W4S by Tracy Danger Mumford
You try not falling in love with a spy.
They know everything about you without any of the small talk.
They’ve seen your dossier, they’ve tapped your phone, they’ve killed and impersonated your best friend for two years to learn everything they possibly can about you from beneath a very convincing rubber mask.
That’s dedication you won’t find on Match.com.
A spy wants you for your secrets and will listen to anything to get them. They will hear all about your bad day and your dog’s anxiety pills and how someone at work used your non-communal office mustard again. They will listen close no matter what in case you decide to spill a secret while describing your cubicle mate’s skin tags in fleshy detail.
A spy will comfort you when your friend’s real body finally shows up incinerated at the crash site of a lightweight airplane. You know something is off because your friend hated to fly and had no access to a private Cessna, but in that moment you just need comfort and the spy is more than willing to offer it. Such strong arms.
My spy thinks I have the codes. I think my spy has nice eyes.
Sometimes when we dance it feels dangerous: two countries locked in a deadly tango, secrets just below the surface.
But who else would have have gone with me to my sister’s wedding?