Victor (Chicago Blaze 3)

“Absolutely, thanks.”

Victor gives me an apologetic smile, putting his hands on my waist. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

I roll my eyes, unable to keep myself from smiling. “I like how you phrased that to make it sound like I couldn’t possibly be unhappy you were just photographed buying an economy-sized bottle of lube and bringing it to my house.”

He pulls me a little closer, his eyes bright with amusement. “Come on babe, it’s funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny,” I concede. “But I’ll still be getting teased over it in the neighborhood when I’m an old lady.”

“And I’ll still be getting fist bumped over it, so we’re good?”

I reach for my turkey baster, which is sitting on the counter. “Don’t make me use this on you.”

Dad passes Victor a beer. “Want to go catch some football while we wait?”

Victor takes the beer and thanks him, then gives me an uncertain look. “Do you need any help in here?”

I’ve been making this meal by myself for almost fifteen years now. This is our tradition. And while I’m wiped out by the time we sit down to eat, I like it.

“I’m good,” I say, waving a hand. “Go watch football.”

He kisses me again and goes into the living room, beer in hand.

The past few weeks have been crazy—I accepted the job with Lorraine and started last week. So far, I love it. But at the front of my mind, and Victor’s, is Bryan.

He turned his cell phone over to the Chicago PD, and we’ve just been waiting to see what will happen. A detective will respond to Bryan’s messages, posing as Victor, and they’ll use the information they gather as evidence against him. They’re playing it slow, though, because they don’t know where Bryan is right now, and they can’t arrest him if he’s not in the US and he’s sending others to get the money.

The waiting is hard for me, so I can’t imagine what it must be like for Victor. And since only the two of us and Jonah know what’s going on, he has to pretend everything’s normal.

Well, normal for us, anyway. We’re not your usual couple, what with the photographers documenting our every move. But they don’t have access to the current scoop on us—not even Victor’s getting a bulletin on this one.

Little does he know he may actually need that lube tonight. I’m ready to give myself to Victor. He’s been traveling a lot for work, so we haven’t had a long, uninterrupted night together in a while.

I’m nervously anticipating my first time as I cook dinner and listen to my dad and Victor talking football in the living room. It melts me to look in there and see the two of them side by side on our couch.

When we’re finally sitting down to dinner, my dad still carving up the turkey, everyone’s hungry. I’m looking at the kitchen counter, adding up the dishes lined up there to make sure I put everything out.

“It’s good to have you here with us today, Victor,” my dad says.

“I’m glad to be here.” He gives me a warm look.

“Funny how life works.” Dad chuckles. “My daughter used to have this poster in her bedroom--”

“Dad, focus on the turkey!” I cry, warming from head to toe.

“What poster?” Victor gives me a playful look.

“Nothing! Do you want sweet potatoes?”

He lets it drop—thank God—and we eat in relative peace. My dad gets a little unruly while talking about what a “piece of shit pussy” a certain quarterback is. Victor wisely agrees.

We watch football after the game, and Chuck arrives with cooler in hand in early evening. Victor and I head over to his place then.

“I went to grab that lube and put it in my purse, but it was gone,” I tell him on the ride. “Did you bring it?”

“No, I never touched it.”

I laugh and shrug. “Guess my dad’s not taking any chances.”

“I would’ve gotten my ass beat into next week if he’d seen you grabbing it anyway.” He shakes his head. “You tryin’ to get me killed?”

“No, I just thought…”

“What?”

“I thought we might need it later.”

He turns to look at me, his gaze hungry. “Yeah? You want me to give you a fingering you’ll never forget?”

“I had something else in mind, actually.”

“Oh, did you?”

He turns to glance out the windshield, notices he’s about to run a red light, and slams on the brakes. As we jolt to a stop, he throws his arm out in front of me, even though I’m wearing a seat belt.

“You really are trying to get me killed, aren’t you?” He runs a hand through his hair.

“If you don’t want to, we can--”

“I want to! It’s all I can do not to pull over in a parking lot and do it right now.” He gives me a panicked look. “Shit, condoms.”