Five years as a special agent.
Five years as an elite.
Five years to grow accustomed.
Five years of living with him.
I can't even recall how we met, we just did. But isn't that how most love stories go? It was star crossed? It was fate? That's not how I see it. I was doomed from the moment I looked into those dark eyes, and he knew it.
He was notorious around town as the boy who slept around without knowing a first name. I was new to the town and of course missed the memo.
Post law school graduation I stepped into my new town with a frazzled excitement. What was waiting for me behind closed doors? Who was waiting for me? Would it be a dark shadow waiting to sweep me off of my feet? Or would it be some deadly force waiting to rip me from my feet? To stave from this fear I walked into the nearest bar.
The RIPed.
Seemed fitting at the time.
Walking up to the bar, I looked around and surveyed the people I would be surrounded by for the next couple hours. The bartender was a husky man with a peppered beard, he smiled with a broken grin as I took a seat.
"What can I get ya tonight, deary?" He drawled on.
"Huh...? Me? Oh, I, uh, I'll take whatever you have on tap." I mumbled while fumbling with my chipping nails.
"You new here?" He pushed on.
I nodded slowly and looked down at the bar, rubbing out something that looked like week old beer. He mumbled something else that I didn't quite catch, so I replied by nodding my head.
A finger tapped my left shoulder lightly, whipping around in my chair I met the dark eyes of a handsome man.
"Bonjour mon cher!" He exclaimed over the music.
A smile lit my face, "Parles-tu française?"
His eyes gave away his answer; I replied by looking down in disappointment.
The bartender slapped my beer on the bar behind me, a need to escape compelled me to spin back around. The cool mug slid on my fingers as I brought it to my lips. The brew was bitter and dark but left me with warmth.
The stranger sat in the chair next to me.
"So what brings you to Virginia?" He questioned.
"The FBI." I mumbled into my mug.
"Come again?"
"The. F.B.I." I announced.
His face registered shock at first; however, he met my eyes and flashed another reassuring smile.
"Well pleased to be your first acquaintance in this wonderful state!"
"Your name is...?"
"Chris."
"Well, it's nice to meet you. Mine's Amy."
We began to talk and I began to note his appearance and study his actions. The way his black hair was messily construed over his scalp. Looking professional yet ready to party, I imagined this was his usual look for work and post. His eyes were dark and shadowed under the lack of light in the bar. A black shirt clung to his upper body to show off a man who cared greatly for a healthy lifestyle. Yet he sat next to me on his third beer.
His foot tapped when I asked him a personal question. His eyes moved towards the door when I questioned how long he lived in this town. He flinched when he felt his phone go off, and he took his hand from his drink when I looked at mine.
Finally the question I knew he had been dying to ask fell from his well moisturized lips, "So, Amy, where are you staying?"
"Rose Ridge Apartments."
"Mind if I walk you?"
"Not one bit."
