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“Yup. So you better be on your best behavior.” He winks, gathering his clothes from the floor.
“Shouldn't I be saying that to you?” I playfully slap his ass and he smirks at me, heading for the laundry room. “I guess I'll have to come up with something to make. I don't think they'll be up for fast-food.”
Returning to the kitchen, he grabs juice from the fridge. “You don't think they'll go for a bucket deal at KFC?”
Rolling my eyes, I squeeze between him and the fridge and grab the casserole dish from the freezer. Since we've been getting home late a lot, I started prepping meals ahead of time, not wanting to stray from the routine we’ve created together. “No chicken served from a bucket if you actually plan on them inviting us over to their house for dinner someday.” I can't believe I'm really doing this. Meeting my neighbors, prepping freezer meals, and eating dinner in the kitchen with someone else every night. I keep waiting for it to be a dream, snatched from me at any moment. I don't always sleep at night, often worried I'll wake up and Phillip won't be there.
“Whatcha thinking so hard about?” He jumps up on the counter, sitting his bare ass next to the bananas.
Setting the timer on the oven, I pop the baking dish inside. “I’m wondering if you sit on the stove and the cutting board like that too.”
“You act like you didn't just have your tongue in my ass an hour ago.”
“I might have but the neighbors coming over next week never have. It's like people who let their cats on the counter and then bring food to potlucks, but instead of me having a cat walk all over every surface, I have a boyfriend who rubs his ass everywhere.”
“So I'm your boyfriend now? Someone got that upgrade from the guy you were dating.”
Groaning, I pull down two plates and two cups. “That's what you got out of that whole sentence?”
“Isn't it funny how we both have selective hearing?”
“Get your ass off the counter,” I say, taking out a spatula and silverware.
“Fine. But you'll have to clean up after me.” He lets out a drawn out meow, pretending to lick himself before placing his feet on the floor.
I swallow hard, trying to not break my composure. “What was it you were saying about wanting to come later?” I wave the spatula around.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he grabs the disinfecting wipes from the cabinet below the sink and cleans every place he touched.
“There, happy?” Shifting his lips, he slams the container of wipes on the counter.
“Very.” I yank him close to me. “More happy than I have any right to be.”
“I think everyone should be happy as much as they want to be.”
“For a long long time I didn't think I deserved it.”
“And now?” Tugging on the center of my shirt, he tilts his head.
“I still don't, but when I'm happy so are you, and you deserve the whole fucking world.”
Nineteen
Antonio
Phillip is at the hotel bar, rubbing on someone else's arm, and it's driving me crazy. I'm sitting across the room watching him flirt with another man and I do my best to keep my hands off my gun. Mr. Kemper laughs and rests a hand on Phillip's knee, whispering into his ear. I'm shaking from jealousy but I can't break character from the random, lonely drunk I'm supposed to be playing.
This job is almost over. I have to be patient, and once this man is dead, I'll drag my boy away from here and mark him everywhere. We're using a new tactic today and I'm not a fan of it, but Phillip told me to trust him and I do. Mr. Kemper is a dirty old man who not only tried to shoot up one of the Herrera hotels recently, but he also likes the company of men less than half his age. His wife is at home with his two children and he's here meeting up with who he thinks is some random pretty twink from a hookup app.
Phillip looks so delicious in a pair of black jeans and a lace crop top hanging off his shoulders. So much so, he has Mr. Kemper eating out of the palm of his hand. I paid the bartender earlier to water down any drinks he brings him, and the man was happy to pocket the extra cash and not ask questions.
Mr. Kemper nudges his head behind him, pointing upward. Phillip nods and allows him to drag him off his seat. Leaving their drinks behind, they scurry off to the elevator. I follow behind them five minutes later, already knowing what room they're headed to. Once on the right floor, I wait in the hall, pacing back and forth, unable to keep my eyes off the room they're in. I have to be patient. It'll take longer to go home if I'm not.
They'll have one more drink together and Phillip will keep the mark distracted while he pours the drugs into his drink, enough for him to overdose pretty quickly. The man's already been snorting coke today. I know this because I placed a camera in his room. I'm scared to watch it now. I might break down the door if I do. Taking a deep breath, I rest my back on the wall, pulling up the tracker I planted on Phillip, and the waiting becomes too much. I feel like I have ants crawling under my skin when he's been in the same spot for almost thirty minutes.
Growing antsy, I pull up the camera and sigh in relief when I see he's handing Mr. Kemper his glass. The man sips his drink while sliding his fingers up Phillip’s thigh and Phillip laughs, scooting back. This is hard for him but he said he's bigger than his fears, and he's right.
Overcoming moments like this is important to him and he usually comes up on top afterwards.
