My mother never knew the truth about her husband, just as Tina, my sister, never knew the truth about her father. All they knew was he worked for the military. Not that he was an assassin for the United States government. That when the government needed full deniability and couldn’t afford to risk sending in a CIA asset, they’d send my father and his team.
Besides myself, the only other person left from the team is Nova Bartkowski, who I haven’t seen or talked to in a year, not since we came back from an impromptu mission in Mexico, and now that I think about Nova, where did he end up, anyway? He mentioned something about finding his father, but he didn’t tell me much else. For all I know something bad may have happened to him. For all I know he may be dead.
I blink, realizing all at once I’ve been lost in my thoughts, still standing in the shower. How many minutes has it been? I feel the tips of my fingers, realize they’ve started to prune, and decide enough screwing around.
A couple minutes later I step out and dry myself off. My hair’s still wet, but at least it’s short now, not long like it was a year ago.
Wrapped in a towel, I walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. As I twist off the cap and start to raise the bottle to my lips, there’s a soft knock at the apartment door, followed directly by a whisper.
“Police, open up.”
I eye the two pistols and the knife on the kitchen table next to Erik’s two gag gifts. I cross over to the table and collect all three weapons and place them in a drawer before heading to the door.
A quick glance through the peephole confirms Erik is standing on the other side. But he’s turning away, having concluded I’m asleep or maybe mad at him, and is about to head back into his apartment.
I open the door.
He pauses, and glances at me over his shoulder.
“Oh, hello.”
He says it all innocently like he’s surprised to find me answering my door at three o’clock in the morning.
I say, “Don’t you ever sleep?”
He turns to me, and shrugs.
“I was reading. Thought I heard you come in not too long ago. Wanted to check to see how you’re feeling.”
I glance down at his empty hands.
“What, no beers?”
He offers an embarrassed smile, and shrugs again.
“Figure you probably wouldn’t be in the mood for a drink. Why were you out so late, anyway? I was at Reggie’s earlier; they said you called out sick.”
“Keeping tabs on me, are you?”
Another shrug.
“I’m merely a concerned neighbor, is all.”
“Maybe I was out on a date.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“Erik.”
“Yes?”
“I have a confession to make.”
“Okay.”
I beckon him with my finger. He takes a step forward. I glance down the empty hallway, as if I expect a crowd to be watching, and then lower my voice.
“My problem from last night? It’s not a problem anymore.”
“Oh. Well … that’s good, right?”
“Too bad you didn’t bring any beers.”
His eyes light up.
“I’ll be right back.”
Before he can step away, though, I reach out and hook a finger on his belt, pull him toward me into the apartment.
Tilting my face up to kiss him, I murmur, “Let’s skip the beers.”
Erik doesn’t object. He goes right with it, kissing me back, his hands grazing my body through the towel, and I jump up and wrap my legs around him as he holds me tight and walks farther into the apartment, absently reaching back to close the door.
Seventeen
Light trickles in from the part in the curtain. It’s not strong light—the streetlamp stands several yards away—but it’s enough so that once your eyes adjust you can make out the bedroom.
We lie in my bed, Erik and I, and stare at the ceiling, both of us sweaty and spent. While we were going at it—our hands and lips exploring the familiar terrains of our bodies, my hand squeezing Erik’s bicep when he entered me—it was like any other time, a recognizable rhythm, both of us already knowing what the other liked, but this was the first time we were together in my apartment, the first time Erik has ever seen the inside of my apartment, and now a sense of awkwardness tinges the air, Erik no doubt wanting to ask why the place is so bare, why I don’t even have a TV. I’ve been living across the hall from him for nearly a year, and it looks like I’ve just moved in—or am ready to move out.
But Erik doesn’t ask. He lies beside me, catching his breath, and then starts to sit up, twisting to place his bare feet on the carpet.
I don’t move. Don’t even tilt my head. But I watch him in the dark, his broad shoulders rippling as he starts to stand. He thinks he’s supposed to retreat to his apartment now, because that’s what I always do once we finish. I’ve never lingered for more than a couple minutes. At first making an excuse for why I needed to leave, and then, once it became clear to Erik that I’d rather sleep alone, making no excuse at all. Just slipping out of bed, redressing, and then ghosting through his apartment to the door where I would peek out first to make sure none of our neighbors were there before darting across to my apartment.
“You don’t have to go.”
His shoulders twitch. Clearly he wasn’t expecting me to speak.
“I have to work tomorrow.”
He says it without looking at me, standing to pull on his boxer shorts.
“What time?”
He pauses and turns his head slightly to the side, so I can make out
