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I search her eyes for a hint that she loves what she does but there is nothing. “But you don’t love it.”
She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. “Not in the slightest. Math has always been easy for me, so when I was choosing a major I decided economics was a safe bet. But after everything started happening, I couldn’t go into a field that was so dependent on technology.”
“Don’t most jobs rely on computers? How do you get around that?”
“The company I work for is very high-tech and when they offered me the position in their accounting department, I confided in the VP of human resources about my stalker. She brought in the head of tech security and we discussed some protocols they could implement to keep me safe.”
Her eyes drift closed and her breaths increase. I lift my hand to her head and lean forward to place a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me more.”
“I’m okay. It’s just that even considering all the protocols in place, he still managed to find me. Your turn. Tell me about your job.”
With a groan, I roll to my back and she scoots in close, resting her head on my shoulder. There are so many things I could tell her about being a cop, but most of it is something she shouldn’t hear.
“It’s okay. How about your favorite ice cream flavor?”
“A deal is a deal. My job is complicated. At least the one I was doing the last three years. Undercover work is fucked up. It fucks you up. There were days I woke and had no idea who I was supposed to be. The tough guy part of a gang or a cop. Some days, it had to be both.”
Memories of the hardest days flood my mind. Waking with raging headaches from the stress of playing a part. Watching girls barely old enough to drive being abused by the men we had to pretend to like. Drugs and weapons everywhere. Deals being made off to the side between men who were once enemies. All while staying on the right side of the law but never being able to intervene.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” she says.
“What do you want to know?”
Sophia props up and rests her head on my chest. Her smile is sweet and inviting. “Come here,” I say, nudging her forward.
She moves slowly, the smile morphing to a smirk as I pull her close and kiss her. It still doesn’t feel real to be able to hold her and kiss her freely. When she pulls back, I groan at the loss.
“Don’t distract me. Tattoos.”
“Fine. I got my first on my eighteenth birthday. It’s been sort of a family tradition among my cousins. Each of us have our last name on our side.”
“How many cousins do you have?”
“On the Castillo side, nine boys and four girls. Including my sister and me, there are fifteen.”
“Holy shit. That’s just on one side?”
I bark out a laugh at her exasperation. I’m about to blow her mind. “Yeah and almost half of that on the Logan side. Let’s just say family reunions are eventful.”
Her fingers slip under my shirt, lifting the side. I watch as she peeks under the cotton, looking for my ink. When her face falls, I sit up and twist to show her the other side.
“Ohmygosh. It’s so pretty. Like another piece of art. Nothing like your back, though.”
Lying back down, we settle back into our cuddle and I say, “No. Nothing beats that one. When I was a kid I was obsessed with dragons. I’m surprised my mom didn’t seek therapy for me. One year for Halloween, I tried to convince her to let me breathe actual fire. Or at least use fire in some way.”
Her head pops up, eyes wide. “Don’t worry. She said no. Anyway, my artist, Enzo, spent weeks getting the details exactly how I wanted them. Something this size is commitment. Longest one of my life not related to the job.”
The hold she has on me tightens and confirms how pathetic I sound. Sophia yawns and I look at the clock on the nightstand.
“Hey,” I say, my hand sliding down her side. She hums a response and I know she’s falling asleep. “Sophia, it’s after midnight; do you want to stay?” Another hum instead of words and I take that as confirmation and relax into the mattress.
• • •
I’m sitting on the porch enjoying my second cup of coffee when a hand lands on my shoulder. I look up at Sophia. Her hair is mussed from sleep and there’s a crease on her cheek from the pillow. Yet she looks like every dream I’ve allowed myself to have.
“Morning.” Her voice is gravelly as she squeezes my shoulder.
I set the cup of coffee on the stump and tug her around to sit on my lap. A squeal and string of laughter are the best sounds I’ve heard. Using my hand, I pull her forward for a morning kiss but she puts a hand to her mouth and mumbles, “I need a toothbrush.”
