Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  “You can’t help with the search and rescue.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Do you? Your job here is to provide national leadership, and that unfortunately means, you can’t do things like just show up in a disaster zone.”

  “Yeah.” His frown deepens.

  “Is this about something else?”

  “No. Yes.” He sighs. “Now’s not the time. But I want to be bolder, and simpering, expected, mediocre responses that feel canned and unhelpful—even if right now there’s no way for me to do anything else—it underlines how hampered I feel in this role.”

  Shit. That is something else. He’s been the prime minister for a year, and I know it’s been quite the adjustment for him. He’s young and willful, accustomed to be big, brash wins.

  But this is pretty far outside my wheelhouse if he’s having some kind of… I glance around. Nope, only me. We’re sitting in his office, having a five minute lunch together.

  He gives me a rueful smile. “Right. You can’t advise me on that.”

  “I’m flattered that you’d confide in me.”

  “Bah.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin, then shoves it in the brown paper bag his sandwich came in. “I’m just frustrated and I can trust you. It’ll be fine.”

  Beth knocks at the door and pokes her head in. “It’s time.”

  And then we’re off, for another round of briefings and speeches and decision making so high up, the prime minister can’t do much but throw money at a problem he’d dearly love to try and fix shoulder-to-shoulder with the people on the ground.

  When Gavin goes into the House of Commons for Question Period that afternoon, I head to the gym, but I’m barely ten minutes into my workout when I’m paged by security. I have a visitor, and he’s been through clearance many times before, but he’s not on the expected guest list for today.

  Max Donovan. The prime minister’s best friend, Beth’s favourite person to flirt with before Hugh showed up on the scene, father-to-be with the beautiful Violet, and the man I’ve been dodging for a few weeks.

  He’s waiting outside my office when I get there.

  Apparently he’s committed to planning a bachelor party and no amount of me pretending that isn’t on the agenda is going to make him go away.

  “Lachlan, I was starting to worry you didn’t like me anymore,” he says with an incorrigible pout.

  “I like many things about you, Max.” I open my door and gesture for him to enter. “But our friendship is definitely going to be on the line if you insist on planning any kind of stag night for Gavin.”

  “I’ve been preparing for this event for twenty years. Don’t rob me of the joy.”

  “You didn’t have a bachelor party for your own wedding.”

  He waves his hand dismissively. “Details.”

  “You decorated your holiday party with dildos.”

  “They were festive cocks, not dildos, and that wasn’t me. I gave Corinne free rein with the decorations.”

  Our hockey team’s goalie does like to mix craft and kink, but that’s not the point. “How long did you leave them up after the party?”

  “We got distracted by real life stuff.”

  “Are they still up?”

  He makes a face. “No.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. You and me and Gavin can do a private thing with the hockey team. Not in your dungeon. Not anything kink related. It has nothing to do with who is involved and everything to do with…” I trail off. A bunch of shit Max doesn’t have security clearance for. “Anything can be recorded. Anywhere. We scan 24 Sussex constantly, but anywhere else is just too risky. Not to mention he’s constantly aware of how things look.”

  “Then we’ll bring the party to him.”

  “No strippers.”

  “Fine.”

  “No hookers.”

  “Of course.”

  “No women paid for any reason.”

  “So the pretty little clown I hired to do face painting?”

  “Max.”

  “I got it. Beer and pizza and poker—all proceeds to charity. Is that square enough for you?”

  “That sounds great.”

  “You know what you need, Lachlan?”

  I can’t wait to hear this one. “What?”

  “A sweet little sub to turn that frown upside down.”

  Ha. I grin and point to the door. “Feel free to let yourself out.”

  “I’m telling you, man. You need to find a woman. You’re wound way too tight.”

  “That’s because someone interrupted my workout, the only hour of today I was going to have to myself. I got here at five, picked your best friend up at six, and I’ll be eating dinner right here, too. I’m doing just fine, considering.”

  He gives me a curious look. “What’s going on?”

  Do I have banged two people all weekend long written on my forehead? “I just told you.”

  “I know, but I was mostly projecting from the last year of grumpiness. You’re actually agreeable today.” He snaps his fingers. “You finally got over your hang-up about Beth. Yeah? Are you two…”

  “Get out.”

  “That’s a yes.” He bites his lip as he punches his fist against his hand. “I knew it. Good for you guys.”

  Shit. “Stop. No. Beth…” I take a deep breath. I suck at this. “She doesn’t want anyone to know. We’re dating. Yes. We’re not making a big deal about it. And she freaked out when I mentioned to Gavin that we had dinner together. So keep it under your hat.”

  “Lips sealed.”

  He takes his leave, finally, thankfully, and I wait until the door clicks shut behind him before I groan and pitch the hockey puck stress thingy-ma-jiggy from desk across the room.

  Fuck.

  27

  Beth

  Instead of heading home after a very long, very tense day, I leap on an invitation to go shopping with Sasha Brewster, Ellie’s maid of honour. Well, it’s more window shopping for me, because Sasha’s an honest-to-goodness socialite.

  Sasha and I don’t shop on the same level. We don’t even shop in the same galaxy.

