Page 72 of Citius

Sprawled face down on our bed, Joaquin was dead to the world, the tattooed expanse of his tan back on full display. Why hadn’t our bond given me deep sleep superpowers, too?

My mate had been the biggest question mark lately, which was quite an achievement considering the Redmonds’ combined irks and quirks. I kept catching him watching gymnastics videos on his phone…

Videos of Morgan.

He even convinced me to watch her entire Olympic competition the other night, cuddled together on the gray chaise with drinks and snacks. It wasn’t our weirdest date night, but it was pretty close. Not that I didn’t love watching her compete and win.

But Joaquin’s sudden interest in gymnastics was just plain weird.

His answers seemed truthful enough when I asked what he was up to. That he was trying to learn more about the sport to understand Morgan and Wyatt better.

Then, he’d flash that sly but sincere smile of his, the one that made me believe his promises of security and pleasure, never pain—and change the subject.

I still didn’t know what happened between him and Morgan the other day when I missed our lunch date. He wouldn’t tell me what they talked about or why his end of the bond sparked like a live wire for eight whole minutes, an overwhelming distraction during the crux of an important planning meeting.

At least I knew how my food truck barbeque appeared in the staff refrigerator. The thought of my name written across the lid in Morgan’s lilting penmanship still gave me butterflies. I was a little too enamored with the idea of my mate and my crush teaming up to keep me well-fed with brisket.

Joaquin knew how I felt about Morgan. He’d known for weeks. Never mentioned it, except for flashing my bonding mark at her and insinuatingshe was my favorite colleague. But he still knew. So why wouldn’t he answer my questions?

No, I was getting wound up again.

When I thought of my anxiety as a hyperactive hamster running endlessly on a wheel inside my brain, it made my constant stream of worries and doubts feel less intrusive. That’s just how I was wired. I’d take my meds, and eventually, the anxiety hamster would wear itself out, leaving me comfortably numb, and everything would be fine.

Maybe then I could finally accept my life with Joaquin at its center—the happiest I’d ever been—was really my new normal.

I wouldn’t wake up in my old studio apartment, with its tissue-thin walls and secondhand furniture, struggling to keep my head above water between student loan debt, the cost of gas, and ever-climbing rent. Entirely alone.

The man sound asleep in our newly purchased king-sized bed wasmyman. Mine to tease, mine to treasure. This was our life. Our reality. It was safe, solid, and very real.

Freshly showered, I slipped on jeans and a careworn sweater, then padded to Joaquin’s side of the bed, trailing my fingers through his unruly hair. A bleary eye cracked open, followed by a slow grin. He wrapped a long arm around my leg, tugging me close enough to nuzzle.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah. Owen gave me a pack credit card, so I’m going shopping before he regains his sanity.”

Working at the tight muscles at the base of his neck, I earned an appreciative grunt. He’d spent a string of late nights preparing for the ballet’s upcoming fall fundraising gala on top of their next show, and it was taking its toll.

He was heading back to the theatre in a few hours for another day of hanging and adjusting lights, but for now, he was entirely at the mercy of my tender, loving care.

“I’ll go with you next time,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Easier to plan stuff now the move’s over.”

“But the holidays—”

“Could light that nutcracker shit in my sleep.”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Design’s already done, babe. Copy and paste. Minimal effort.” A noisy yawn morphed into a wicked laugh. “Unless they finally decide to let the royal rat pack win instead of repeating the same creepy uncle bullshit—”

I dug my thumb into the stubborn knot, prompting a sharp yelp thatquickly faded into a grumble.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, giving my leg a placating squeeze. “It’s a masterpiece. Glittery pink gumdrop perfection.”

Joaquin pressed a kiss to my denim-clad thigh. He knew I had a soft spot forThe Nutcracker.

“But I’m still going to block off some time on my calendar. We’ll do the whole shopping thing. Hot chocolate, gift wrap. Whatever you want. Promise.”

I caressed the length of his neck once more for good measure. “Thanks, babe.”

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