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As for now?
Lady products and wine.
Just the thought of the former causes me to groan.
Forfuckssake, why is disarming and disposing of an unnamed threat easier than picking out a box of fucking tampons?
Chapter 10
Arley
Today is the first day I get to leave this penthouse in over a week.
Am I excited about that?
Hell. Yes.
Am I a little sad about it, too?
Oddly…also yes.
Putting aside the looming unknown threat that is possibly watching me from the roof across the street, the past nine days have been incredible. Slater and I have been “nesting” like the “lovebugs” that Aviva and Blu keep telling the world we are. It’s just that…instead of doing what our cover implies we’re doing – having hot crazy monkey sex in every room of the penthouse – we’re stuffing our faces with white cheddar popcorn and playing overly intense games ofRiskat the coffee table to classic action movies.And rather than having romantic dinners at the hottest haute cuisine restaurants in the city, we’re getting cooking lessons from his mother, via video chat, on how to properly season as well as cook barbacoa. Our sleeping arrangement is still on the platonic side yet over the past three nights it’s crept closer to actual couple than close friends. While I maytechnicallysleep in the bed alone, I’m positioned right on the edge of the mattress next to where his pallet is on the floor. Each night he lights our candle, kisses my forehead, and waits until he thinks I’m asleep to link his fingers with mine – that just so happen to be dangling nearby. It’s light enough not to “wake me” but tight enough that I know it’s happening.
Actually. Happening.
And it doesn’t feel like it did before the incident.
His hand with mine doesn’t feel innocent the way it used to. Sure, it’s always given me slight butterflies but now they swarm and beat their wings so fast it takes my breath away.
And sure, I’ve fallen asleep on the couch in his arms while we’re watching a movie probably a hundred times in the past, but now, I wake up to both tucked securely around my frame.
Cradling me.
Holding me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
I can’t speak for him, but I know for me being hunted for some undiscovered reason – although I have a couple of theories I’m ready to present – has definitely put some shit in perspective for me. Ending up in the hospital and then discovering someone tried to follow Slater to get to me has led to a lot of introspection I wasn’t expecting.
I’ve been texting back my brothers and their wives – okay wife and wife to be – a little more often with a little more enthusiasm regardless of if it’s about their kiddos or their jobs or the pending engagement shower, I know I’m just going to mess up. I’ve been sending more selfies – with and without Slater in them – to my parents who we see significantly less face to face since they retired to Hawaii three years ago. Monte bought our childhood home from them – wanting to raise his own kids in it – and heavily renovated it to make it something they could call their own despite having it “passed down”. We all love the place. Most of our best family memories were made in the same backyard my nieces and nephews are making theirs.
Everyone in my family is openly worried about this frightening situation yet seems far less concerned each time my best friend explains how he’s taking extreme precautions like when he video called me to assist in picking out only the necessities from my townhome before locking the shit up like Fort Knox.
Or how he has whatever we need – clothes, takeout, groceries – delivered downstairs for him to personally bring up so that there isn’t a potential threat sneaking in.
He even has the elevator watched at night when we’re sleeping by another HE employee, just to have that extra layer of security while we’re resting.
Personally, I wouldn’t have assigned Reynolds the job.
Fuck, even the system wouldn’t have paired him to the gig, but Slater vouched for him.
Insists that he’s already proven he canbetrusted with what’s happening.
To no surprise, he won’t give me details aboutthat; however, I think he’ll cave eventually.
Maybe actually following through when I threaten not to let him taste the various dessert recipes I’ve been testing for the event I still can’t believe Hilda somehow tricked me into doing. I don’t know exactly why, but I’m inclined to blame Terence. Typically, when there’s some sort of fuckery afoot in our family…he’sto blame.
Burden of – rightfully – being branded the prankster of the batch.
It’s the reason my nephews are not allowed to hang out with their “favorite uncle” without additional supervision.
