He releases his hands from my waist and looks at me softly. “I want to see you again.”
“Barrett, I—”
“It’s your call,” he says in a rush. “And I won’t ask you again. I don’t want to pressure you and that’s not at all what I’m trying to do. I just . . . is it cheesy for me to say I just want to spend time with you?”
My heart swells at the sincerity in his voice.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I know you have reservations and I get that. Trust me when I say I do respect that. But I’ve been thinking about you since I met you, and you’ve given me a reprieve from my life without even trying.”
When he looks up at me, his eyes are wide and absolutely crystal clear. There’s nothing hidden behind the green depths, no political bullshit. Just a man asking a woman to share a meal together.
“So if you really don’t want to . . .”
“Can I think about it?”
A flicker of disappointment shoots across his features. It’s a brief look, one that he recovers from quickly. “Absolutely. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can discuss?”
I nod, taking his smile for all it’s worth, and let him guide me back to the door. Before he pulls it open, he gives me one more sweet, delicate kiss. It’s that kiss that hits me harder than any of the others, the one I won’t soon forget.
Barrett
THE WORDS BEGIN TO SWIM on the page of the proposal sitting in front of me. I’ve been working nonstop since before sunrise and I can’t possibly read another sentence.
I sit back, trying to decide on coffee or an energy drink, when a rough knock sounds and the door swings open.
“Hey, Barrett,” Lincoln says, Graham on his heels.
“I thought you were leaving today.” I say.
“Nah, I figure I’ll stay awhile. My shoulder is pretty sore, and if I go back to Tennessee, I’ll try to train with the guys and that’ll fuck it up worse than it is,” he winces, rolling his shoulder around.
Standing, I do a little stretching of my own. It feels good to move, to get some blood flowing.
I didn’t sleep worth shit last night, my mind running from the election to Alison and back again. By three a.m., I realized that the problem with Alison lies in the fact that she’s simply not mine. And the fact that I’m bothered by this little technicality fucks with me.
The realization had me hitting the bottle of Jack a little heavy in the wee hours of the morning. This isn’t the time or the place for me to decide to start thinking about monogamy. That ruins men. Clips their nuts, drains their testosterone, destroys the very things that make politicians good politicians.
I am a politician.
I need my nuts . . . buried in her.
Groaning, I look up at my brothers. Linc has made himself at home in my fridge, an apple in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Graham is sitting across from my desk, watching me.
“Before we get to what I came here for, let’s get this over with,” Graham sighs. “How deep are you in?”
“Deep in what?”
“Alison Baker.”
“I’ll tell you how deep I’d be in that,” Linc says, taking a bite of the apple.
I glare at him
and he just shrugs.
“I’m not,” I say carefully.
Graham doesn’t buy it because he’s not stupid. “Do I need to run a background check?”