I laugh and do a check of the house, making sure everything’s locked tight. “You have a one-track mind.”
“This is true. And on that note, I have to go. I'm meeting a guy I met last week for a round two. Because separate hearts and vaginas and all."
"Does he even have a name?" I yawn.
"Who cares? His cock is massive."
"Nice," I say, shaking my head. "I'll talk to you soon."
"Bye, love."
I walk into the bathroom and set the phone on the counter. Looking into the mirror, my long blonde hair is wild, as it usually is after a long shift. It's coming out of the tie I'd tried to use to tame it, so I pull it out and let it cascade over my shoulders.
My eyes are dark blue, but there's a sparkle in them I haven't seen in a long time.
"What if I promised you we could do it at a place no one would see us? Just you and I. No agenda. No media. No expectations.”
I place my hands on the counter and bow my head.
Just thinking about him makes me feel tingly. The thought of his smile makes me smile, the recollection of his words making me crave the chance to hear more.
I wish I was Lola and could have just offered myself to him, no strings attached. But I'm not Lola with her confidence for days. I'm a divorcee with more self-doubt than I’d like to admit. I can't play off my feelings or shake off rejection, and if I’m smart, I know I certainly can't afford to tie up any part of myself, heart or vagina, with a man like Barrett Landry.
Barrett
THE GLOW FROM THE LAMP on my bureau illuminates the room. I remove my jacket, tie, and dress shirt and toss them haphazardly onto the back of a chair. It feels good to be home, to be “off,” to breathe. I haven’t relaxed all night, except for the few minutes I was with Alison.
I should be rehashing the night, going over conversations, trying to get a feel as to who I can count in my corner. But I don’t. My mind drifts to her every time, and if I’m honest, I like it there.
Flopping back on the California king mattress, my body sinks into the down comforter. I let my lids close and Alison’s face pops up immediately in my mind. Her shy smile, the way her long lashes flutter when she’s embarrassed, how the corners of her lips tug when she tries to pretend like I don’t affect her as much as I know I do—the images blend together to form an amazing slideshow.
My phone rings on the table and I swipe at it with my hand until I find it. I glance at the clock and wonder who is calling me so late.
"Hello?" I ask. I clear my throat, my voice sounding gravelly from being up for the past twenty hours. I can feel every hour in the back of my neck, each frustration in the tightness of my muscles.
"Hey, brother. How are ya?"
"Hey, Linc. What’s up?”
I prop my head up on a pillow and get comfortable.
"Fucked up my shoulder, actually. I threw a long one from center and something snapped. I don't think it's a big deal, but I gotta see the team doctor in the morning.”
"Damn. I hope it’s nothing," I say. "At least the season is over, right?"
He blows out a breath. "Yeah. Silver linings and shit. So, enough about me, how's the campaign? Sorry I couldn't make it tonight."
"Don’t worry about it. It went well. I'll know more tomorrow when Nolan gets me the official report."
Lincoln laughs, his voice crackling through the receiver. He's never been a fan of Nolan. He thinks he's sneaky and uptight. He's probably right on the uptight part, but Nolan has worked for our family for years. He's the one with the blueprint to eventually get me into the White House.
"Yeah, you know how I feel about that. You don't need Nolan, man. Just turn shit over to Graham and you'll be fine."
"Graham doesn't have experience with this like Nolan.”
"But you can trust G. And trust is the most important thing.”
“Since when does my little baseball player brother know anything about business?” I laugh.