“Can I see you again?” he’d asked, all hopeful twenty-year-old hormones.
She nodded, and he took out his phone to get her number.
“Walk me back to the dorm?” she asked then, and his heart nearly flew out of his chest and did a loop de loop around the room.
That night had ended with a steaming-hot kiss and some minor groping outside her dorm, but they hadn’t slept together for several more weeks. Because he’d been so certain that she was the one, he’d not felt any rush. He enjoyed every moment of getting to know her, every touch and kiss and conversation. And when they’d finally made love, he knew it was forever. He never worried about it again, so confident was he in their future. But then Thanksgiving break rolled around and she took him home to meet her family, and for the first time since they’d gotten together, he felt discomfited, like there might be forces beyond his control that could conspire to separate them.
Deanna’s parents were wealthy, white, and scared. Scared of losing their daughter, scared of the unknown, scared that somehow people like Teague—people who weren’t rich and white—were going to take something away from them. It was a mindset he’d encountered thousands of times since that first fateful Thanksgiving with Dee’s family. The idea that America was a pie and if more people wanted to eat dessert, then everyone would get a smaller slice.
He’d fought it in law school, fought it as he climbed the ranks of his firm, and fought it today in the Judiciary Committee chambers when Congress’s oldest, most conservative senator had asked him why he thought he deserved to have a seat on the nation’s highest court? Teague had studied transcripts from the last four confirmation hearings so that he would understand the nature of the questions they asked. This particular senator had been at all four of those confirmation hearings, and not once had he asked the white nominees why they thought they deserved to have a seat. It was a given that anyone who’d made it to the point of being a presidential nominee was qualified. The confirmation hearings were about discovering the nominee’s constitutional views and sussing out if he or she had any potential conflicts of interest that would undermine their ability to rule fairly.
But Teague had to justify even being nominated, because he didn’t look like a typical nominee. Yes, he’d been dealing with people like Dee’s parents for most of his adult life, but none of them had ever had the upper hand on him the way the Forbeses did. And, goddamn, had they used it. He still didn’t know what exactly they’d said to her, but it had been enough. Enough to scare her into leaving him, ending that incredible thing they’d shared. Enough to leave him searching for it for seemingly endless years, until one day he’d woken up and decided that it wasn’t in the cards for him. He’d never find it again.
So he’d stopped looking.
He’d had bed buddies, women who were as ambitious and sophisticated as him. Sure things that he knew would never expose him to the press or the DC gossip machine, because they had as much to lose as he did.
Then he’d looked out from the podium at that press conference, and all those hopes and feelings he’d buried had come rushing back. He wanted again. Wanted everything he’d had with her, and more. The only question was, could he trust her enough to chase it?
“Teague?” His secretary’s voice came through the intercom.
He sighed and spun his chair to face the desk. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“I was about to head home. Do you need anything before I go?”
He looked at the online calendar that filled his computer screen. “No, I have that breakfast meeting with Senator Jones, so you won’t see me until later tomorrow.”
“Yep, I have it down. And I’ve cleared out an hour tomorrow afternoon for your phone call with the president.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing. See you tomorrow!”
He leaned back, watching the screen saver take over his monitor, squiggly lines appearing all over the calendar before it dissolved completely.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He wasn’t going to be able to get any work done, and he knew it. In fact, he wasn’t going to be able to get anything done until he’d taken care of what he needed to—specifically, burying himself balls deep in Deanna Forbes. He had no idea what would happen after that part, but he didn’t even care at this point. He had to see her, touch her, hear her again, or he was going to lose his damn mind.
He stood, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack on his way out and hitting speed dial four on his phone at the same time. “Jeff?” he said as he made his way to the elevator. “I need an address for someone.”
Teague thanked the Lyft driver and stepped onto the curb in front of a small, tidy brownstone near U Street. The building was a duplex, and he made his way to the left side, where he found three intercom buttons and pressed the one labeled Forbes.
The sun had set two hours ago, and the night was cool, a slight breeze blowing the leafy trees that lined the sidewalk. He looked up at the windows facing the front of the building and saw two that were lit.
“Yes?” Deanna’s voice came over the intercom.
“Dee, it’s me. Can we talk?”
He was greeted with silence for a few moments, and he started to contemplate how he would get inside so that she’d have to listen to him, when the buzzer sounded, and he quickly pushed the door open and headed up the stairs, reaching the top at the same time she opened her door.
“Hi,” she said softly, making him ache to touch her.
“Can I come in? We need to talk.”
“Um, okay.” She stepped aside, and he walked into her apartment. The first time he’d been in a space that was hers in twelve long years. It smelled like her—fresh, floral—and he looked around, thirsty for any clue about who she was now, what mattered to her, how she spent her time.
