Most of the time.
“Get back,” I tell him. “I’m busy.
“Black cat,” he complains. He’s really been enjoying calling me that. I can’t decide if I like it or not. I think I do.
I remove the pots from the heat. I toss one batch with olive oil, salt, and pepper while Lucas adds the sweet mixture to the other.
Bottles clink as Vitali grabs several beers and Sasha’s vitamin water from the fridge. Roman digs through a drawer for the bottle opener.
Lucas and I divide the popcorn into several bowls, then we take everything out to the sitting room, which has been completely rearranged. It’s kind of a mess as a makeshift theater, with a projector screen hanging on one wall, the couch dragged around to face it, and the bean bags and blankets on the floor at Lucas’s request.
Vitali is setting the beers on coasters on the coffee table. I catch him frowning as he looks around the room.
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s just weird to see this room like this.”
This is the most formal room in the house, and since it doesn’t really reflect Vitali’s style, it’s not hard to guess who designed it.
Lucas says, because of course he gets it, “We’ll put it back, Vitali. And there’s a room downstairs we could make into a theater for next time.”
Vitali relaxes. “No, I like this. It’s close to the kitchen. It’s a better use of this room anyway. I think … yeah, I think it’s good. Sasha, it’s your projector. You’re gonna have to—what are you doing?”
“Checking the cameras, Vitali, Jesus. I don’t trust Gavino.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about him. He’s old, he’s sick, his son just killed his daughter and a federal agent.”
“Until Alesso is apprehended or dead, I will remain paranoid, thank you very much.”
When Vitali opens his mouth to respond, I flop onto the couch in the middle and tug at him. “Just let her have the last word.”
Vitali plunks down beside me and lets his knee rest against mine. “Fine.”
As Roman and Lucas settle on the floor, Sasha clicks through her movies toSnatch.
“Fuck, this popcorn’s good,” Vitali mutters around a mouthful.
“And you wanted that microwaved crap,” I remind him. “Which one are you eating?”
“The sweet one.”
“Save some for me,” Sasha says.
“You have your own bowl,” I inform her. “I know how you are.”
“Aww,” she says. “That’s my sweet Quinn.”
“Just play the damn movie.”
Sasha starts it and drops down onto the couch. I open my arm for her and she slides in to lean against me.
“No funny business,” Vitali mutters, handing me a beer.
“Your jealousy is not allowed to extend to Sasha.”
His hand curls around my thigh. “As long as you come home with me, I guess,” he teases.
“Iamhome with you, Vitali.”
His hand squeezes my thigh, and the movie plays.
