Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  He fidgeted. “Does it matter?”

  “Your marriage is all over the public’s radar as a reason to elect you over Casey,” I said. “I’m running you on a platform that includes being a solid family man. So yes, it does matter. At least tell me so I know enough to do damage control if something comes out.”

  A humorless laugh brought a vague flicker of life to Jesse’s expression. “Right,” he said, more to himself than me. “If something comes out.”

  “Meaning?”

  He looked disinterestedly at a speech for some event or another, probably as a reason not to look right at me. “Do you really expect us to be swooning and fawning all over each other every moment of the day?” he asked drily. “You do know we’ve been married for a while, right?”

  “Of course I don’t expect that,” I said. “I just can’t help noticing you two only swoon and fawn over each other when there’s a camera pointed your direction.”

  “So you’re an expert in how couples behave on and off camera now?”

  “I’ve been around Hollywood and politics enough to know an act when I see one.”

  Jesse glared at me, eyes narrowing, but then he tore his gaze away from me and pushed the speech aside on the table. Second after second crept by, and he didn’t offer a defense. Not even a diversion or change of subject.

  I swallowed. “Just tell me what I’m up against here.”

  He wrung his hands and fixed his gaze on them instead of me. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and finally faced me. “All right, look. Things haven’t been good for…a long time.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘haven’t been good.’ And while you’re at it, ‘long time.’”

  He shifted his eyes downward again. “Once the election’s over, we’re getting a divorce.”

  My lips parted. I’d sensed trouble in paradise, but a planned impending divorce? Oh no. No. No. Not good. Not when his rock-solid happy marriage was part of his damned platform.

  Forcing my voice to stay neutral and even, I said, “You can’t be serious.”

  Jesse sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I am.”

  “Fuck,” I muttered. “And yet the two of you went on the goddamned front page as being a happy—”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” he snapped. “It’s done.”

  “As is the marriage that’s the fucking backbone of your public image,” I threw back.

  He put up his hands. “What the fuck do I do, then?”

  I barely kept myself from lashing back at him, but something in his voice gave me pause. Jesse wasn’t normally so defensive. Nothing flustered the man, nothing got under his skin, but this subject had his hackles up. As well it should, I supposed. I didn’t imagine he enjoyed playing the happy husband when his marriage was dead and gone.

  I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. Then I gestured sharply toward the door leading out to the veranda. “I need a cigarette.”

  “Fine.”

  I half expected him to stay inside and wait for me to have my smoke, but he got up and followed me out. I figured he wouldn’t want to continue the conversation until I’d gotten my fix and he’d had a chance to catch his breath or cool off, whatever he needed to do. But no, apparently we were doing this now.

  I couldn’t get my fucking cigarette out fast enough. Fumbling with it and, subsequently, my lighter, I swore under my breath, desperate for that hit of nicotine. After a long, aggravating moment, everything cooperated. I held the flame to my cigarette, lit it, and set my lighter on the table as I pulled in that glorious lungful of smoke. Still watching him, trying to read his posture or his expression or something, I turned my head and exhaled.

  Once the nicotine was safely working its magic on my nerves, I said, “How long has this been going on?”

  He glared at me.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Look, I just want to know what I’m working with here.” I took another drag, a smaller one this time, and blew it out. “If this is some conclusion you two have come to recently, okay. Private matters are private matters. But is this going to come blindside me as something that’s been going on for months?”

  “We’ve…” Closing his eyes, Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose and fell silent for a moment. Finally he drew a breath, opened his eyes, and kept his gaze fixed on the pool as he went on. “It’s been over for a while.”

  I picked up my lighter just to give my free hand something to do. “Is ‘a while’ a month? A year? Since the second date? Throw me a bone here, Jesse.’”

  His lips tightened, and I swore I could hear his teeth grinding with frustration. Tough shit, buddy. Throw this kind of information at your campaign manager this late in the game, expect to get grilled. Them’s the rules.

  Jesse pulled one of the chairs out from the table where we’d had our first conversation. The legs scraped across the cement, emphasizing the silence. He took a seat, and for a long moment, he rested his elbow on the table and chewed his thumbnail, looking at the pool with unfocused eyes.

  About the time both my cigarette and patience approached their ends, he spoke.

  “We’ve been discussing the divorce for the last few months,” he said softly. “To tell you the truth, it should have happened a long time ago.” Even softer, possibly to himself rather than me, he murmured, “I never should have married her in the first place.”

  Oh crap. That wasn’t a good sign.

  I took one more drag from my dying cigarette. Absently turning my lighter over and over in my other hand, I said, “Why the charade? I mean, you’re hardly the first politician to get divorced. Your uncle’s been married how many times?”

  Jesse swallowed but didn’t look at me. He stared at the pool, and I watched through the thin smoke as soft ripples of turquoise light played along his sharp jawline and teased an extra glint out of his eyes.

  I smothered my cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Something wrong?”

  He stayed focused on the pool and took a long breath. “Roger thinks it’s best if I keep it quiet. Thinks it’ll be…” As he trailed off, his shoulders sank. Then he rested his elbow on the edge of the table and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not the divorce itself. Roger thinks if Simone and I keep up this charade, then…”

  I flipped my lighter between my fingers. “Hmm?”

