30. Samuel
She’s perfect. She’s sweet and funny and knows me so fucking well after such a short time and I—no. I don’t even allow myself to finish this thought. Those three words I promised to never say again threaten to leave me, but I keep my mouth shut.
I’m probably just freaking out because of her, absolutely overboard, present, and I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. I already hurt her too much.
We didn’t speak about what”s going to happen after she gets the information I need out of her father, but I’m pretty sure we’re on the same terms.
There’s no reason to cause any more confusion, especially not now that she’s finally back to her usual self. At least mostly, because while she tries to play over it, I still see the hurt in her face.
Can hear it in every word she says, behind each of her giggles. Can feel it in the way she clings to me.
But I don’t say anything. I just play along with her act, because it’s easier this way. And because I don’t want to deal with the truth behind all of this.
“Can I hold it?”
I hand her the gun, watching her as she aims at the TV. Thank God that thing isn’t loaded, because I don’t trust my little firecracker around loaded weapons.
“You should teach me how to shoot,” she suggests, and I sincerely doubt that this is a good idea.
“Definitely not with this one,” I say, as if she just asked me if she could sketch over the Mona Lisa. “It’s for looking, not for shooting.”
“Probably not even for touching,” I add as I carefully take the gun out of her hand and put it back in the box.
“I know you have another gun. Almost shot me with that fucking thing, remember?”
I grumble because she’s right. And that’s not the only weapon I brought. Two guns and a few knives, just in case. And a fucking grenade that Max hid in my luggage, which caused a horrible chaos when they scanned my bag at the airport.
I had to call Rockwell, and he had to explain the situation to the security personnel as if he”s a middle-aged dad with misbehaving teenage sons.
Max almost ruined the mission before it even started, but in the end, I ruined it, so I probably shouldn’t be throwing around accusations.
“Please,” she whispers, crawling into my lap after I put the box on the coffee table. I pull her closer, holding her face in my hands as she sighs against my lips.
She has her hair in a messy bun, but it started coming undone and it’s tickling me as it brushes over my arms with every breath she takes. I could get lost in those big brown eyes, could stare at this perfect face forever.
“Sam, I—”
I silence her with a kiss that tastes like strawberry ice cream, wiping away the single tear that runs down her cheek.
The next day,we stand in the spacious garden. I gave in to her pleas about teaching her to shoot. She knows damn well she has me wrapped around her finger. If she told me she wants to go skydiving, I’d probably do it.
I put a can on a tree trunk, feeling like I’m a teenager again. It’s also how Logan learned to shoot when he was six and if it worked out for us, it’s going to work for Ruby too.
A shooting range would have been better, though. Safer, at least. Ruby would love the one we have at base.
But she’s never going to see it,I remind myself.
When I look back at her, she’s standing a few feet away, head cocked to the side, holding the gun sideways. Should have expected it after she told me that smashing a heel next to someone’s head was a proper de-escalation tactic.
“No,” I yell as I see her aiming.
Handing her a loaded gun was a mistake. I rush back to her and gently put my hands around hers, ignoring how she grumbles because I won’t let her hold the gun as if she’s in a music video.
Then I correct her stance, kicking her feet apart before I bow down slightly. She probably does it wrong on purpose just so that I touch her.
As if I’d need a reason for that.
She fires and misses the can the first two times.
I take the gun from her, show her what she’s doing wrong and when she finally listens to what I’m telling her, she hits the can. And then she hits five others I placed there. On the first try.
Slightly suspicious, if you ask me.
“Why did you ask me to teach you how to shoot when you know damn well how to do it?” I ask, my eyebrows raised as I snatch my gun away from her.
“Did you really think the daughter of a criminal doesn’t know how to shoot?” She laughs as we walk towards the field of downed cans back in the garden. “And I like it when you try to teach me something. Turns me on, the whole Oh God he’s so experienced thing, you know?”
She grins at me, the dirty, mischievous grin that I’ve grown so horribly accustomed to. The very grin that also almost instantly causes my cock to harden in my pants and I can’t help but throw her over my shoulder.
I carry her straight to her bedroom. Just to punish her for tricking me, of course.
This is how we spend the next few days. We lounge at the pool or train together, even though it’s mostly her watching me work out. Absolutely not being a dangerous distraction when she sits on my lap while I try to bench press.
But if I kill myself like this, then so be it.
She even promoted me to commis chef, whatever that means. It seems to include being allowed in the kitchen again, at least to help her cut up vegetables and stir from time to time.
