Page 7 of Enemies with Benefits

"So," she interrupted with a smirk. "This is not the first time you've rolled up looking like you took a tumble through the brush. The only difference is that you didn't show up being scruffed by a cop like a naughty puppy."

"That happened once."

"Three times."

"When I was a teenager."

"Which means you either aren't as good on your bike as you used to be because you fell off, or you're a lot better thanyou used to be and somewhere in the city, there's an extremely pissed off cop."

I hated how well she knew me sometimes. It wasn't like she was alone in it, my siblings and especially my mother were pretty good at figuring me out, but Moira was on an entirely different level. I wasn't one to give in to the idea of a 'twin thing' as I'd heard it put, but there were times when I had to wonder if there was some power to having shared a womb. It was never anything as eerie as us knowing when the other was hurt or upset, butbothof us could home in on the other's thoughts with an unerring level of accuracy.

"The only trouble I've had with a cop lately was the one who lost the key to his cuffs. Thankfully, I know my way around a pair of handcuffs and got him out before we had to call someone to free him from my bedpost."

"Amazing. Fascinating. What a titillating story. Thank you for sharing."

"You loved it."

"I did not, no."

A familiar chuckle brought my head up. “Well, I for one enjoyed it. Of course, I might have enjoyed a few nights of my own with handcuffs."

Moira closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "Lord have mercy, hello, Mother."

Our mother snorted as she stepped into the bar area. “I hate when you call me that. I feel like I should be beating you over wire hangers."

"That was Mommy Dearest, not Mother Dearest," I said with a smirk.

“Count on you to remember something like that,” she said, smiling, and I turned around to give her a customary hug. She had always been big on making sure none of us felt obligated to hug someone, no matter how much they wanted one. It wasa lesson we’d taken to heart to differing degrees, but I wasn’t alone in thinking she was allowed to be the exception to my ‘not a hugger’ attitude.

“I remember things,” I told her as I stood back and looked at her. I didn’t think there was anything wrong, but it never hurt to check. My dad had died because of an accident, but that didn’t mean death couldn’t come from any angle. I would never admit I was worried about her, and she would never tell me something was wrong until she was sure and had a plan. I didn’t have to wonder where Moira got that from.

“When it suits you,” she said fondly, patting my arm as she drew back.

“At least I don’t need a live-in, living reminder,” I pointed out.

“If it works for Milo and Elijah, then leave them be,” she chided.

“Wow, a mom being overprotective of the babies in the family, shocking!” I said, wryly.

“I put up with all my kids’ bullshit equally,” she replied. “Now, how about a drink at the bar?”

“I was thinking about lying down.”

“Oh, are you exhausted from your fall?”

“Fall? What fall?”

“You clearly had one on the way here by the looks of you, all banged up and not wearing your helmet.”

“I always wear a helmet.”

“Then where did those marks come from?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Moira said, and I groaned when I saw the mischievous glint in her eye.

“Were you?” our mother asked, looking at me. “Yes, I think you’ll have that drink with me.”

“Mom!” I protested, not caring that I sounded like a six-year-old being told no. I stopped when Moira followed her. “And what are you doing? You're on the clock.”