  Lowering his hand, he turned toward me, and his eyes looked utterly exhausted. When he spoke, his tone echoed that heavy, bone-deep fatigue. “As long as Simone and I are happily married, the public won’t know I’m gay.”

  My lighter clattered to the concrete at my feet.

  Chapter Eight

  Jesse

  The metallic clank of Anthony’s Zippo hitting the ground echoed around us. I looked at the lighter, then at him, and we locked eyes.

  His were wide, his lips apart, surprise etched into every line of his face. My heart pounded, fear and panic and God knew what else surging through my veins with every second of silent stillness, like Anthony had just dropped a grenade and neither of us knew if it would detonate.

  “You’re…” Anthony blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  I set my jaw and looked away from him, shifting my gaze back toward the pool. “I’m gay. Roger’s one of the only people that knows about it, and he…” Shaking my head, I made a sharp, aggravated gesture, then ran my hand through my hair and sighed. There it was. It was out there. Anthony knew, and there was no taking it back.

  Anthony’s shoe creaked softly. A second later, his lighter scraped on the concrete. The sounds were almost whisper quiet, but I swore they echoed off the walls just like the lighter’s fall had.

  I looked up as he slid his lighter into his pocket. He didn’t meet my gaze. Didn’t say a word. He just reached for the chair opposite me and pulled it out from the table.

  As he eased himself into it, he said, “You’re gay. Seriously?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s…” He paused, clea
ring his throat. “Unexpected.”

  It took everything I could not to snap back is that a fucking problem? Obviously it was a problem. I wouldn’t have kept it on the down low if it wasn’t. But the thinly veiled…something in his expression and tone both irritated me and left me uneasy. Anthony wasn’t the type to get rattled. It had occurred to me, in spite of Ranya’s insistence that her gaydar was pegging, that Anthony could be homophobic. Anyone could be, after all. But somehow I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t be. Wishful thinking or something, I supposed.

  All I knew now was the tense, awkward silence hanging between us.

  Eventually Anthony muffled a cough and reached for his cigarettes again. “So what exactly is your, um, plan? Are you going to come out after the election?”

  I rubbed my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest.” I shook my head. “I just don’t know.”

  Anthony blew out a breath but didn’t speak. He also didn’t light another cigarette. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Resting his elbow on the table, he held a loose fist in front of his lips, and deep crevices formed between his eyebrows, his eyes locked on something in the darkness beyond the pool.

  I shifted in my chair, not sure if I wanted to deck him for acting like this was such a big deal or beg him to keep it between us. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t explain up front about Simone. And…um…” I cleared my throat. “Everything.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “We’ll… We can still…” He blew out a breath and looked anywhere but right at me. “This won’t change how your campaign’s run. Just, I mean, it’s…” He finally looked at me. “Good to know. In case anyone finds out.”

  “Right.” I moistened my lips, and this time I was the one to avoid his eyes. “So I guess I don’t have to ask if you’ll say anything. To anyone.”

  “No, no, I definitely won’t. I would suggest you do the same.”

  I glared at him. “You think I’m exactly broadcasting it?”

  Anthony showed his palms. “No, of course not.” He swallowed, shifting his gaze away. “But this could complicate things.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.

  A long, heavy silence descended over us. The soft sound of my heel moving back and forth on the concrete punctuated the stillness. Anthony drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic, hollow percussion echoing across the veranda. And…I should have known what was coming:

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  Over and over again, like he needed to mark time so neither of us could ignore each long, mostly silent second that marched past.

  Then he snapped it shut so abruptly I nearly jumped to my feet. He set the lighter on the table. Picked it up again. Flipped it a few times.

  Then he pocketed the lighter and cleared his throat. “Listen, um, we’ve got an early flight in the morning. I’d better get going.”

  I gritted my teeth. Worried it’s contagious, are we? But I just said, “Right. Yeah. Didn’t realize it was so late.”

  Chairs scraped across cement. Anthony’s cigarette pack hissed across the table, and as he slipped it into his pocket, we went back into the house. The silence followed us through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the foyer.

  There we stopped.

  Our eyes met, but he quickly looked away. He started toward the door, reached for the doorknob, but hesitated. Pulled his hand back like some unseen electricity had arced across and zapped him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chewed his lower lip.

  I didn’t know what to make of Anthony being this uncertain. Or off guard. Anything that wasn’t 100 percent in control and even-keeled. Right now it was like he couldn’t even decide whether or not to open the damned door, and I just couldn’t process that.

  I swallowed. “Is there something else?”

  “Just thinking.” He took a breath and kept his gaze fixed on the hardwood floor between us. “This could, um, complicate things a little.”

  “So you said. I’m sure the voters won’t be thrilled if they find out.”

  His head snapped up, and confusion furrowed his brow for a split second. Then he coughed into his fist and shifted his weight. “Right. Right. The voters.”

  I eyed him. “Yeah. The voters.”

  The voters and the homophobic campaign manager.