  She seems to think we need an entire new wardrobe for the wedding weekend in British Columbia. I’m happy to watch her tear her way through Holt Renfrew and make notes.

  Plus she’s funny, and not at all quiet.

  Also, nosy. I get a text from Lachlan, and before I can click on it, she’s giving my phone a nosy Parker look. “Who’s the text from?”

  I stick it back in my purse without reading the message. I’m not risking her peeking over my shoulder. “A guy I’m seeing.”

  Her eyes narrow. “If it’s not Lachlan, don’t tell Ellie.”

  I laugh. “Why would you ask who it is if you might not like the answer?”

  “Wishful thinking.”

  “Why does everyone care so much if we get together?”

  “Oh, come on.” She gives me a big, google-eyed look of disbelief. “You know.”

  I take a deep breath. “No. Yes. But no.”

  “You guys are both head over heels for each other.”

  “It’s not that simple.” I’d always known real life was more complicated than fairy tales. I’d never expected this level of complication, but still… “It’s really not that simple.”

  “Was it Lachlan?” She presses her finger to her lips. “Promise I can keep a secret.”

  “From Ellie?”

  “From everyone.” Her expression is drop-dead serious now. “Honestly, you don’t need to tell me. But…if you want to, I’ll be a vault with it. Secret gossip is even better than regular gossip.”

  I weigh the pros and cons of telling her. At some point Ellie might mention it anyway. Hell, Gavin might drunkenly mention it in his wedding speech. Threaten to chuck Ellie’s bouquet at Lachlan’s head or something stupid like that.

  Maybe I should skip the wedding.

  I grit my teeth and nod. “Yes, it was Lachlan. We’re…kind of dating. We’re dating.”


  “What’s the kind of part?”

  “That’s not exactly my secret to share.”

  Her eyes go wide again. “Oh.”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “No, I think it’s something.” She nods slowly. “I like this. Your life is fabulously interesting.”

  She’s not wrong. I give her a wobbly smile. “Hey, where would be a good place to buy lingerie?”

  We end up driving to a high-end boutique—of course—where the owner loves Sasha and gives her a suspiciously high discount on everything in the store.

  Sasha claps like it’s our lucky day, but I think I know better. When we finally collapse in the coffee shop a few doors down, me with my one bag, her with two much larger ones, I take a deep breath. “Did you arrange that somehow? The deal? Did you…help me somehow?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “No. Although yes, sort of. But not like you’re thinking.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Now it’s your turn to keep a secret. Not even Ellie knows this. That shop? I’m her silent partner. I own 49% of it and put up the capital. So she extended my discount to you, but she does the same for Ellie. No secret blinking messages or anything like that.”

  “Oh!” I frown. “And Ellie’s never questioned the discount?”

  She laughs. “She was my roommate for ages. Me getting a discount at a store isn’t an odd experience for her. Other than quite rightly pointing out how the last thing a poor little rich girl needs is a discount on satin and lace, no, she’s never asked.”

  I nod. “So, why is it a secret?”

  Another nose wrinkle. “My father would freak if he found out. The only reason he hasn’t dragged me into the family business is because I’m a full-time student. Starting side projects is definitely not allowed.”

  “Allowed?” Oh, I want to say so much more, but maybe it’s safest if I just echo that single, loaded word.

  She rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s stupid. Totally stupid.”

  I was thinking more like disturbingly controlling, but sure, totally stupid works, too. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I hate it. But he’s my dad. And until I decided I didn’t want anything to do with his business, we were two peas in a pod.”

  “That’s…real life, though. You don’t get everything you want without any consequences for your decisions…” I trail off. Shit. I’m the last person to be giving anyone a lecture on playing Pollyanna. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  She just shrugs. “You’re not wrong. I know I need to have that come to Jesus conversation with him. Soon.”

  “Bah. Whatever. Live your life as long as you can, the way you want to.”

  She lifts one eyebrow in a coolly patrician way I’m sure I couldn’t pull off. “That sounds like a hint at your fabulously interesting life I want to know more about.”

  “Nice try.” I wink. “So. Anything more I need to do for the wedding shower?”

  We talk about flowers—can’t hurt to have lots—and sugar cookie favours—cute in concept, but does anyone really want to take cookies home?—and then we give Violet a quick call to loop her in, too. Everything is coming together nicely, which is good, because we’re down to the wire.

  Of course, I’ve been delightfully distracted.

  When Sasha excuses herself to the washroom, I check Lachlan’s text—and am very glad I waited until I was alone to read it.

  Lachlan: Max guessed that we’re seeing each other. I’m not very good at keeping you a secret.

  My frustration is definitely tempered by the second line. More than I expected. There’s a weird, warm sensation blooming in my chest, actually.

  Beth: Okay. Thank you for telling me.

  Beth: I’m out with Sasha right now. She’s on the guessing warpath, too.

  Lachlan: Maybe unavoidable.

  Beth: But complicated…

  He sends a dorky smiling cartoon in response. I don’t know how to decode that, but if he’s not stressed, then I won’t be, either.

  I flip to my contacts and click on Hugh’s name.

  Beth: Hey.

