Page 11 of Winning Bid

“You guess?”

“I haven’t been hungry all day. It was a shame, too. Dad took me to Delvecchio’s. I could hardly eat any of it.”

My poor girl. I take her beautiful face in my hands and plant a kiss on her forehead. “I wish it wasn’t so busy in your head.”

“Me too.”

I help her to her feet and sling my arm over her shoulders. I might not be able to protect her from the law, but I can at least protect her from the cold. She doesn’t say much on the walk back, but really, what is there to say? I fucked us both, and not in the way I like.

But the closer we get to home, the more her steps slow. I ask, “What is it?”

“Just … the thought of being spied on. After everything with … you know, it’s like I can’t get away from being violated.”

There is no curse dark enough for what I’m feeling right now. I gulp against a dry throat. “I know you asked me to stop apologizing?—"

“Please don’t.”

I sigh and stare at our destination. My apartment has always felt like home until now. If she doesn’t feel at home there, then it’s not mine, either. But if we veer off course, now, it’ll look weird if we’re being watched. I swallow my guilt and anger and try to sound comforting. “I’ve got you, baby. Let’s go home.”

7

ANDERSON

But even when we walk in, it feels … off. Wrong. Like this is not our home, no matter how much I try to make it so. We change into our house wear—my gray sweatpants and white tee, her in yoga pants, and my old college sweatshirt.

Our usual.

Except for tonight, nothing feels usual about it. The seams on my sweatpants itch, and she takes three tries to get her wild curls into a bun. Everything is just plain off.

I dump the remaining scotch and set to work on supper. Nothing fancy, just my old standard of chicken breast, broccoli, and brown rice. It was what I ate when I was too addled to think of anything else in college, and now, it’s still my go-to for that.

But it tastes like nothing tonight. Even the broccoli, which can be too strong, is bland as hell. Looking around, my apartment feels like it belongs to someone else. Like it’s been invaded. The place is full of my things, yet everything seems suspicious.

The large luxury sofa that was a splurge now looks like a series of cushions perfect for hiding a wiretap. I’ve already been all over my end tables, the coffee table, and the lamps. Found nothing, and I’m not sure if that’s a comfort or if it means I should look harder. Is that a camera in the screw of the outlet, or am I getting paranoid? Every piece looks like another place someone might have stashed something.

It’s all mine, and it’s all wrong.

June feels it, too. She must. She’s been dead silent this whole time. It’s almost as if someone stripped us of our personalities. I don’t blame her for being quiet. I am, too. Both of us are so stuck in our heads that our conversation feels foreign.

I’m so close to her on the couch that I could touch her, but we are so far apart in our minds that the idea doesn’t sit right with me. How fucked up is that? So, I ask, “How do you like the chicken?”

“It’s fine. Did you do something different?”

“A little Dijon in the baste.”

“Mm.”

That’s it. That’s been the whole conversation for over an hour. I am going out of my mind. On any given night, we have a thousand things to say to each other. If we’re being tapped right now, we have to be throwing up alarms. If we’re not, this is doing our relationship no good.

I’m halfway through my meal, and June is just picking at hers, so I take her fork and plate and set them aside. She doesn’t even question it. She just looks at me. I lean forward and kiss her. She stiffens up, surprised. But then she lets me kiss her for a breath. Progress. As I push my advantage, she backs off.

“I’m sorry, Anderson. It’s been a rough day, and I just can’t.”

It is not in my nature to give up. I need June. The real June, not this weepy, cold, distant imitation of her. I need a taste of her spark. Even if only for a night. So, I decide to try something.

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Look, I already said I’m sorry?—"

“Anderson,” she says my name like a warning as her eyes go wide.

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