which didn’t surprise me in the least. They had never met before Louise began working for me, but their lives were connected. They often joked about their time with the Bureau. Apparently, Louise had spent seven years there as well, and they knew the same people.
Through a video call, I met Vincent’s younger brother, Clive, and his wife and daughter, who lived in Wisconsin. A few jokes about my age occurred during the call, but it sounded like a good-natured ribbing between siblings. Clive was a nurse, as was his wife, and they seemed like nice people. Wholesome. Vincent introduced me to them as his partner, not his boyfriend. His partner. He looked so proud when he told them about the exhibition I was having in New York in a couple of months. By the end of the video chat, my cheeks hurt from my nervous, giddy grinning.
Vincent was recovering, and every new thing we could do together felt like a gift. We took long walks, prepared dinner together every night, he taught me his family’s spaghetti recipe, and I showed him how I made sushi. He began physical therapy and was now allowed to take the sling off for a few hours a day.
The sex had been… different. At first, we couldn’t do much at all because he was in pain, even though he tried to hide it. However, during the first couple of weeks, we got inventive, and it felt amazing. Last night, he just lay on the bed and watched me fuck myself with a dildo. He ordered me to come all over his hard cock, lick him clean, and then suck him. It had been deliciously filthy. While I missed the rough sex, the connection between us grew stronger. We talked more, kissed more, cuddled more.
And we watched movies together.
“There they are,” Vincent muttered at the screen. “The uptight feds who take over from the American hero cop and ruin the perfectly planned action with their indolent bureaucracy. Have you noticed that it’s always the same type of actor who plays the obnoxious federal agent? Tall, skinny and pale, facial expressions of a wax figurine.”
“I’m going to hate watching action movies with you.”
“Maybe.” He grinned down at me. “It’s not as bad as when the army appears, though. I dare you to put on Transformers. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You’re going to ruin that one for me too, won’t you?”
“Mhmm. Iron Man too.”
“I love Iron Man!”
“The part in Afghanistan is a huge pile of goat shit.” He kept his eyes on the screen, but I didn’t miss his mischievous smirk from my position, my head on a pillow on his lap. He was just trying to rile me up.
“You’re not going to spoil the movies I love with facts. No way.”
“This year, one with Vin Diesel will come out. A super marine who gets killed and revived with super technology superpowers. We should definitely see it together. I can’t wait for that one.” The irony dripped from his voice like syrup.
“Sure. Bad action movies with your dry, data-based commentary. Sign me up. But I’m not watching Iron Man with you.”
His right hand carded through my hair. “I actually like Iron Man too,” he admitted softly. He shifted underneath me, and I lifted my head, propping myself up on my elbows.
“Are you comfortable? Not hurting?”
“I’m perfectly comfortable. I’m great.” He pushed gently on my shoulder to make me lie back down. “Never been better, actually. I just need you to hand me the popcorn.”
I stretched for the bowl on the coffee table and held it on my chest so Vincent could easily reach it with his good hand.
“Thanks,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “Now it’s perfect.”
I pinned my eyes back on the mindless flick and smiled. Watching movies with Vincent felt so… domestic. Simple.
I lost track of the characters’ actions and motives, clueless as to why the good guy was now suddenly shooting for the baddies. Instead, I focused on the warmth exuding from Vincent’s body as I replayed the happy memories from the past few weeks in my head. Vincent’s fingers smelled of popcorn when they traced my cheek and jaw.
Suddenly, his hand squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow. I’ve never taken you out on a date.”
“Well, first, we were hiding, and then you were shot, so…”
“I want to go out with you.”
“Okay, sure. I’d love to.”
He picked up my hand, salty and greasy from the popcorn, and kissed the palm.
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