I’ve been thinking about him a lot, preparing for this phone call. It was hard to sleep last night after the game. I spent the endless night hours searching my heart for my truth, what I wanted and what I think I can and should handle. Even though I tried to talk myself out of it a hundred thousand ways, I always came back to wanting more of the feeling I get when I’m with him. I’ve missed it, the sensation of feeling like a woman.
Sometime around six this morning, I made a deal with myself: I’ll see him again when he calls. And if he acts like an ass again, I’ll walk away and feel good about it.
And if I happen to actually see his ass in the meantime, I’ll consider it a bonus.
“I’m good. Well,” I say, caving to my anxiety, “not really. I just sent Huxley off with my father for a little fishing. I’m a nervous wreck.”
“Ah, skipping school for some sun? My kind of kid,” he jokes.
“He never gets to do that kind of thing, so why not?”
“You can learn just as much outside the school walls as you can inside.”
“Yeah, now if I can just block out the drowning aspect, it’ll be great.”
He laughs, a smooth, sexy sound that distracts me. I’m glad for it.
“We used to go boating every weekend in the summer,” Barrett says. “It’s good to have some experience with water in a controlled environment. I’m sure your dad will watch him.”
“He will. I just feel like it all falls on my shoulders, you know? And I feel like I’ve let him down so many times in his life already that I need to be especially vigilant.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“It is, but let’s not talk about it. What are you doing today?”
His sigh drifts through the line. “Meetings. Committees. Interviews. Battling back this statement from Hobbs’ campaign today.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No. Not really.”
I can tell he’s bothered. It’s in the strain in the edges of his voice, the grit that scratches at his tone.
“I’d rather talk about you. How are you? How was your day?”
“Good. Busy. A touch lonely,” I hint.
“Have you given any thought to seeing me again?” he asks, his voice soft.
“A little,” I lie because it’s dominated my thoughts.
“I hope that it’s only a little because it took you two seconds to realize it was a good idea.”
“I want to . . .” I stand and try to keep my head clear.
“What are you afraid of, Alison? Talk to me.”
I decide to bare my soul. Leave it all out there, and then, maybe, my decision will be made for me.
“When I’m with you . . .” I begin, trying to figure out where to start.
“You find yourself smiling? And then you leave me and all you can think about is how to manage to see me again?”
My ears are sure they’re hearing things. “Barrett . . .”
“I’m not asking you for anything more than a bit of your time. I just want to see what it is between us that drives me insane. That keeps me up at night, that brings you to mind when I should be working on the campaign.” He takes in a rushed breath. “If you aren’t in the same boat, so to speak, then I’ll stop this pursuit. But, Alison, I think we are paddling towards the same target. We just need to see if we can get there if we paddle together.”
It’s do or die time and I have to pick a direction. If I seriously don’t want to see him again, I need to let him go. He’s right. But the thought panics me, sickens me. The idea of not having a chance at it being him on the other end of the phone when it rings feels so bad.