Free Like a Fox by J.M. Sevilla Page B

between his brows. “You don’t kill them do you?”
    “No. I only find them.”
    “Are they bad people?”
    “Mostly,” he states unapologetically.
    “Are your employers bad?”
    “Some…” He pauses. “Except now. I will be taking a permanent position with a company so I can stay here with you.”
    “Will it be safe for you? For us?” I can’t believe he’s finally opening up to me and actually talking about who he is.
    “Yes. He’s one of the few people I trust.” Vic slides up my body, his sudden intense stare making my breath stop. “You’re a part of it now. There’s no going back.”
    I feel like I should be scared, that I should be worried about his character, but I’m tired of worrying about all the “shoulds”. I’m tired of being confused about us because it doesn’t fit into the way love and relationships should be. So what if we’re moving fast and he doesn’t have a conventional job? Screw anyone who judges us. The only thing that matters is how we feel about it, and I’ve never felt more alive since meeting him.
    Vic enters me, taking his time with long, slow strokes, closing the contract with his final statement, “You’re mine now, Freya.”
     
     
    ~~~~~
     
     
    “Should I change first?” I ask Vic as we put our clothes back on. “You know, into something nicer?”
    He fastens the tie that I hadn’t noticed when I first came in. He’s professionally dressed, in slacks, a button-up with complementary tie, and gray peacoat with the collar popped up. His hair’s slightly unkept from the way I was just tugging and pulling on it. He looks delicious. Like can’t-stop-staring-brain-jumbled-seriously-orgasmic delicious.
    “You’re fine.”
    “No.” It’s obviously an important appointment if he’s dressed up. “I’m changing.”
    “Hurry.”
    I do, knowing how he is about time. I quickly throw on dress pants and a pink cashmere sweater, leaving my hair loose and wild, hoping post-sex hair makes mine just as sexy looking as his.
    Vic appears impressed with my speediness. He tells me the appointment’s close by, so we walk a few blocks up and a couple blocks more to the right, taking us into my favorite area of town (or at least, my favorite neighborhood).
    I sometimes walk this way just to be surrounded by all its beauty. The homes are older, from somewhere in the early nineteen hundreds. They are either cottages or ranch style. The fronts are expertly cared for with rich landscapes and bounties of flowers and plants. The trees lining the streets are usually the most incredible during fall and spring, except now as we reach the end of February they’re blooming with pink cherry blossoms. At Christmas time it’s simply picturesque with all the homes eloquently done, making you feel like magic might possibly exist from the way all the white lights twinkle from house to house.
    Vic stops me in front of a simple one-story ranch style home, the yard full of lavender plants that complement the rich wood framing of the house and the moss green coloring, “What do you think?”
    I love it, just like I love every home on this block. That’s when I notice the For Sale sign. “Are you thinking of buying this place?” My mouth has dropped open. These homes are a fortune and extremely hard to buy into.
    “Only if you like it.”
    “I love it,” I gush.
    “You haven’t even seen the inside.”
    “I don’t have to.” I’m trying not to hyperventilate with excitement that I might possibly know someone who lives on this street; this neighborhood is my dream.
    Vic smirks, then turns straight-faced as a blue BMW pulls into the driveway and a woman in her mid-forties steps out in a gray business suit and chignon coiled brown hair.
    She smiles a bleached-out-fancy smile, “Mr. Vitalle. On time as usual.”
    “Nadine,” Vic greets curtly and they kiss each other’s cheeks.
    “This must be Miss Brennan,” the woman acknowledges, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure.