The Goode Governor

by J J Arias

  “Oh, I intend to finish,” she said, mischievous grin in place as she glanced up on her way down George’s body.

  With the searing tongue on her pelvis, George groaned, her hips lifting off the bed without her consent. There was nothing she wanted more in that moment than to experience what Mila was offering, but there was a full roster of things on her agenda and she’d already woken up so late.

  George pulled Mila up to her lips and kissed her without regard for morning breath. “I can’t stay in bed all day,” she explained with smile.

  Mila narrowed her eyes before rolling them. “Fine, go run a state or whatever,” she joked before flipping onto her back and releasing George to her duties.

  George chuckled as she reached for the robe before getting out of bed.

  “Leave it,” Mila whispered. “You’re so beautiful. Don’t cover up,” she said, sliding up behind her and kissing her bare shoulders.

  George swallowed hard. Nude wasn’t exactly her state of comfort. She clasped the hand Mila had rested on her stomach and kissed it. In compromise, she left the robe on the corner of the bed but walked at a clipped pace into the bathroom to shower and dress.

  “You’re calling in sick?” Mila guessed when George returned to the room in dark jeans, a yellow sweater, wet hair and her red glasses. “Won’t that look suspicious on the same day I resign?” she asked as she propped her nude body up on her elbows.

  “Only HR needs to know you resigned,” she explained with a phone already to her ear. “And I’m not calling in sick, I’m working from home,” she replied with a wry smile as she pulled a laptop out from her bag and set it up on the coffee table.

  “Shouldn’t I leave, then? If it’s confidential business?”

  “Are you planning on betraying my confidences?” she asked, watching Mila slip off the bed and saunter over to her with enviable confidence. “I’m working on the campaign today. So, unless you plan to tell my opponent, you can stay.”

  Without hesitation, Mila pushed George against the sofa and straddled her before kissing her deeply. “You should put a piece of tape on that laptop camera,” she suggested as she straddled her.

  George couldn’t formulate a reply as her hands roamed over the naked expanse of her abdomen. Realizing that she had yet to explore her at all, George regretted having fallen asleep and waking up late.

  After pulling her down into a minty kiss, Mila responded by moaning into her mouth and grinding against the hard denim material of her pants. George’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she lost herself in the sensation of Mila’s probing tongue and swaying hips.

  When the woman on the phone came back on the line, George was already so deep in Mila she had forgotten she was on hold. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Right,” she said as she recovered her bearings.

  Mila chuckled as she stood and left a kiss on her cheek. George struggled to focus on her call as she watched her walk away. The scars that had once appeared so prominent now blended into a sea of smooth skin.

  “Governor Fernandez, are you still there?” the woman in her ear spoke, bringing her back to Earth, but only after the bathroom door closed.

  When she finished the disjointed phone call, George called Josephine, who did an honorable job of pretending it wasn’t strange that she wouldn’t be working from the mansion as well. George knew she knew what she was doing, but it didn’t mean she was ready to talk about it.

  “Miss me?” Mila asked when she reappeared in the room a half hour later. Wet and slicked back, Mila’s short hair looked almost black. It reminded George of the dunk tank and something she’d said the very first time they met.

  As Mila pulled her phone off the nightstand charger and sat cross-legged next to her, George turned to ask her something that had been nagging at the edges of her mind on and off for months.

  “That first time we met and you said it was nice to see me again, what did you mean by that?”

  Mila chuckled in a way that made George’s stomach turn. Shit, we’ve really met before. She usually dismissed the thought with the conclusion that Mila was playing games to get under her skin.

  Mila raised an eyebrow. “I guess that means you don’t remember?”

  George begrudgingly shook her head but had the decency to look apologetic as she did.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised. You made a much bigger impression on me than I could’ve ever made on you.”

  George shifted in her seat but couldn’t find any way of shedding her discomfort.

  “Five years ago, in the spring of my freshman year at Goode, you gave a lecture. Do you remember that?”

  She was still in Congress then, only just starting to launch her campaign for the governorship. She toured a number of colleges and universities across the state as a guest lecturer hoping to capitalize on the youth vote but was woefully unsuccessful. Trying to remember her lecture at Goode College, nothing of note popped into her mind. She’d given variations on an innocuous political philosophy topic in every class, and Goode was no exception.

  “I recall the lecture, but—”

  Mila moved over to sit next to her and lay her arm across the backrest behind her. “And do you remember running into any snags or snafus?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

  George shook her head and shrugged. She was stumped.

  Mila relaxed into the sofa, obviously enjoying the superior position. “You were wearing a stone-gray skirt suit with a pale, baby blue button-down blouse,” she said, closing her eyes as if remembering a movie. “Your hair was much shorter then. It was in a kind layered bob and you tucked the front strands behind your ears.”

  As she spoke, George fleshed out the rough images in her mind. She remembered that suit. She’d hated it, but light colors tested better, and she’d cared so much about not appearing too severe and unapproachable.

  “Despite it being ninety degrees outside, you were also wearing pantyhose,” she continued.

