Page 76 of So I'll Know
We both let go, grunting and thrusting, and it doesn’t take long before we come, our bodies tense and shaking as our releases mingle on our stomachs, chests, and the sheets.
Jeremy presses his sweaty forehead to mine and gives me a tired grin. “Are you halfway happy now?” I give a nod, still high on our mutual orgasms. “Good,” he chirps. He rolls out of my arms and gets to his feet. “Now go clean us up and change the sheets.”
“Ugh, you’re ruining my high,” I mumble as I reluctantly climb out of bed and stumble to the bathroom to start the shower.
Once we’re dressed and ready to go, we call an Uber to the gallery that Jeremy’s been raving about. It’s really the first time we’ve done something in Seattle, just the two of us in public, but going to see art with my interior designer doesn’t seem so far-fetched.
However, that doesn’t mean that I’m not anxious. I haven’t seen or heard anything from Ryan before the trip to Cannon Beach and the subsequent meeting at Skynet a week ago, but that doesn’t mean he’s not out there. I have a friend in human resources at Skynet, meaning he has access to a lot of secure documents. He owes me a favor, so I put him in touch with John so that he could dig up and pass along whatever they need that might relate to the redacted files Courtney’s team has already uncovered.
“Hey! Earth to Marcus.” Jeremy waves his hand in front of my face, and my gaze falls to his sparkly green nails that happen to match his green Converse today. Probably intentional.
“Sorry, thinking about pub stuff.”
Jeremy glares and tugs on my sleeve, leading me into the gallery. “Well, today we aren’t discussing work.”
I stare down at where his fingers are still holding the fabric of my coat, and a flash of annoyance crosses his face before he lets go.
The space is quiet and airy, and I immediately appreciate the way it’s socially acceptable for us to stand together and intimately whisper about art without someone raising an eyebrow. This place is one of the larger galleries in Seattle. Jeremy absorbs it all with a childlike exuberance, and after an hour, I find studying him more interesting than the art from various local artists around us. He’s also a work of art, dressed in a sparkly black sweater and teal, purple, and green pants that I joked were probably part of my grandpa’s wardrobe in the eighties. His silver hair is swept back, styled away from his face in perfect waves, and his intense eyeliner completes the look to perfection. Even the smattering of freckles across his nose makes an adorable statement.
“This isn’t boring you?” Jeremy asks when we take a break on a bench, admiring a stained-glass window that morphs the gray daylight outside into rainbows at our feet. We’re both leaning back on our hands, our pinky fingers barely touching.
“Not really bored.” I shrug. “But I’ve been to a lot of museums and galleries all over the world, and they start to blend together after a while.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your life soundssohard.” I frown, and Jeremy backpedals. “I’m sorry. I was joking.”
“But you’re not wrong.” I look away, feeling a sudden disconnect between us. I did grow up with money. My family traveleda lot, and I was forced to visit more museums and see more plays than any kid I know. I look at Jeremy, a portrait of color and light, then glance down at myself in my gray Henley, black and navy flannel, and dark jeans.
We look ridiculous together.
“I guess I didn’t get to do a lot of kid stuff when my dad took us places,” I say slowly, my eyes losing focus. “Charlie just accepted it, but Sebastian hated it the most—spending summers in museums in Europe or seeingHamletat Shakespeare’s Globe in London while our friends were swimming or camping like normal families.”
Jeremy’s brows lower. “I guess I never thought of it like that. You weren’t given a choice?”
I shake my head. “Nah, Dad didn’t want us to miss out on anything he considered educational.” I grin. “But there was one day while our father was in a business meeting that Sebastian convinced Charlie and me to sneak out with him to the London Dungeon.”
“The London Dungeon?”
“Yeah. Now I think it has rides and live actors and stuff, but when we went, it was mostly animatronics and wax figures depicting medieval torture. There was also an entire section on the Black Plague that was pretty graphic.”
Jeremy’s eyes widen. “How old were you guys?”
“Seb was eleven and Charlie was ten. I was sixteen, but I looked a lot older, so I managed to get us in without an adult by claiming I was nineteen.”
“Holy shit. Were Sebastian and Charlie scarred for life?”
I bark a laugh. “Seb and Charlie? Nah, they were fearless. They still are. And they were completely fascinated with the whole thing. Charlie had such a hard-on for the plague after that that she did her senior research paper on it. Me, on the other hand? I had nightmares for months.”
Jeremy gives me a broad grin. “Youwere scared?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be like that. Men can be scared.”
“Of course they can.” He gives me an impish grin. “ButMarcus Conner? Never.”
“You’d be surprised at all the things that scare me.”
He leans close, his breath tickling my ear. “Like what?”
I shiver. “Like you.”
