“I like to stay informed,” he says as he offers me the first bit of popcorn.
“I mean, why are you watching it on the TV? Why aren’t you doomscrolling on your phone like the rest of us?”
Tristan chuckles before tossing a few bits of popcorninto his mouth. “Because this is TV-worthy news. Big news.”
“This does not count as a date night,” I point out. My fingers dip into the greasy buttered popcorn. At the sound of food, Hawkeye bounds into the living room, his nose in the air.
“Sorry, boy,” Tristan calls out. “Not with all the buttery stuff on it.”
Hawkeye ignores him and waddles over, sitting in front of Tristan and giving him a pleading look that physically hurts me to ignore. My heart cinches, so I force myself to look away from the shining blue eyes of my puppy
“What’s so important that you need to watch the news on a big screen with surround sound?”
Tristan grins as he nods at the TV. “It’s the headline story. They should start showing it any—shh!”
I want to point out that I wasn’t the one talking, and he was shushing himself, but the news anchor with her hair in a tight blond bun stares down the camera.
“But first, tonight’s big story. Senator Marco Damelio has withdrawn the Bradshaw Bill from the Senate. This controversial healthcare bill had been at the forefront of deceased President Fox’s re-election campaign, and was rumored to have had majority support in July before a series of killings altered the popularity of the bill in Congress. Former Vice President and now sitting President Wilkinson has made it clear that if the Bradshaw Bill were to pass in Congress, it would be vetoed in the Oval Office. Zoe Fisher has more on this story from Capitol Hill.”
“The bill’s dead?” I ask in disbelief.
“Shh,” Tristan shushes me this time, and fair enough.
A young brunette woman clutches a microphone in her hand with the Capitol Building behind her. “Thanks,Hilary,” she says, “Senator Marco Damelio recently replaced former Senator Paul Furt after his untimely death under suspicious circumstances.”
“Suspicious circumstances?” Tristan mutters. Then a small laugh escapes him like a puff of air, and his lips quirk upwards. I know all about Furt’s “operation.”
Note to self, don’t buy Tristan any board games for Christmas. With my luck, the next person who double-crosses me is going to have that Perfection game carved in their chest with the pieces stuck in them. And I’m not about to give him any ideas.
The reporter continues, “At a press conference this afternoon, Senator Damelio advised that he’s withdrawn his office’s support for the bill.”
Clips flash on screen of Damelio as his square shoulders hunch as he speaks behind a podium. His speech is short, and his face blanches the longer he’s on stage. Is he scared that he might be the next target for the elusive vigilante that is my boyfriend?
The screen flicks back to the reporter. “Sources advise that a likely push for the withdrawal from the Committee was due to the deaths of several of its members in the explosion in July that killed seven sitting members of the Committee. While it remains unconfirmed, the suspect, American Guy Fawkes, died in a fire the night of President Fox’s assassination after shooting the President. While it seems that American Guy Fawkes is no longer a concern, the FBI remains on alert for copycats. Reports show an increase in bomb threats to federal buildings, and even the residences of some politicians whose information is open to the public. Some politicians remain concerned for their safety and are on high alert.”
“How many of those threats were from you?” I ask.
Tristan shakes his head. “None. I think they’re empty threats, but it’s better to leave them scared shitless that their garage is going to blow up.” Tristan reaches for his can of Pepsi nestled in the console of the couch as the reporter adds.
“President Wilkinson’s rally in Denver was cancelled due to an alleged threat of explosives under the stage. While the bomb squad quickly entered the area and found nothing, the rally remains cancelled. Back to you, Hilary.”
Tristan presses the remote button, and the TV goes back to the Netflix home screen.
“Nice going, Genius.” I nudge him gently in the ribs with my elbow. “You did it.”
“We did it.” Pulling me tight against his hard chest, Tristan plants a kiss on my cheek, his five o’clock shadow scratching gently.
“I don’t know if I want any credit for your murder spree.”
“Take credit where you can,” he says. “You helped after all.”
I shrug. “I just wanted to get out of your basement.”
Tristan barks a laugh so loud that Hawkeye’s tail wags. “You’ve been upgraded. I’ll chain you up in my bedroom instead.”
“Kinky.”
I kiss him, and a fire lights in my lower belly as Tristan’s hand cups the back of my neck, keeping me still. His tongue parts my lips. Then he pulls back.