On the walls hung framed photographs, mostly black-and-white, famous journalistic pictures—soldiers in war, celebrations after world events, children’s faces in the midst of natural disasters. It was an impressive collection, and beautiful.
In contrast to the black-and-white photos, her sofa was a deep scarlet, suede with plush cushions and one end extending into a chaise lounge. The open room also had a kitchen at one end and a small dining area.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, nervously tugging on one of her long curls.
“You have a beer?”
“Yeah, I can manage that.”
She walked to the kitchen, separated from the living room only by a long breakfast bar. After getting the beer out, she held up a glass, silently asking him if he wanted it.
“Just the bottle’s fine,” he answered.
Once they were settled on the sofa, her too far away for his liking, he took a long draught of the cold IPA.
“You ran away after the hearing,” he said, giving her a dark look.
She flushed, and he tried not to grin.
“Teague, what happened in the train—”
“Was only a little taste of what it’ll be like the next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Like hell there won’t,” he answered confidently, taking another swallow of his beer.
Her eyes narrowed, and he smiled at her. He wasn’t a Supreme Court nominee because he gave up on what he wanted.
“I realize that we have a lot of…chemistry. We always did, but we’re not twenty years old anymore. There’s too much water under the bridge, and a history that’s simply too destructive.”
“You’re overthinking things,” he answered, shifting so that he was closer to her. He saw her stiffen as he did it, but he also saw the flush work its way down her throat, where her pulse fluttered like a small bird being hunted.
“Where exactly do you see this going?”
“To your bedroom,” he answered casually.
She gasped, her eyes widening, pupils dilating.
“And after that?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Why do we have to decide something like t
hat right now? I want you. I know you want me. Let’s do something about that.”
She shook her head. “No. You don’t seem to understand. Maybe you can do that—just sleep with me and not worry about the consequences, but I’m not wired that way—”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never slept with someone just because you wanted to? Worry about the consequences later?”
“Of course I have—”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“They weren’t you!” she cried out.
He stared, waiting for her to elaborate, even as his heart was beating hard beneath his dress shirt.
“I was in love with you. It ended badly, but those feelings didn’t just disappear. Sleeping with you—I can’t risk having those feelings unearthed when there’s no future for us. I understand that you don’t have any lingering feelings to deal with, but—”
He was over her in a moment, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. And his mood shot from confident and cocky to angry and resentful in a split second.
“No lingering feelings?” he hissed, inches from her luscious lips. “Jesus, what fucking planet are you living on?”
She watched him, her eyes wide, lower lip between her teeth.
He ran a finger along her cheek, his voice low and rough, still angry, but sad too.
“You left me with no say, no choice, no alternatives. You fucking tore my heart out and walked away with it, Deanna Forbes. Don’t you dare say I didn’t have any lingering feelings—that I don’t have any lingering feelings. I’ve never…” He took a deep breath, struggling to contain the cocktail of emotions that threatened to choke him. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “That. Right there. That’s why we can’t sleep together. Look at you. You’re furious. And you should be. I did the worst thing to you that someone could. I betrayed you and everything we meant to each other, all because of some ugly words my parents said to me. I poisoned us, and there’s no way to come back from that.”
His heart thudded once hard, then pinched painfully. Because he was afraid she was right. Deathly afraid that if he did anything other than sleep with her, she’d ruin him again. Here she was reminding him of just how dangerous she was. And when the snake said, “Remember, I bite,” you were a fool to ignore it.
He gazed into her eyes then, drinking in the soft light there, inhaling the scent of her, letting the heat between them wash over him one last time. Then he muttered, “Fuck,” pushed away from her and stormed out the door, slamming it in his wake, taking the stairs two at a time before he spilled out onto the sidewalk. And as he strode down the block to the corner where he was able to grab a taxi, all Teague could think was that he’d never wanted to be bitten twice more in his life.
“Simpson isn’t going to budge,” Kamal said as he looked at Teague across the large antique desk that dominated the office of the First Gentleman.
“But if we can get the junior senators from Alabama and Nebraska, we don’t need him,” Teague answered from where he was uncharacteristically sprawled in an armchair, tie askew and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.
“Assuming that everyone on our side votes party lines. I’m concerned about Evans and Miller.”
Teague sighed. Normally, he would be all over this. Plotting, planning, strategizing. It was something he loved, but ever since his conversation with Deanna four days ago, he couldn’t manage to care about it all. This was his future, and all he could think about was the look in her eyes when she talked about “lingering feelings.”
“And then the president told me to drop my trousers and moon the press if they were going to ask for a statement on Middle East relations.”
“What?” Teague sat up in his chair, pinning Kamal with a glare.
Kamal grinned. “Oh, are you back in the room now? I thought you’d left for the day.”