And when we don’t do any of these things, we fuck. Like goddamn animals, everywhere in this house until there isn’t a single thought left in both of our heads. Until we’re lying somewhere, catching our breath before she falls asleep on me.
So far we have tried out her bed, mine, the dinner table, both of our showers, the pool, the wine cellar, and the gym. The gym definitely deserves its place in the top three, just because of the big mirror.
As good as all of this feels, we both know that we are also torturing ourselves with this happy couple act. Because that’s exactly what it is. A tragedy that we perform for the small audience that consists of the two of us.
As if we could outrun reality if we only tried hard enough.
When Mr. Barron was here the last time, he had said that he’d leave for longer, but it’s been almost three weeks by now, so he could return any day.
I shove that thought away as I look over to Ruby, who’s focused on playing Mario Kart. I put her down on the couch after I had her pussy for lunch. I made her cum twice and cry once, and I sincerely prefer it when the reason for her tears is overstimulation.
She’s wrapped up in her blanket while I feel like melting, even though I’m just wearing shorts. She’s a weird little thing.
“Hey,” I say as I walk up to her and she tilts her head back to look at me while Yoshi drives over a banana peel.
I clutch the small parcel in my hand a bit tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that this was a stupid idea. Stupid isn’t even the right word to describe it. It’s outright ridiculous, but her eyes are already set on my hands and now there’s no way out.
“Got something for you,” I say out as I throw the soft package toward her. “It’s nothing big, but I just had to get something for you after you bought me a goddamn gun.”
With every passing second, I regret this more and more. My present is way too cheap, especially for someone like Ruby. Ruby, whose handbag collection costs more than a down payment for a house.
“For me?” she gasps, looking at me with big eyes.
Ferociously, she rips the plastic wrapper apart, uncovering the black t-shirt that’s hidden underneath.
“It’s really nice,” she says with a polite smile as she looks at the plain black fabric. “So soft.”
“God, I know you’re smart, but you can be really dense sometimes, you know that?” I yank the shirt out of her hand with a sigh and turn it around.
She makes a face, but then she looks at the print on the shirt.
My favorite dipshit
She doesn’t say a word and I wish for the floor to open up and just swallow me whole so that I don’t have to endure this embarrassment any longer. That’s what I get for thinking I have a good idea.
But then she climbs over the backrest of the couch, latching onto me like an orphaned monkey. She hugs me so tightly that I’m worried for my ribs as I hold her up with one hand, the other one still holding the shirt.
“Thank you,” she chuckles, nuzzling her face into my neck. “That’s honestly the best present I’ve ever gotten.”
“Better than a Birkin?” I ask, struggling to believe her.
This can’t be the first time she got a weird present, and I bet she perfected the polite thank you over the years.
“Way better,” she says, and for a fraction of a second, it seems as if she wants to add something. Instead, she places at least one hundred kisses all over my face, ignoring it when I tell her she has to wash the shirt before wearing it.
Later that day, I finally get her to wash it, but once it’s dry, she’s wearing it again as if it really is the best thing someone ever gave her.
I also kind of moved into her room a few days ago. We spend every free minute together anyway and her enormous bed gives us even more space to roll around in the sheets than the one over in my room.
I think I tired her out properly because she seems to be fast asleep, her back pressed against me, and I try to focus on the rise and fall of her chest while I stare out the window.
Rockwell wasn’t happy when I told him what had happened. I think it was the first time he almost lashed out at me through all those years. But after I reassured him that Ruby was on board with our plan, he calmed down.
He messaged me with the news that Sanders was delighted upon hearing about the possibility that we are going to get the people who are at a pay level above Mr. Barron.
I bet that asshole is already waiting for his promotion when he makes it seem like this was his doing all along. I’ll happily take that fucking humiliation because it means that I get to spend more time with Ruby. But with every tick of the clock, I’m reminded that our time is almost over.
I thought about staying. But the rational part of my brain tells me that this would be rushed and also overboard.
Maybe all of this is like those flings you have on holiday as a teenager. The girl that you meet during the summer camp your local church organized for the kids that aren’t well off, thinking that she’s the love of your life and you’re going to die after those very intense two weeks but then camp is over and you go back to school and slowly but surely, the memory fades.
Maybe it’s going to be the same with Ruby. Just one hundred times worse.
I wish I could also sleep as soundly as she does, but the silence leaves me to deal with my own thoughts as I’m lying in her bed. I wonder where I took the wrong turn for things to end up like this. But maybe, just maybe, I finally did something right.