Blocked

by Jennifer Lane

  My stomach clenched. That bitch sounded like somebody on Fox News. I popped off my chair and stormed over to the couch. Sure enough, the Fox reporter droned on, “When will this administration stop hiding behind its mistakes? What exactly happened in Yemen? You can be sure we’ll get to the bottom of this mess.”

  “Shut this shit off.” I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then stalked over to the table and seized my beer, knocking back half of it in one gulp.

  Josh studied me as I sat back down. “Your mom’s going to win. Don’t worry.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “Then I’ll have even more agents crawling up my ass.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay he saw us drinking?” Kaitlyn asked. “I mean, like, will he tell my coach?”

  “Not so confident anymore, freshman, huh?” I teased. “Scared about losing your scholarship?” When she paled, I took pity on her. “The agents aren’t supposed to interfere with my life, and they’re sworn to secrecy. So we’re cool.”

  Her second sip conveyed that I’d convinced her. “That blows that you and Lucia have to be protected,” she said. “I heard she’s stuck living in a hotel for preseason.” Kaitlyn grimaced. “That would get old real fast.”

  Josh and I glanced at each other. I’d told him about Lucia crashing my place—hence our presence at his apartment, not mine—but apparently that wasn’t public knowledge yet.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Daddy Adolf will take care of her.”

  Pete shifted in his chair. “Are we gonna play this game or not, children?”

  “Yeah, we are.” Josh shuffled the deck and grinned across the table at Kaitlyn. “The Golden State will win the gold.”

  I snorted. Nobody was better at euchre than I was.

  Five beers, three victorious games, and countless fist pumps later, I strolled out of the apartment toward the SUV. I jumped when Brad fell into step next to me—he must have been standing right outside the apartment, waiting. “Jesus! You mind warning me next time you set up an ambush?”

  “Give me a break—that was hardly an ambush.” We climbed into the backseat.

  China ended her phone call and straightened in the driver’s seat. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror as she turned the ignition. “Awareness of your surroundings goes into the shitter when you’re drunk, Mr. Monroe. It makes it harder for us to protect you.”

  “I’m not drunk.” Happily buzzed, yes. Drunk, no.

  “How many beers did you have?”

  I looked away from the mirror. “None of your damn business.”

  “You are my business.” China pulled our oversized vehicle into traffic. “Everything about you. How would it look if the media discovered you drinking? That would hurt your mother’s campaign, you know.”

  “Every college student drinks.”

  Brad chimed in. “Yeah, but you’re not every college student. You’re the son of the Democratic nominee for president.”

  Brad could be cool, but not when he was around China. It was like she rode the crimson wave every day of the month, and her bitchy hormones seemed to affect everyone around her.

  “Look, I didn’t ask for this, okay? I didn’t ask for freaking chaperones. I already have parents.”

  “Well, your mother’s kind of busy right now,” China said, “and I’ve never even met your father.”

  My face got hot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She looked up in the mirror, and her forehead creased. “Uh, it means I’ve never met your father. What do you think I meant?”

  I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting anything. I kept my mouth shut and looked out the window, pleased to see the convenience store on the corner. We were close to home.

  “I know this situation sucks for you,” Brad said, and I unclenched my fists a little. “Nobody wants supervision round the clock. But we got no choice here. Congress ordered us to protect you, and we follow orders.”

  I sighed. He didn’t know I’d already followed coaches’ orders all my life. I could certainly comply with orders from those I respected. But, like many adults I’d encountered, these two simply hadn’t earned my respect. They were giant pains in my ass.

  “What the hell?” As China slowed down, my buzz vanished. Reporters swarmed the gate of the greenhouse, hovering like angry hornets. Why the fuck were they here? After China’s warning about me hurting my mom’s campaign, I straightened up, then looked down at my shirt to make sure there weren’t any beer stains. I would’ve killed for a breath mint.

  “Shit, they saw us.” Brad blew out a breath, and I realized the SUV had come to a stop. “Go ahead, China. Let’s face the music.”

  “But they’ll come inside the gate if we go in now.”

  Brad grunted. “What choice do we have? If we turn around, they’ll follow us.”

  That sounded pretty good to me—I could stay hidden in the vehicle until I sobered up. “Why don’t we do that?”

  “Because the president of Highbanks University told us to keep a low profile,” China answered. “He threatened to complain to our supervisor if we—” She performed air quotes. “—‘make a scene’ in town.”

  She eased the car forward, much to my unease. A few intrepid reporters jogged toward us.

  “I bet this is about the Yemen thing.” Brad gave me an evil smile. “Maybe they want your opinion.”

