Five Territorial
Sienna
Staring at the ceiling in my bedroom, I allow myself to actually smile. I kept my cool for the most part when I was talking to him, but now? No one can see me. No one has to know that a murderer of all people gave me butterflies.
What is wrong with me? And why don’t I seem to care that there’s clearly something broken there?
He’s hot, he’s charming, and he’s as unavailable as a person can be. He pretty much ticks all my boxes.
Biting my lip, I pick up my phone to read our messages again just in time to see him calling. I have a moment of panic where I think I accidentally slept all day, then answer with a grumbled, “Do you ever sleep?” once I accept the call.
“That’s a strange way to greet your bestie. Good morning to you too. I figured you didn’t start until like eight since you get off at five, was I right?”
Smiling just a little, I hum a yes. “I’m still in bed.”
“Lucky you. Were you thinking about me?”
Fuck. He’s perceptive... or maybe just hopeful. “I was. I didn’t dream about you, though. Or if I did, I don’t remember. I never remember my dreams.”
“Really? Damn. I had a dream about you.” I almost believe him until he opens his mouth again and ruins it. “We were riding a dinosaur.”
“Oh my god. I was almost flattered.”
He laughs, and fuck me it’s not what I need to hear right now. It’s far too alluring. “So where do you live? Not your address, just the state. It doesn’t tell me, and I guess I don’t blame the site for keeping that a secret. Some people in here are crazy.”
Like him?
It brings me back to reality for just a second, but my address is public record anyway. Most are. “I live in Colorado. In a city, though. Brisley. Not the pretty part.”
“Not too far away. I’ve never left Idaho before, but I’ve seen pictures of Colorado. You’re not a Broncos fan, right? I know safety is your favorite position, but they cannot be your favorite team or your name really is Greg.”
“I was born in Seattle actually, so I’m a Seahawks fan. I don’t watch much anymore though.” Curiosity peaks. “What’s wrong with the Broncos?”
“I fucking hate orange,” he says with a snort. “That’s it, that’s my only reasoning. I don’t even watch football anymore.”
That’s kind of a bummer, but I get it. He may not be allowed to. “Do you like any sports?”
“I used to watch basketball and football before I got in here, but now they don’t let us watch sports because no one ever agrees on which team to put on. I saw a guy get stabbed for trying to change Maury one time. Anyway, I had this neighbor growing up — he was an older dude, probably like sixty or something, and he’d let me come over to watch the Seahawks on Sundays. Every so often I’d catch a Sonics game. He’d make me one of those frozen dinners and talk the whole game about his time in the Navy, but it was chill.”
Well... at least we like the same team. I try really hard not to picture us inviting people over for game day on Sundays with greasy appetizers and cheap beer, but the vision plays out anyway. How did someone like him end up a murderer?
“What else were you into before?” I ask. “Sippy cups and Barney?”
A surprised laugh booms out of him that makes me join in. “No, Barney was creepy and gave me nightmares. Sesame Street too. What’s your favorite show, Golden Girls?”
“Hey, Rose is the best. But no, I haven’t watched that in ages. I don’t know what my favorite show is.” It’s true, I have too many that I watch repeatedly to ever pick just one. “How much time do you have this morning?”
“Shit,” he breathes. “I actually have to go work at 8:30, so not much more than you do. I just woke up thinking about you and couldn’t wait until five to call.”
My stomach squirms and I have to take a second to compose myself. This is ridiculous, I cannot catch feelings for an incarcerated felon. I can’t. “So you made me promise you’re my only felon. Am I your only key or whatever the hell that app calls us?”
“Well, actually... there is someone else.” His teasing tone is the only reason I don’t hang up and run away while I still can. “I don’t know what it is, but older chicks love me. She’s a few years older than you though. I think she just turned eighty-six.”
My jaw drops. “A few years? Try a few decades. You’re mean.”
“I’m sorry, that was mean,” he admits with a chuckle. “Do you want me to break up with her, beautiful?“
Yes, I do, but how big of a bitch does that make me? It sounds like he doesn’t really have anyone else. “No,” I mumble. “Just don’t add anyone under the age of sixty, please.”
“Did you just propose? Hold on, I wasn’t ready. Ask me again, Sienna. I’m ready now.”
I swear, my brain shorts out when he says my name. That’s the only explanation I’ll ever come up with as to why I blurt out, “Marry me,” like I haven’t known this guy for like a day. It isn’t even a question.
I'm good at this.
“Absolutely yes,” he rushes out. “Wait, that wasn’t a question, but that’s okay, bossy. I’ll still marry you.”
“What can I say?” I deflect as it gets a little harder to breathe. “I’m not always good at asking for what I want.”
“That’s okay, beautiful. I already want you too.”
The sigh he releases tells me exactly how much he means those words, which honestly just depresses us both. He’s gonna be in prison for another decade.
This was definitely a bad idea... but I don’t want to stop. “Then I guess we’re married now,” I say softly. “Where are we honeymooning?”
“I vote we get a cabin somewhere away from other people and just stay in there for a while. That’s what marriage should be, right? You and your person living life together like you’re the only ones that matter.”
“Sounds like heaven to me,” I admit. “I work from home because I don’t like other people. I have a couple of friends, but only one I ever see on a regular basis.”
“The one that told you to message me, yeah? What about family?”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “I talk to my parents once or twice a year. They believed their job was to raise me so when I turned eighteen, they went back to living their own lives. I don’t have any siblings. What about you?”
“Nah, no family. I was an only child too.” I hear an aggressive muffled voice on the other end of the phone before Si tells whoever it is to “wait their fucking turn,” and I know our time this morning is up. “People got no patience in here, I swear.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t want to stop talking to him, but I need to get ready for work and he clearly has other things to contend with right now. “We’re married now so call whenever you get a chance, alright? I’ll be here.”
“Okay, wifey. I’ll give you a call after work. Make sure you tell your friend you’re off the market now so she doesn’t have to worry about your dating life anymore. You’re mine.”
Fuck, why did that make my thighs clench? Young guys are dangerous. Felons are worse. Somehow he’s both. “Okay, Si. Be safe in there.”
I hang up and go right back to staring at my ceiling. This is absolutely a train wreck waiting to happen — there’s no happy ending here. No way this ends well.
So why don’t I seem to care?