  Anthony lifted his gaze, and we locked eyes. The silence was loaded like I’d never experienced before, and even though his intense eyes intimidated me, I couldn’t look away. The longer we held each other’s gazes, the faster my heart beat. Nerves tangled and twisted in my gut as I realized how dangerous this information could be in the wrong hands, how quickly my campaign could crumble, especially if my campaign manager walked away because he couldn’t or wouldn’t handle this. Shit, why did I tell—

  My heart stopped.

  Oh, God. That wasn’t homophobia in his eyes.

  My mouth went dry. No fucking way.

  I forced some air into my lungs, but before I could speak, Anthony took a step toward me.

  Instinctively I stepped back. Another step apiece and my back was against the wall. I flattened my palms against the plaster, curling my fingers even though I knew full well there was nothing to grab on to.

  “I should go,” he whispered, coming closer and shrinking the space between us. “This is the last thing…” He closed his eyes and exhaled. More to himself than me, he said, “Fuck…”

  I gulped, pressing my shoulders into the wall just to keep myself from sinking to my knees. “Then what are we…?” God, I couldn’t even breathe. How was I supposed to ask what we were doing? Or if we should?

  Anthony opened his eyes. “I mean it, Jesse,” he whispered. “This could complicate things.”

  I struggled to find the words, not to mention the breath to bring them to life, but finally managed, “I think it already has.”

  “Yeah. It has.” He leaned in but hesitated. The air between us crackled with energy, with heat, and it was tinged with smoke, reminding me of Anthony’s lips around his cigarette. Reminding me how close I was to those lips. Electricity shot down my spine, and I was sure my heart really would stop if he didn’t kiss me. If he did kiss me. If he didn’t. If he fucking breathed.

  “This is so…” Anthony touched his forehead to mine. “Fuck, this is such a bad idea.”

  My God, he was shaking. Anthony Hunter, my rock-steady, impossible-to-faze campaign manager trembled as badly as I did, like if it weren’t for the wall holding me up, we’d both crumple to the floor.

  “I know it’s a bad idea,” I whispered. “But I want—”

  He kissed me.

  And time stopped.

  We were completely still, just touching, not even breathing. No one moved until a soft release of warm breath whispered across my cheek. My hand, moving of its own accord, found its way to Anthony’s shoulder, and he tilted his head just a little, encouraging my lips apart with his own.

  One shaking hand appeared on the side of my neck. As his thumb traced the edge of my jaw, I shivered, and before I’d even recovered, Anthony deepened the kiss. He sucked in a breath through his nose and pressed his hips to mine. His cock was so, so close to mine now. I was painfully hard; I swore he was even harder, and my head spun so fast I was surprised I didn’t pass out.

  I wrapped my arms around him because I needed to just stay upright, and because I damn well wanted to. He slid his other hand around my waist, and my back automatically arched off the wall to give him room. He broke the kiss and started to pull away but then swore under his breath and came back for more. We sank against each other, melting into a slow, deep kiss that just wouldn’t quit.

  His chin was coarse against mine, and his mouth tasted like that nervous cigarette he’d smoked outside. With any other man, that would have put me off, but he and smoke were indivisibly intertwined, and the taste made his kiss so deliciously and unmistakably Anthony.

  When he finally drew back, we stared a
t each other, struggling to catch our breath. My lips tingled, as did my skin from the scuff of his stubble, and smoke lingered on my tongue, but I still wondered if I’d imagined it all. If we were still at that impasse, that crossroads where we’d been lingering even while my mind conjured up this powerful fantasy. If we weren’t so tangled up in each other, if we weren’t just a few threads of clothing away from his erection being right against mine, I’d have been certain I’d just had a waking dream.

  Anthony leaned in again, letting his lips brush mine, and for the longest time, we were still, hanging on that precipice between moving in and not. His fingers combed through my hair, and I shivered as his gentle, unsteady touch raised goose bumps along my spine.

  He pressed against me, and just before another kiss consumed us, he whispered, “God, Jesse…”

  My heart skipped, and it wasn’t just from his breathless desperation. It wasn’t the fact that since the day I met him, I’d wanted him so bad I couldn’t see straight. Or the fact that I hadn’t been kissed like this in my entire goddamned life.

  Two words. Just two words.

  “God, Jesse…”

  I shivered again, moaning into his kiss and holding him tighter. Fuck, I wanted him. Right here, right now, right or wrong, I wanted him.

  Anthony broke the kiss and met my eyes, turning my knees to water. The unspoken thought was unmistakable in his intense gaze: if I don’t go now, I’ll be here all night.

  Which was, of course, exactly what I wanted.

  Panting against my lips, he ran his fingers through my hair. “We have to…we have to get moving tomorrow. Early.”

  I licked my lips. “I know.”

  “I should go.” He swallowed hard. “If I don’t, I’m…” Our eyes met again. Anthony cursed and pulled me closer to him. “Fuck, this is such…” Our lips brushed again. “This is such a bad idea.”

  “Isn’t everything worth doing?”

  Anthony gave a quiet, smoky laugh. “Good point.” He kissed me gently, pausing just long enough to make me wonder if he was about to give in completely. As he pulled back again, his shoulders sank. “I really should go.”