  My heart lurched.

  He snickered. “Your drunk-ass opinion.”

  If he weren’t so muscular, I would’ve clocked him.

  “Dane!” one yelled, easily heard through the bulletproof glass.

  “Mr. Monroe! How do you like living with Lucia Ramirez?”

  My stomach clenched, and Brad’s eyebrows shot up.

  “That was fast,” China muttered as she pressed the remote to open the gate. “Who’d you tell about Lucia moving in?”

  “Just Josh! He wouldn’t tell anyone, I swear.”

  One female reporter kept pace with the vehicle, right next to me, and I tried not to stare at her breasts bopping up and down as she jogged. “Is it true Dr. Thompson invited Lucia to live with you?”

  “Or was it your mother who invited her to stay here?” a male reporter shouted from behind me.

  I tried to make sense of the questions hurled at me. Had Mom invited Lucia? Not really—more like she’d allowed her to live with me. We drove through the gate, and I frowned when reporters followed us inside.

  The questions kept coming. “Do you and Lucia work out together?”

  I smirked. As if she could keep up with me.

  China pulled up to the entrance and turned around to glare at me. “Brad and I will hustle you in there. Not one word, Mr. Monroe—got it?”

  “You tell me that every time. I’m not stupid.”

  “No, but you’re under the influence, and I’m not losing my job just because you wanted to tie one on with your buddies.”

  She could lose her job over me having a few beers? I tried to adopt a serious expression, but it was tough amidst the nonstop media questions.

  “What’s it like living with Governor Ramirez’s daughter?”

  I wished I could answer that: Fucking awful.

  “Do you two talk politics?”

  Not unless she wants to show how dumb and wrong she is.

  China opened the driver-side door and dodged some reporters to zoom around the hood of the vehicle just as Brad stepped out. I scooted over to Brad’s side to emerge between the agents—see, I can follow orders—and they marched me toward the front door.

  Above the cacophony I heard one question: “Dane! Are you and Lucia sleeping in the same bedroom?”

  What the fuck? I couldn’t help it—I started laughing. How I wished I could respond to that asinine question! Yeah, we share a bed. We make love every night after practice, for extra cardio.

  China clenched my arm tighter as I chuckled. “Not one word,” she hissed.

  As we passed through the front door, a surprising image flashed i
n my mind: Lucia’s long hair fanned out on the pillow beneath me, her shining eyes watching me as my hands massaged her breasts. I’d bet a crap-ton of money that her nipples were dark. I could hear her soft moans and picture her smooth, caramel skin responding to my touch, her hips bucking as my hands drifted down the centerline of her stomach—

  “Is he drunk?”

  I looked up to see Frank’s ugly scowl. Brad and China let go of me, and I rubbed my scalp, trying to orient myself away from the sexy-time images in my head. The reporters kept yelling stuff beyond the closed door, but thankfully their voices had become fainter.

  “For the last time,” I roared, “I’m not drunk!”

  The object of the reporters’ interest—the one who’d had a starring role in my imagery moments ago—appeared in the hallway. Lucia wore black yoga pants and a fuchsia compression shirt, and dammit if her nipples didn’t strain against the tight fabric.

  “He had some beers, yes,” China told Frank.

  Lucia gasped.

  “Seriously?” I gaped at her. “You’ve never had alcohol?”

  She blinked quickly and her face flushed, but she didn’t answer me. How dare she try to judge me! Will she blab about this?

  “You better not tell my coach I was drinking!”

  She took a step back. “I, I wouldn’t do that.”

  I noticed that she was trembling. “What’s your problem?”

  “Are the reporters gone?” She gulped.

  I walked past Frank to look at the monitors on the wall. “Nope. The bloodsuckers are still out there.” I frowned at her. “Like I told you, now that you’re here, they won’t leave us alone. Thanks for bringing them into our lives.”

  “I didn’t choose to live here!” Her voice shook. “I hate them! I just want to live my life—I hate them watching me every second.”

  I felt the exact same way, and it was only August. I knew it would get much worse as the election neared. “How’d they find out you were here so fast? Who’d you tell?”

  “Nobody!”

  “Are you sure?”

  She paused. “I talked to my dad today, but he wouldn’t say anything. He doesn’t like me living here, so it’s not like he’d advertise it.”

  Why’d she have to bring Adolf into the conversation? I hated talking about him. Except for the times I could rile her up by insulting him—those could be fun, as I recalled. “Aw, he doesn’t like it. Will Big Daddy still let you stay with me?” I suppressed the smile threatening to cut loose.

