Page 12 of Winning Bid

“I know, I know, we said the fight was behind us—"“Anderson!” She mouths, “Not here!”

“I know,” I tell her firmly, trying to get her to see I haven’t broken our promise. “I know you don’t like to talk about our arguments once they are done, but you’re not being you, and I’m definitely not feeling like me tonight.”

“Argument?”

“Yes, the argument.” I nod my head and try to give her a look that says, “We are talking in code.” But she still looks lost. I clear my throat. “My point is, I said I was sorry for being a jackass earlier, and I am. But I feel like there’s still a weirdness between us, and I’d like to make that up to you. If you’ll let me.”

June has the cutest furrow in her brow when she’s confused, and right now, it’s as deep as it’s ever been. She gulps, trying to sort out what I’m talking about. “You don’t need to make up anything, Anderson. You don’t owe me?—"

“But I do.” I take her hands in mine. “I know we don’t do tit-for-tat shit between us, and I never want that to change. But, baby, you nursed me back to health for months. You have put up with so much bullshit, far more than anyone should ever have to deal with in a lifetime, and we’re not even married yet.” I stroke her cheek, and to my relief, she tilts into my palm. “I love you more than anyone should love anyone. You have been through the absolute wringer. So, I’d like to do something nice. If you’re up for it, I mean. I know you’re always swamped with work, and?—"

“What do you have in mind?” But she says it like she’s asking if I’m high or something. June still hasn’t caught on that I have a plan.

The truth is, I want to get us the fuck out of here for the night. I’d like to put all of this fuckery behind us and just go back to being Anderson and June, two crazy kids in love. Not Anderson, the Murderer, and June, the Witness. I need her. The way we connect, the love we share. I need to be reminded of what we’re fighting for.

I smile to set her at ease. “Let’s do something spontaneous tonight. Screw the chicken and broccoli—obviously, we’re not hungry. I want to take you for a drink at the Ritz.”

She laughs at first until she sees I’m serious. “What? Why?”

Because our place might be bugged and I can’t breathe in here. “Because you deserve spontaneity, and they make an old-fashioned to die for. It’s legendary. Come on. Our sweats are not going to pass the dress code.” I stand up and extend my hand down for her.

She eyes it suspiciously but takes my hand after a beat. Once I get her to her feet, she smiles, and be still my heart, it seems genuine. “Are you sure about this?”

“Without question.”

Her smile fills out a little more. “Okay. A night out sounds nice.” We go to the bedroom, and as I start to dress, I watch June in profile in the bathroom. She frets over her pink eyes and pokes at her splotchy cheeks. “I can’t go anywhere looking like this.”

“Take your time. I’m not in a hurry.” I hate lying to her, but I don’t want her to feel bad about how she looks when we get there.

She nods and takes a breath before whipping out a little makeup and playing with her hair. In the mornings, she usually does all of this with the door closed, so getting to watch her from the end of the bed is novel. The open door frames her body as she works. Puffy eyes or not, she is the woman of my dreams.

Her brown curly hair gets wilder with the humidity, so lately, she’s complained about it more, but I love it. The rest of June is put-together and precise, but her hair is something she can’t control. It’s the embodiment of her naughty bedroom side, which is one of my favorite parts of her. She can be as buttoned up as anyone, but the moment it’s on, she turns into a hellcat.

She paints her eyes, trying to hide what she doesn’t like. Strange to say it, but it’s a relief to see stress affecting her. Not that I want that for her—not ever—but during my recovery, never once did she break down. She was there for every doctor appointment, every therapy appointment, she made me do my exercises, she washed my clothes and made my food, while she was starting a new job … all of that without a single complaint. Never once did she even bat an eye at what was needed.

At first, it was hugely admirable. But after a while, I worried she handled it too well and that she was hiding her stress from me. I’d been shot, for God’s sake. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would have been a fucking basket case. Given all of that, I worried she would crack under the pressure.

If anything good can come of this, maybe June will let me in a little more. She’ll let me help her. I know there are things she’s never told me about her childhood. Until recently, she always clammed up fast when the topic was brought up. But with the reappearance of her father in her life, she’s gotten more open about it. It’s a start, but I want to be there for her always. It is tiring to be shut out of her emotional turmoil. Like she trusts me for some things and not others. I just need her to talk to me.

We have our best talks when she’s out of her mind with orgasms. And we can’t do that here. Not with the feds possibly watching us.

Maybe she’s feeling it, too, because she puts a garter belt on and clips black thigh highs onto it. I’ve never seen her wear anything like that, and I’ve lost my train of thought. Whatever I did to deserve this woman, I’ll do it again and again just to watch her strap all that on. My cock aches from the sight.

As she pulls a little black dress up her waist, a flash of the future comes to mind, or at least, what I hope is the future. I can’t help but wonder what she’d look like pregnant. It’s not a fantasy I often allow myself. But it’s in the back of my mind now and then. Right now, though, thinking about the future keeps me grounded.

“What?”

“Hmm?” I ask.

“You’re staring.”

I grin, unable to lie to her about this. “Yes, I am.”

She laughs and blushes, and it’s lovely. “Well, stop it.”

“Never gonna happen. You wear my ring, and part of the cost is me getting to look my fill.”’

She giggles and finishes dressing, then looks at me. “You’re dragging your feet, mister.”

---