  George nodded. She remembered the unbearable heat that year and intense hurricane season that followed.

  “You still don’t remember?” Mila asked as she opened her eyes. In response to her silence, she continued. “I was a big fan of the messy bun. I still hadn’t gotten LASIK and was very unfortunately into cat-eye glasses that did not flatter my face,” she added with a wince. “I found you in the lady’s restroom with a run in your stocking.”

  “Oh my God,” George gasped when the image finally came into full relief. “You were the girl with the clear nail polish? No way,” she added in complete disbelief.

  Mila laughed. “Yup. I felt like a superhero coming to your rescue.”

  “I had been pacing that bathroom for a solid five minutes trying to get service to call Jo,” she added, remembering more and more from the midmorning mishap.

  “You were freaking out,” she recalled with a throaty laugh.

  George shut her eyes tight with embarrassment. “I asked if you had a pair of pantyhose I could buy from you,” she added with a laugh. “All I could think about was standing up in that lecture hall only to have them give the rest of the way.”

  “I don’t know why you didn’t just take them off,” Mila said as if the curiosity had kept her up at night for years.

  George chuckled. “Sounds more reasonable than accosting a college kid for some stockings,” she admitted. “It was inconceivable for me to make a public appearance with bare legs,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “I still feel inappropriate showing my legs without hose. Your generation doesn’t know the scandal of a bare leg.”

  Mila smiled. “Well, I was very excited to offer the frantic but hot as hell woman in a suit the alternative of clear polish to cover the run.”

  “And up the back of my thigh no less,” George added, shaking her head.

  “That’s part of the reason I didn’t know why you were freaking out. It wasn’t even visible. But since actually wearing some, I get that they keep right on ripping. I’m just glad it was in the
back so you couldn’t see my hands shaking.”

  George bit her bottom lip. Looking at the memory with new eyes turned her on a little more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. “Shaking, huh?”

  Mila shrugged. “What can I say? I guess I’ve always had a little thing for powerful older women,” she said, offering a smoldering look. “Or you,” she added.

  “I’m sure,” she scoffed without concealing her skepticism.

  “That lecture you gave was the reason I decided to change majors, you know,” Mila explained more seriously. “After you left, I had to find out who you were. I thought maybe a new professor whose class I was going to have to take no matter what. Even if it was organic chemistry, I was getting in there,” she added with a chuckle. “There was a big group assembled outside a room, and by the excitement and conversation I guessed it was the right place. When they went inside, I followed, and there you were. I’d never seen someone so passionate about anything. It was contagious. It was like I’d found my people. I stayed after, talked to the professor, and changed the course of my career.”

  “I can’t believe that,” she admitted in genuine surprise.

  “Well, believe it,” Mila said, reaching for her hand.

  Outside the heat of passion, the contact was so intimate she almost moved her hand away, but she forced herself to intertwine their fingers without flinching.

  The ringing phone broke their staring contest. “Duty calls,” George squeaked before answering.

  * * *

  “Food’s here,” George announced when she returned with two salads and two sandwiches from the kitchen, feeling a little like a kid having a sleepover.

  “Oh thank God, I’m starving,” she said as she cleared the coffee table to make room for their lunch. In her absence, Mila had ducked out and put on leggings and a sweatshirt.

  George opened her mouth to say she could bring her things to her room but froze. Is that moving too fast? Should we be spending the day together? Did people still U-Haul?

  When Mila had finished arranging their meals, she sat crossed legged on the floor in front of the coffee table and waited for George to do the same.

  “What’s that?” George asked, looking at a bound book Mila had produced, along with her laptop and a stack of papers.

  She glanced back at the pile she’d left on the chair. “My notes and some ideas for law school applications,” she explained happily between mouthfuls of mixed greens and a bite of turkey sandwich.

  Despite the positive tone in her voice, George felt a pang of guilt in her guts. “I’m very sorry about the program,” she said, averting her eyes out the bedroom window.

  “I’d rather be here with you than wasting my time doing menial shit a halfway decent algorithm could do. No offense, but it’s not like your team knows what to do with us. Plus, I have to study for the LSAT if I’m going to slay those logic games. I’m thinking of doing this online prep class,” she added, pointing to her laptop with her eyes.

  George dropped her fork. “Want a piece of advice?” she asked, waiting for the go-ahead before continuing. “You’ll never succeed in politics being so blunt, direct, and—”

  “Honest?” Mila interrupted. “I can see how that would be an undesirable characteristic in a candidate,” she added with a laugh.

  “You’ll give your opponents all the ammunition they’ll ever need,” she said with a chuckle and a shaking head. “The world isn’t so black and white. It is honorable to say everything you’re thinking all the time, but sometimes a little diplomacy goes a long way.”

  Mila nodded. “I’ll take that under advisement, George. Thank you so much for your contribution. I hope you remember me in November,” she added with a stern nod, prompting George to throw a cherry tomato at her, which made them both giggle.

  When they finished eating, they returned to their respective laptops. George checked her watch; she was ahead of schedule thanks to the absence of constant interruption she usually experienced in the office.