  Not the most original opening line, but I don’t know how to lead with So people are starting to assume Lachlan and I are a couple and how do you feel about that when we’re both pretty obsessed with getting you naked?

  Hugh: Evening, beautiful. Long day, eh?

  Beth: Yeah. I’m out shopping now, though.

  Hugh: Buy anything indecent?

  We text back and forth about my shopping trip and I promise to send him anonymous lingerie pictures when I get home. Before I can bring up the point of why I started texting him, Sasha returns and I shove the phone back in my bag.

  We’ll pick that back up again when I get home. And maybe by then I’ll have found my backbone.

  28

  Hugh

  When I moved to Ottawa two months ago, I took the first available one-bedroom, short-lease apartment recommended to me.

  It’s perfectly fine for my purposes, which consist of sleeping, eating, working out, and getting changed.

  I don’t even have a TV. The guy who sublet my place in Toronto offered me a decent price for all my living room stuff, and it made moving a hell of a lot easier.

  Now I’m sitting on my weight bench—the only furniture in the main room of my apartment—and trying not to think about how long it might take Beth to get back to her place from the coffee shop.

  I’m way too eager to keep texting with her.

  Hell, if she invited me over tonight, I’d be there in a heartbeat, even though we both have to work first thing in the morning. I’m definitely in that early phase of a new relationship where sleep is optional and every encounter leaves me feeling a bit lightheaded and giddy.

  Maybe that’s why I like dating so much. I’m a perpetual teenager inside, riding the emotional highs like I’m surfing in the Pacific Ocean. Sure, there’s an epic wipeout that’s almost always inevitable, but it’s worth it for the rush.

  But this restlessness, this eagerness, is unusual even for me.

  When my phone vibrates, I jump. I’m grinning like a fucking idiot as I swipe in to read the message.

  Beth: Home. Just tried this one on.

  The attached picture is pretty tame, but it gets my blood pumping all the same. Red silk, creamy skin. I shift all the way to the end of the weight bench so I can lie down on it, and I brace myself by spreading my legs wide.

  I’m only wearing gym shorts, so reaching in and cupping my thickening dick is easy. Texting back with just my thumb proves a bit harder.

  Hugh: Gorgeous. Still wearing it?

  Beth: Trying on another.

  High: Pic pls.

  She readily complies. The next picture is cleavage, with a tantalizing shadow. My mouth waters.

  Hugh: That makes me hard. And hungry.

  Beth: I’ll wear them this weekend.

  Hugh: I can’t wait. You’re crazy hot.

  Beth: And you are very kind.

  Hugh: I’m jerking off right now. Who’s kind?

  Beth: I’m blushing!

  Hugh: Good.

  Beth: Are you in bed?

  Hugh: Soon.

  Beth: Me too.

  I picture her stripping out of the satin and stretching out naked on her bed, and I tighten my grip on myself. Tonight isn’t the night for raunchy phone sex.

  Fuck, it pains me to say that.

  We’re both off the clock for a few hours and she bought sexy underthings.

  She’s practically begging for me to whisper in her ear until she comes with her hand jammed between her soft thighs.

  Beth: So… good night, then

  Hugh: Wait

  Beth: Waiting…

  Hugh: Can I call you?

  Beth: Sure.

  The smiley face she adds is adorable. Fuck it. I’ll make it quick.

  The next day, the PM’s schedule is as expected, but there’s a tension simmering on the Hill because we all know he’s going to Beaumo
nt at some point. It’s like someone’s pulled the pin on a logistical grenade, and is just holding the hammer down.

  Throw it already.

  But that’s not how natural disaster visits work. I’m vaguely aware of this from being on the other end of them. The flooding in Manitoba, an ice storm in Quebec.

  When the afternoon hits and we’re pretty sure it’s not going to happen today, I head to the gym to try and shake off my funk, but the punishing workout doesn’t help.

  Lachlan comes into the change room as I’m getting out of the shower. We’re not alone, and he doesn’t even glance at the towel slung low around my waist.

  As queer men, this is engrained in us from before we understand that we’re different than the expected norm. For me, the passing as straight, passing as a bro, is something I still bristle at on the inside. It’s flashbacks to high school, to bullying, to sick feelings and worry and distrust.

  It’s easy right now to pretend we’re not looking at each other because it’s unprofessional and this is our workplace. That’s not a lie.

  It’s just not the whole truth.

  I leave before he gets his stuff in his locker and has a chance to turn around.

  The restless ache gets worse, and when he texts me ten minutes later, I want to ignore it. Maybe show him, show me, that I can master this feeling.

  I tell myself it’s a choice that I still look at his message anyway.

  Lachlan: Want to grab a coffee after work?

  The instinct to say no is strong. I shove it down.

  Hugh: Yeah. Beth up for it too?

  Lachlan: She says not until the weekend. I’m standing at her desk.

  Hugh: I thought you were going to work out.

  Lachlan: Nah. Just had a quick shower. I’m off the clock until the morning, though. Meet at seven at my place?

  Ah. “Coffee”.

  Hugh: Sure.

  Lachlan presses me up against the wall in his foyer and kisses me like a man dying of thirst and I’m an oasis.