“Sorry. I’m not in top form today.”
Kamal sat forward, leaning his elbows on the desktop. “I can see that. Is it the hearings? Or something else getting to you?”
Teague debated whether to tell Kamal or not, but his chest ached, and he was so damn tired of keeping parts of himself hidden. Maybe just this once, he could unburden a bit.
“It’s Deanna Forbes…”
Kamal smiled sympathetically. “I’m not surprised.”
Teague snorted. “What, are you psychic now that you live in the White
House?”
“Hardly. But I saw the look on your face when you talked about her last week,
and I noticed you doodling big letter Ds on your legal pad during our meeting with the Chair of the Judiciary Committee this afternoon. You’re like a teenage girl pining away.”
Teague flipped off the First Gentleman, reminding him that no matter how important he got, they were still the kind of friends for whom the only position honored was that of Powerplay club member.
“We’ve had a few ‘encounters,’ if you will.”
“Yes, I think the president and I had some of those encounters early on in our relationship.”
Teague made a gagging motion at his mouth. “Will you please stop talking about the president of the United States that way? I feel like you’re defiling the mother of Christ every time you do.”
Kamal laughed. “I can attest to the fact that she’s no virgin—” Teague groaned in disgust, then put his hand over his face, rubbing it briskly.
“Moving on,” Kamal said, “tell me what’s going on with you and the lovely reporter?”
Teague straightened his tie, pulling the knot up tighter. Stalling, really. “Our history is complicated.”
“Aren’t all histories?”
Teague nodded, because there was some truth to that and it made him think for just a moment that perhaps he and Deanna weren’t all that different from other ex-lovers.
Kamal didn’t say anything, just watched, and waited for Teague to make the next move.
“It really messed with my head for a while after she dumped me. If I’m being completely honest, I think it might have messed with my head permanently.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I don’t believe that the world can see me for who I am. Everyone I meet, every person I come in contact with each day sees one thing—the color of my skin.”
Kamal nodded. “I’m fortunate that I came from a place where everyone looked like me, but I’ve spent the majority of my life in places where they didn’t, so I understand some of what you’re talking about.”
“But even though she did that to me—left me, made me that man, the dark man who wasn’t good enough—even after she’s been gone for over a decade, I’m still drawn to her, and it’s making me crazy. I’m not self-destructive. Why the hell would I want to be around someone who sees me as something inferior?”
“Why do you think?” Kamal asked, sounding a lot like a therapist.
“Because we can’t control who we love.”
Kamal nodded. “I agree.”
“And because it was her parents who convinced her that my race mattered. I don’t know what they said, but she’s admitted they did say something. And that she bought into it is something I’m not sure I can ever forget.”
Kamal stood and walked to the window, looking out at the White House lawn for a long moment.
“But can you forgive?” he asked, finally turning to look at Teague.
Teague rolled that around in his consciousness for a while, contemplating it, testing it out. “I’m not sure. There’s a part of me that really wants to try. I’m just worried that it’s the part below my waist and not the part above my neck.”
Kamal burst out laughing. “Men have forgiven women a hell of a lot throughout history when thinking with their dicks.”
Teague chuckled and realized that it felt good—to confide in his friend, and put his personal problems into perspective. He wasn’t the only man to have problems with a woman he loved, and he needed
to be reminded of that sometimes.
“Maybe,” Kamal said tentatively, “You need to find out exactly what was said between her and her parents. I don’t want to give you advice when I have no comparable experiences to draw from—I wasn’t raised black in this country—but maybe just for your own peace of mind, it would help to finally hear the whole story?”
Teague nodded. “I think you might be right. I think one way or another, it’s time to put the whole thing to rest.”
“Or to bed, as the case may be,” Kamal quipped.
Teague rolled his eyes, but internally, his heart fluttered the tiniest bit. Could the whole truth give him a chance he didn’t think he’d have but wanted so very much? The chance to forgive Deanna and look to the future? A future that might include her?
Chapter 9
He was waiting for her when she came walking up the block to her apartment building. She saw him before he saw her, and she slowed her pace, watching the way his shoulders slumped as he leaned over, elbows on his knees. He looked tired, defeated, not at all the man who stood up at the White House with complete confidence that he was the right man for the job.
And she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done that to him.
She was midway up the block when he turned and looked at her, and if she’d had a camera, she would have taken a picture to remember that brief instant when his eyes landed on her and he looked at her like he used to, like she was his world. It sent sparks through her chest and tingles down her arms.
“You seem to keep finding your way to my front steps,” she said, stopping and looking at him with suspicion.
He stood, towering over her, and she couldn’t control how her body seemed to sway toward him.
“I’m sorry for storming out of here like I did.” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “I need to ask you something. I’m hoping you’ll let me.”
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