me by surprise. “Do you wanna see it?”
“No.”
I felt rather than saw his presence slip away and I sat there with my head bowed.
It was just hair. It would grow back. I wasn’t particularly attached to my long hair but damn it still stung. It stung because it wasn’t my choice, the knots had to be cut out, either by Myles or a stylist, or me. Weirdly, I was happy it was Myles.
I hadn’t recovered when I felt him come back, then I felt both of his hands on my shoulders before he commanded, “Lift your head.”
I obeyed and he immediately went back to brushing while I stared at the ocean through the bank of windows in front of me.
“Who’s Namora?” I asked.
“Right, Namora the sub-mariner. She’s an old-school Marvel superhero. A mutant/human hybrid—superhuman strength and swimming. She also has wings on her ankles so she can fly. Everyone thought she was dead but she was forced into hibernation. She’s a total badass and because of that she was actually cloned.”
I felt my skin start to crawl.
“Why would you call me Namora?”
“Because she’s more badass than Aquawoman and you were taking a really long time in the shower. It was the best nickname I could come up with on the spot. You know, water…aqua…sub-mariner.”
Myles fell silent and I was too busy keeping my heart rate under control to fill the silence. No one in my life had ever attempted to give me a nickname, not even a shortening of my name. Nothing. Not even in elementary school when kids were awful did a bully or mean girl turn my way and call me a name. I was just there in the background cruising along, unnoticed.
“It was a stupid—”
“Please don’t take it back,” I interrupted.
There was a weighty pause then a soft, “Hungry?”
I smiled at the window. Myles was being cool, not asking questions and taking us from uncomfortable to normal.
“Actually, I’m starving.”
“You mean those cardboard snacks I gave you didn’t fill you up?”
Now he was being cooler and joking.
“You strike me as a man who knows this, but at the time those bars tasted like heaven.”
“When I was out in the field at some point, normally around day five or six, the tuna MREs started to taste good. By two weeks in, no one bitched about the chicken in mystery sauce.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that. If you would’ve offered me freeze-dried chicken that came back to life with water, I would’ve been grateful but I would’ve turned my nose up at it.”
Myles stopped brushing my hair and said, “That’s why we didn’t eat those until we had no other choice. They’re nasty as fuck. Lucky for you there’s no chicken on today’s menu.”
That had me wondering what was on the menu, as well as a whole host of other questions about his time in the Army.
One of those plates with a silver lid over it appeared on the table, then the lid came off and there was a huge bowl of fresh fruit—strawberries, cantaloupe, grapes, and blueberries.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Myles grumbled as if he didn’t like not knowing my preferences.
“I’m not picky,” I said but quickly amended my answer, “As long as it doesn’t come in a ready-to-eat pouch.”
“Good to know.”
He set down more food, this one a plate of pasta. The delicious aroma of garlic and basil wafted through the air and I groaned my appreciation.
“Wow. That smells so good.”
Next up, a turkey sandwich with rice.
“No fries?” I feigned outrage.
“Be a few days before your stomach will be able to handle the grease.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“Hey, in a coupla days I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go and you can load up on all the grease and sweets you want. Promise.”
That meant he’d still be around in a couple of days.
“Do I get a burger with my grease?”
“Yep.”
“And a hot fudge sundae with nuts and two cherries?”
“I’ll sport for three if it’ll make you happy. Now dig in.”
Myles placed a silverware roll in front of me and took the seat across from me. When his gaze lifted he snorted a laugh.
“You gonna eat sitting backwards in the chair?”
“Would it offend you if I did?”
“No.”
I might’ve looked ill-mannered but I was comfortable.
“How are we eating this? Family-style or eating off the same plate?”
“However you want.”
I unrolled my utensils, picked up my fork, and stabbed a piece of strawberry.
“Works for me.” Myles laughed and followed suit.
Five minutes later I’d eaten five juicy, best-tasting-ever strawberries, three bites of a turkey sandwich, and I was full.
“This sucks. I want to keep eating but my stomach feels like it’s going to explode.”
“Best not to push it and make yourself sick. You’ll be hungry again in ten minutes and if you’re not, we have a mini-fridge,” Myles said after he chewed a bite of pasta.
“Don’t eat all of that. I didn’t get to try it.”
“It’s gross, you won’t like it.” He grinned and shoveled another bite in his mouth.
“I think that fruit’s spoiled. You better not try any,” I played along.
“Thought it smelled rotten.”
Myles’s smile split his face and I was momentarily stunned by how handsome he was.
Damn.
“So, your last name is Barron, huh?”
“Nope. Simms.”
“I thought the guy at the door called you Mr. Barron.”
“He did. That’s the name we’re checked in under. You were sleeping in the backseat when I stopped to pick up our new identities.”
Holy shit. I couldn’t believe I slept through that. Actually, I shouldn’t have slept at all; it was dangerous and stupid.
Myles’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t call me on my thoughts.
“Wanna know your name?” he inquired.
“Sure.”
“Irene Flora Barron.”
“Are you joking?”
“Nope. And I’m Cornelis Archer Barron.”
He looked perfectly serious. Then it struck me he was telling the truth. Our fake identities were Cornelis and Irene Barron. And since we shared a last name that meant we were fake married.
I was fake married.
My body started rocking and I started sputtering until I busted out laughing. This went on a long time until I realized Myles was smiling but obviously didn’t find the same humor in the situation as I did.