  “I’m sure things have changed since I applied to law school, but there are some really great scholarships out there. I can send you the names of some of the ones I received, and you can see if they’re still around. There were some aimed at women pursuing public sector careers. It’s so expensive and I’d hate for you to get saddled with loans.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a soft smile. “I should be okay for the first year, though. I was thinking after the election I’d go back to work to pad my nest egg.”

  Mila’s words rendered George speechless and unable to pretend she wasn’t surprised. It never occurred to her that she would want to return to dancing.

  “Can’t you do something with your degree instead?” she asked as casually as she could muster, but her discomfort was obvious.

  Mila raised an eyebrow. “Are you the jealous type or do you just not want the attention it might bring on you?”

  George held her bright blue eyes in her dark gaze. It was an exceedingly fair question, she had to admit. Her knee-jerk reaction was to tell her to do whatever she wanted, but she searched herself for the truth instead. She suspected there might be some tabloid interest in seeing Mila dancing again, but the story really hadn’t gotten the traction it could have. No, it was definitely the idea of her being ogled and touched that soured her stomach.

  “I have no standing to tell you what to do with your life,” she decided on a factually accurate statement.

  Mila smirked. “But if you had a say?”

  “I don’t like it,” she blurted in a fit of radical honesty.

  “So jealousy it is, then.” Mila laughed as she moved seats to share the sofa with her.

  George shrugged and looked away as Mila ran her fingers through her hair and gripped her neck to turn her head in her direction. The power move sent a jolt of electricity through George’s body. Her eyes darted down to parted lips, and she yearned for them with a ferocity that frightened her.

  As if reading her mind, Mila dove in and kissed her hard. “I like when you’re honest,” she said when she released her tortured lips and returned to her laptop in the armchair.

  With her head still spinning, George was barely aware of the question floating from her own mouth. “What made you start doing it?”

  Mila looked up from her screen, apparently unaware that George was still thinking about the topic. “People have always stared at me. Made it pretty clear that I was too attractive to be anything more than a face. So if they were going to stare, they might as well pay for the privilege,” she explained with a shrug.

  “Seriously?” George asked, caught off guard by the chill in her tone.

  Mila laughed, obviously amused with herself while George narrowed her eyes. “No. I’ve done gymnastics since I could walk, and how else was I going to make real money with nothing but a high school diploma?”

  “So you just walked in one day and had the nerve to take all your clothes off?”

  Mila shook her head. “I bartended first, remember? Got a feel for it before I had to go up there myself. And it’s just topless.”

  “Just,” George repeated under her breath as if that was some kind of consolation.

  “Man, you really are jealous,” she squealed as if George were some darling miniature pig dressed up in a tutu. “I could also go back to teaching pole dancing lessons,” she offered casually. “I won’t make nearly as much money, but I like helping women get stronger and reconnect to their sexual identity. Society has repressed us so hard, we’re not only afraid of our own sexuality, but we attack other women for expressing it.”

  “You really have a passion for this,” George commented, noticing the color rising in Mila’s cheeks.

  “It can be like a sort of therapy sometimes, you know? Guiding women away from their unwarranted shame and guilt over wanting to be sexy and be wanted by the object of their affection,” she explained with a wink.

  George tried not to feel called out by her speech. “No men in your cla
sses?”

  “Sometimes,” she replied. “But I haven’t met one who needs to reconnect to his sexuality,” she laughed. “Still not going for it, huh?”

  George tried to smile, but she knew it looked more like a wince. “I suppose I just don’t understand how you can allow yourself to be at the mercy of other people. Doing things for money. Being submissive.”

  Mila grinned. “Doesn’t sound too different from seeking campaign contributions, does it? Put on uncomfortable shoes, play a role to get what we want? Except we wear different masks to the same effect,” she finished with a deadly glint in her eyes. “Oh, except I’m always in complete control. Can you make someone who is bothering you disappear with a glance to a muscled person in the corner?”

  George offered a chuckle as a white flag. “Jo has managed to circulate some jackasses away from me, though certainly not so overtly.” They smiled as they looked at each other, understanding that Mila had won their discussion.

  * * *

  It was late in the evening when Mila and George called it quits on work. Mila stretched as she stood from her chair. “I was thinking… we’re going to have to come up with something.”

  “For what?” George asked, rubbing her own lower back.

  “Tim and Jetsam,” she replied.

  George’s blank look indicated she wasn’t following.

  “The other fellows I share a floor with,” she explained with raised eyebrows indicating her judgment at George’s processing speed. “If I resigned, why am I still here?” Her blood turned cold as she thought about the question herself. Initially she’d intended on transitioning into asking if she should bring her baggage from her bedroom. “Should I still be here?”

  George’s eyes darted around her head like an errant pinball. “Do you want to leave?” she asked with a mix of disappointment and surprise in her voice.

  “No,” Mila replied without needing to think about it. “I was trying to be subtle and tell you I wanted to bring my stuff up here so I didn’t have to sneak around like a ninja,” she admitted. “But I hadn’t thought about whether I’m even supposed to be here at all? Can this be bad for you?”