Sap’s mouth quirked to one side. “Paul, for all the women you’ve been with and all the places you’ve been, you sure don’t know much about the opposite sex.”
“I know enough,” I argued as I unzipped my jumpsuit. “And I know she’s a prude that needs to get laid.” That chick was a complete killjoy.
“You see a prude. I see a woman waiting to be unleashed.”
“Oh yeah?” I chuckled. “Saw all that in the fifteen minutes you were with her?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, Sap. We’ll be back in an hour, and I promise this time we’re jumping.”
I’d certainly taken her off guard showing up unannounced. She looks like she’s seeing a ghost.
“Where’s the professional greeting?” I jest. I’m trying to piss her off as much as the announcement of her bullshit meeting did to me. Shit, I’m still pissed. And the Clara I remember would give me an eye-roll and tell me to fuck off. But she doesn’t do that. She just stares at me, her mouth slightly open. Two people, clients, I assume, sit at the table in the corner filling out their paperwork as Clara and I remain eyelocked.
“Who ready to jump today?” a deep Spanish accent asks. One second later, Marcus rounds the corner, his hair slicked back, wearing a wicked thick, black mustache. His diving suit is covered in Mexican flags, and his front tooth is capped in gold. Grinning, I shake my head. I can see he’s really upped his game since I’ve been gone. As soon as he turns his head toward me, his smile fades and he darts his gaze to Clara.
“Paul,” he intones in his normal voice. “It’s been a long time.” He clears his throat and extends a hand to shake mine. I look at his hand and curl my lips.
“I don’t want to shake your hand.” I smack it away and his head rears back slightly, shock strewing across his face. “What the hell is that?” I grimace. Marcus is my best friend. We don’t shake hands. “Come give me a hug, man.” I grab him in a bear hug and lift him off the ground, squeezing him.
“My ribs,” he groans as I squeeze harder. When I set him back on his feet, his face red as a ripe tomato as he gasps for air.
“You’ve gotten a little soft in the middle since I last saw you, old friend,” I joke. “Guess that’s what old age will do to ya.”
“I’m two years younger than you,” he replies morosely. “I’m also about three feet shorter than you and I still have a bigger dick.”
“Marcus,” Clara shrieks as I laugh.
Turning to the two customers at the table, he waves. “Sorry. But it is big.”
“Oh my God,” Clara sighs. “Let me get Bowman and Larry to finish up in here.” Clara scurries off down the hall and Marcus and I move to the small couch by the entrance.
“She’s still wound up tight,” I comment as we sit.
“She has her reasons,” Marcus argues and my brows furrow. Is he defending her? That’s new. They hated one another when I left.
“Oh does she?” I ask sarcastically.
“Paul,” Marcus says, his gaze fixed on the wall. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“And I’d still be gone if she hadn’t cut off my money,” I add.
Marcus snorts and shakes his head. “It was the only way to get you to come home.”
“And why did I need to come home?”
He places his little hands on his face and rubs hard a few times. “Because—”
“Marcus,” Clara calls, interrupting him as she gives him a pointed, wide-eyed look. “I think we need to get the van ready for our jump.”
I haven’t jumped in months and the idea of doing it again brings a small smile to my face. “Maybe I’ll jump, too.” I stand and begin to head toward the back, but just as I’m about to pass Clara she presses a firm hand to my chest, stopping me. Here we go. I knew as soon as I said I’d jump she’d throw a hissy about it.
“I’ll get you a suit,” she tells me. “You stay here.”
I stare at her as she heads back down the hall, blinking a few times, wondering what’s happening. She didn’t even bat an eye about me jumping.
“Okay.” I snort as I spin around back to Marcus. “What the hell is up with . . .” My sentence trails off when I realize Marcus is staring out the large front window into the parking lot where a couple of teenagers are pulling what looks like camera equipment out of a van. A pretty brunette in skinny jeans, a green shirt, and a black beanie motions her hand several times, indicating for the others to hurry up. Quickly, her two male friends gather everything and one slams the van door shut.
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus says, simply. Seconds later, the bubbly brunette breezes in, forgetting to hold the door for her friends.
She takes a slow look at the place, nodding to herself until her gaze lands on me. “Holy shit.” She gasps. Looking back to her friends that have just walked in, she squeals, “That’s him.” She points a tiny finger at me. “That’s Paul James.”