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“Sorry again,” I mouth, and she gives an absolutely lethal eye roll that I will be thinking about for the next three weeks while I shower and every time I close my eyes to sleep.
Her smile is everything to me, like it might make my brain melt the way her cheeks push up her eyelids and she tries to keep her lips closed.
As if her face isn’t already perfect, she needed to have a dimple. Sure.
Vanessa is hot, like stupid hot. She is hotter than me, I am aware. I would probably have to be an Avenger, or a fucking vampire to be as hot as she is.
My mind paints a very clear fantasy, unbidden, in which Vanessa and I live in domestic bliss. I’ve quit my job, just for a few years, just until the youngest is in pre-school, and Vanessa runs the world all day before she comes home to be with me and our two babies. After the children are asleep, after a delicious dinner I made, unless we ordered in, we make love and in fact make another baby, a third, a girl who we name Vanessa Jr. She has my nose. I think there is something wrong with me.
Vanessa spits blood onto the back of the man’s head and nods. “Did he hurt you?” she asks.
“Right, because normal, non-criminal people know how to clean up bodies and get blood stains out of clothes.” He’s whisper-yelling, and I step closer to him.
“Station someone here,” I say as we descend the old staircase. “No one touches him.”
I can handle any number of things on my own, but I didn’t realize how nice it is, sometimes, to have someone whose job is to handle things with you.
