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He’s been released from his containment area and is now stretched out on our laps (my junk protected with a throw pillow).
We’ve snuggled through the villain telling his minions to shoot the glass, through a bare-knuckle fight between the hero and the seven-foot German thug, and through two FBI agents named Johnson circling a building in a helicopter like it’s Vietnam.
Best. Night. Ever.
No woman I’ve dated has ever watched TV with me. I’m not sure any of them even stepped into the living room. We went from doorway to bedroom. That includes my last ex, and we shared a cat. We may have had a conversation or two in the kitchen about which five-star restaurant she expected me to take her to that night, but that was the extent of it.
Bell agreed to two days. And yet, knowing the limited time frame we have, she’s made no demands about where we go or what we do. She even chose a museum and Chinese take-out over a catered yachting excursion.
And I loved every second of it.
Sitting next to her on the museum bench, listening to her talk, telling me stories I never knew I wanted to hear, I realized two days wouldn’t be enough. I think I’ve always known. Ever since my burnt man nipples.
“Oh! Listen, listen. The best part’s coming up!” Bell squeezes my arm for emphasis. Like I haven’t seen this movie a hundred times before.
I kiss the top of her head in answer, my dick cringing when Mike shifts his weight on the pillow. Thankfully, it’s just to burrow closer to Bell.
Traitor.
This time, she doesn’t whisper the words; she says them in a deep voice I’m guessing is supposed to sound like Bruce Willis, then makes gun noises at the subsequent shoot-out, complete with finger gun motions.
I think I just fell in love.
“Bruce Willis is so badass.” Her last word is said in a yawn.
“Yeah.” I smirk as my own little marketing badass snuggles deeper into me. “Total badass.”
“Let’s watch Die Hard 2 next.” She scratches behind Mikey’s ears before resting her hand on his back. “The whole series, really. Have to watch the whole series. Can’t just watch one.” Another yawn. “That’s like, sacrilegious or something.”
I trace my fingers up and down her arm. “Sure thing, babe.”
She hums, the noise vibrating through my chest and settling into my heart.
I’ve always thought that if I did find a woman for me, and it was a big if, she’d come from a large, loving family. Uncles, aunts, cousins, siblings, parents who hug and kiss every time they say hello or tell each other goodbye. People who call to check in, just because they want to make sure you’re okay, not to tell you how wrong you’re living your life. People who believe in you.
It hits me that I haven’t been searching for a woman. I’ve been searching for a family.
It should sadden me that even as a grown-ass man in my thirties, I’m still hoping for the family I never had. Pathetic.
But with Bell draped over me, her wild, sunset-colored hair tickling my chin, and her smooth, soft, skin on display for me, I feel anything but pathetic. I feel fucking lucky.
Bell’s lips press lightly against my chest. When I glance down, her eyes are still glued to the TV, but her lids are heavy. I press an answering kiss to the top of her head, stroking her exposed skin.
I laugh at the remaining fights, explosions, and one-liners, and by the time Ms. Gennaro punches that douchebag reporter in the face, Bell’s passed out, her body soft and heavy over mine, with Mikey splayed out, belly up, on top of my dick pillow.
Yippee-ki-yay, indeed.
* * *
A guy in a multicolored sweater is gesticulating wildly around discounted blenders on the muted TV, Mike’s tail is twitching, tickling my stomach, and my right arm is asleep.
If it weren’t for the latter, I’d stay here all night.
Carefully, I move the pillow Mike’s on to the side and slip out from under Bell.
The television’s light plays across her face, casting her pale skin in a bluish haze and making her hair look slightly purple. Like an oddly colored Oompa Loompa.
She’s beautiful.
