nodded and continued to give Chip the scratches he demanded. “You know, Chip doesn’t let anyone but me touch his paws.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Fitz hummed. “You didn’t come out here because of me or Jack. What’s the deal with you and Gio?”
“There is no me and Gio,” Joker snapped, startling Fitz. “Sorry. That guy just pisses me off. Every time he talks, I want to punch something.”
“Why? You haven’t even met him. He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a smug son of a bitch who needs to be knocked down a peg or two.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
Joker’s lips twitched. “Sorry. I know he’s a good friend of yours. Jesus, now I’ve apologized. Twice.” He cast Fitz an accusatory glance. “It’s your fault. You’re a terrible influence.”
“That’s me. Convincing people to apologize and help little old ladies cross the street.”
“Why’d you ghost him?”
Fitz’s smile faded, and he swallowed hard. “I wasn’t in a great place, and it wouldn’t have been fair to either one of us to start something. Then things got crazy with the salon, and the weeks turned into months, and I worried about what I was going to say and what he was going to think, and I worried myself right out of calling him. Next thing I knew, it had been two years, and Jesus, he probably thinks I’m an asshole.”
“Great. You’ll fit right in,” Joker teased. His expression softened. “It’s none of my business, but it would mean a lot to me if you talked to Jack. Even if it’s to tell him nothing’s going to happen between you two. He deserves that much.”
Fitz nodded. He dropped his gaze to Chip, who was watching him. “Do yourself a favor, handsome. Never date.”
“Amen.”
Chip looked up at them like they’d lost their marbles, his tail wagging slowly, uncertain, and they both broke into laughter. If this was what it was like to be a part of their crazy family, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Three
Staying up all night working always seemed like a good idea until his alarm woke him up three hours later and Jack found himself on his office couch at HQ. Knowing his penchant for needing to finish what he started, he’d made sure to buy an extra plush couch for his office. A knock sounded at his door, and he groaned for them to enter.
The door opened and Maury peeked in. “I brought your latte and a bacon-and-egg breakfast sandwich from Bibi’s.”
“You’re my favorite. I don’t care what Megan says,” Jack grumbled, his stomach arguing with him for having nothing but takeout for dinner again last night.
With a chuckle, Maury walked in and placed the mouthwatering breakfast on his desk, the aroma of coffee and bacon filling his office. Maury frowned, eyes filled with concern as Jack sat up with a groan.
“J, you gotta get some real sleep. You’ve been at this since last week.”
“I know, I know.” Jack stood and stretched. “Hold that thought; I’ll be right back.” He grabbed his toiletry kit from his desk, a change of clothes from his locked closet, and after checking the coast was clear—aka that King wasn’t around—he dashed to the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth, apply deodorant, and change his clothes. After a quick visual sweep of the floor, he hurried back to his office. Maury sat on his couch, arms folded over his chest.
Lewis Morrison, or Maury, as they all called him, was Jack’s right-hand man on the team, and a friend. He’d been one of the first cybersecurity employees Jack had hired back when Four Kings Security opened its doors. He was smart and talented, so talented he’d worked for the government. Disillusioned by the work he’d been asked to do for Uncle Sam, Maury decided to go private. He and Jack had hit it off from day one, both of them sharing a love of good coffee, good food, and challenging puzzles, any kind of puzzle, whether the little cardboard pieces variety or real brain-busters.
Standing at a couple inches shorter than Jack, with floppy blond hair, tanned skin, bright green eyes, and an easy smile, Maury looked more like a surfer than a hacker. He wore his signature cargo pants, the pockets of which reminded Jack of his desk drawers—you never knew what they contained. At any point in time, Maury could reach into one of his many pockets and pull out floss, a folded-up sheet of wax paper, a cassette tape from the eighties, every battery imaginable, a dismantled dog