Agent Bell’s threats were concerning, but her actions were ultimately out of my control. I could only control my reactions—and subsequent actions—to her requests and threats. I would not be bullied into deserting or betraying Alex. As well, I was not going to allow stubbornness or my dislike of Agent Bell’s strong-arm tactics to blind me to the truth: my relationship with Alex, his past, and my growing feelings for him were potentially hazardous to my career.

I wanted to do the right thing, for Alex, for my country, for my patients, for me. The way forward was unclear. A decision was going to have to be made at some point. But it wouldn’t be tonight.

Therefore, I changed into jeans, black boots, and a black long-sleeve sweater, and meandered down to the hospital cafeteria a few minutes early. Once there, I grabbed a cup of hot chocolate and chose a table by the window.

It was snowing.

I cleared my mind; pushed all thoughts, worry, anxiety, and hopes to the side. Some would call it meditation. For me, it’s more like daydreaming. I allowed my mind and heart to hold hands for a bit and tell me what they wanted for Christmas next year, and every year after.

An image of Alex flashed before my eyes. He was naked—no surprises there. But he was also beneath me, and I was fully clothed. We were in bed, holding hands, about to kiss.

I blinked that image away, even though it was truly lovely, not wanting to frustrate myself.

The next image was again of him and me. This time we were both naked, lounging on my couch, watching a baseball game. He was laughing at something I’d said. It was a charming dream, and my heart leapt at the thought of Alex in the role of my life partner, the life partner for whom I’d been searching.

I sighed, closed my eyes, and pinched my nose to clear that picture away as well. No use getting ahead of myself.

Again, I opened my eyes and let my mind drift. This time the image was of me—clothed—and Alex—also clothed. He was in handcuffs and I was visiting him in a jail.

I quietly grunted with aggravation, annoyed with my brain and heart for showing me an image I feared rather than one that made me happy. I only had so much time to daydream, dammit.

“Anything wrong?”

I started, startled by the sound of Alex’s voice, and found him before me. He’d claimed the seat across from mine, and I hadn’t even heard his approach. I noted he’d been drinking from my hot chocolate cup and was now using it to warm his hands. His was wearing his glasses.

When this man was twelve, he was hacking into NSA supercomputing centers.

When I was twelve, I was counseling my stuffed animals on their relationship problems.

When he was fifteen, he was sent to federal prison.

When I was fifteen, I sought out a high school senior renowned for deflowering virgins, just so I could get the whole ordeal out of the way.

For the first time in our acquaintance, his glasses seemed like a mask. Beneath his clothes, he might be wearing spandex and a cape. I tried not to be too distracted by the thought.

People were, essentially, the secrets they kept.

“Sandra? Are you okay?”

“No, I mean—yes.” I blinked, shook my head, tried to reengage my brain. “I was just…daydreaming.”

His mouth tugged upward on one side, and he considered me. “What about?”

You—naked, and with baseball, and in jail.

I mustered a bit of energy to return his smile. “An audience.”

A flicker of understanding passed behind his eyes, and his expression turned sober. “An audience? Did you have to talk in front of an audience today?”

“Yes. For a bit. It wasn’t so bad.”

The soberness morphed into barely contained fury, and when he spoke, his tone was sharp. “What? They….” then he stopped himself, glared around the cafeteria as he made an admirable attempt to school his expression. He pulled stiff fingers through his hair, still visibly fuming.

I reached under the table and placed my hand on his knee, hoping to calm him. “Don’t worry about it. The questions weren’t so bad. I’ll have my presentation better prepared next time.”

He peered at me through the black frames of his glasses. He didn’t look convinced. “Don’t let the audience fluster you.”

“I won’t. You don’t need to worry about that.”

I could tell he had more to say, but refrained. His expression was taut and angry.

“What are we doing tonight?” I tried for a change in subject and squeezed his knee.

“I’m not happy about this.” Alex leaned back in his chair and glanced out the window. “This isn’t going to work.”

I felt a small stab of panic and shifted in my chair. He must’ve seen or sensed my change in demeanor, because his eyes moved back to mine and softened. “I’m not referring to the three-month agreement. That’s binding, and it goes both ways.”

His words appeased me, and I smirked. Our attempt at clandestine conversation was laughable. We might as well speak openly for all of our subtlety.

“I have some questions,” I said.

“Not here.”

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight. In fact, I’m all talked out for the day.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered me. “All I have planned for tonight is dinner and a movie. Does that sound good?”

I nodded, slowly at first, but then with greater conviction as I considered the idea. “That sounds really nice.”

***

We walked toward the movie theater and I assumed my usual position, tucked under Alex’s arm. After our discussion the previous evening, the revelation that he was without previous hot monkey sex partners, I’d assumed our touches would feel chaste and innocuous. This assumption was based on the knowledge that no amount of touching would lead to the typical inevitable conclusion at the evening’s end.

I was wrong.

Everywhere he touched, as well as every place I touched him, felt strangely illicit, like we were breaking rules and crossing boundaries. His hand on my hip, over my clothes, sent tingles of awareness down my spine. He shifted, slipping his fingers into the back pocket of my jeans. It was lovely torture.

Alex was a fast walker, but tonight—for whatever reason—he didn’t seem to feel a sense of urgency. I caught him watching me more than once, a small smile in his eyes and gracing his mouth even though he also seemed apprehensive. Every few blocks he would stop, turn me toward him, gather me in his arms, and kiss me—as though he were thirsty for my lips.

We stopped on the way for a bite to eat at a small pizza place. When we entered and as we settled into the booth—him facing the door—he glanced around, his eyes sizing the place up, searching for cameras, exits, and the faces of the patrons.

I wondered if this—this searching—was why his gaze had felt so strange to me before I knew him. Perhaps he looked a little too long because everyone, everything, everywhere was a potential threat. The thought made my stomach hurt.

I glanced at the menu and said, “Is big sister watching?” I tried to keep my tone light.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“I see. We can talk freely then?” I peered at him through my lashes.

He didn’t meet my eyes. “Uh, well, more or less. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure. Just to be safe we should avoid discussions related to audiences.”

“So, what kind of questions am I allowed to ask you?”

He was saved from answering by the approach of our server. We ordered quickly—telling the waitress our drinks and dinner preferences in one go—and I could sense that Alex wasn’t comfortable talking in the restaurant. As evidence of my suspicion, he was silent, his eyes still on the door. The waitress returned with two bottles of water and garlic bread.

Alex took a large bite of bread, which served as a plausible reason for not answering. I watched the way his jaw worked, and noted the masculine sinews that defined his neck. I was momentarily mesmerized by it; had to blink and shake my head when he sipped his water.

I once went on a date with a guy who chewed with his mouth open. It was like sitting across from a garbage disposal.

Not everyone chews sexily. But Alex did. Or maybe I was falling a little too hard, a little too fast, especially since I still knew almost nothing about the details of his life.

When he belatedly responded, his eyes were warm and lovely, and a small, teasing smile graced his lips. Something in my expression must’ve lightened his mood.

“You can ask me anything. I just might not be able to answer.”

“Because of the danger you don’t want to put me in?”

He nodded then paused before saying, “Or for your own good.”

“What does that mean?”

“Meaning….” His eyes moved to the left as he searched for the right words. “Questions about my childhood and family are probably not a good idea.”

“Why? Is Darth Vader your father?”

He laughed, and his smile was immense, and again I was enchanted. My heart and stomach traded places a few times. I took a bite of garlic bread and chewed my mesmerized mind into submission.

“I think it’s safe for me to admit that Darth Vader is not my father.”

“I see.” My throat felt dry, so I took a swig from my bottle. His eyes followed the movement of my lips as I drank and seemed affixed to my mouth after I lowered the bottle. I licked away a drop of water, pulled my bottom lip into my mouth, bit it, and watched as Alex’s lips parted slightly. He was staring at me as though mesmerized.