  When her eyes narrowed into slits, my dick expanded into a tree trunk.

  Frank cleared his throat, and his glare before he walked away let me know how he felt about me.

  Brad took that opportunity to bail as well. “C’mon, China, let’s hit the weights.”

  “I thought you’d never ask. I need to rage after dealing with those reporters.” She followed him to the stocked gym in the basement. This house had everything.

  Now that we were alone in the hallway, my eyes swept up Lucia’s firm body, and I decided to play with her a bit. “Did you hear what one of those reporters said?”

  She studied me with nervous eyes, then shook her head.

  “They asked if we slept in the same bedroom.”

  Her lips parted as she drew a breath, and her face turned a delicious shade of pink. I watched one hand smooth down her thigh, then dart up to the back of her neck. The other hand fidgeted at her side. It looked like she had to force a swallow.

  Sweet Jesus. Her embarrassment totally turned me on.

  “So, um…what did you tell them?” she finally asked.

  Almost painful at this point, my erection pulled me toward her. Her eyes widened as I approached, but she seemed more excited than frightened.

  Her breezy, floral scent mingled with the liquid courage in my veins, and before I knew it I was running my fingers into her thick, damp hair. What the hell am I doing? God, it felt good, and she tilted her ear toward me like she enjoyed it too. There was a cute little dimple on her right cheek that winked at me. I found myself leaning closer to her face, and considering her impressive height, I didn’t have far to go. Her shiny eyes turned back to me, and she gazed up with such yearning, such depth.

  My heart thundered. Stop seducing me, Devil Spawn!

  Those sensuous lips opened for me, their sweetness luring me forward. I held my face over hers, breathing in her smell, and her eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered to me. I stared at her soft features for too long, shocking myself with an insane desire to kiss those sweet lips. Before I totally freaked myself out, I shifted an inch to press a kiss onto her warm cheek, right on her dimple. I could feel her tremble beneath my touch.

  My hand still tangled in her hair, I pulled back to gaze into her mesmerized eyes. “I told them I never kiss and tell.”

  When I let her go, I heard a little squawk of protest. That adorable noise reminded me of the pressure down below—pressure I needed to do something about. I turned and took swift strides down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” Her breathy voice was tinged with desperation.

  I grinned. She was just too easy to mess with.

  After I relieved my little problem, I emerged from my bedroom and followed the sound of the TV to find Allison, one of Lucia’s agents, hunkered down on the sofa watching CNN. When she saw me come in, she bolted upright. “I was just leaving.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I held out my hand. “Stay.” I plopped down next to her. “I need to see if it was obvious I’d been drinking.”

  Allison gestured toward the screen. “I’m expecting them to show video from our front yard any second. Two confrontations in one evening—it’s a banner day for them.”

  “Two confrontations?”

  “They were waiting for us when we got home from practice,” she explained. “Lucia freaked out.”

  I took that in. “It seemed like she was shaking when I saw her. Why?”

  Allison tapped her chin. “She…gets panicked around the media. They’ve said some pretty mean things about her family.”

  “Well-deserved things.”

  Allison shrugged.

  I tilted my head. “Don’t tell me you agree with the jacked-up things her father stands for.”

  “I’m a Democrat, and I’m voting for your mother. I just…I like Lucia. I’ve only known her for a couple of days now, but she’s a sweet girl. She works hard. And it’s tough to see her go through all this just because her dad wants to be president.”

  I stared at the commercial for antidepressant medication. The list of side effects went on forever…just like the side effects of our parents vying to be leader of the free world.

  Allison’s voice lowered. “You haven’t exactly been kind to her, you know. It’s not her fault she had to bail on Texas. It’s not her fault we moved her here.”

  I felt like a limp, deflated volleyball, and I looked away as I chewed the inside of my mouth. My buzz was all but gone now, and I was hungry again.

  The anchorman’s voice drew my attention back to CNN. “An interesting development in the presidential race today, as we show you the home of green energy specialist Dr. James Thompson near the campus of Highbanks University.” I watched an image of Lucia’s SUV inching toward the cameras in the fading light of early evening. “We’ve learned that the son of Democratic nominee Senator Lois Monroe—Dane Monroe—has chosen this location as living quarters for his sophomore year of college.”

  I braced myself as the SUV stopped in front of my house. “But in an amazing show of bipartisan welcome, Senator Monroe invited her opponent’s daughter to share the home when Secret Service had trouble finding secure living quarters for Ms. Ramirez. That’s right, Governor Ramirez’s daughter Lucia will start soon as a freshman at Highbanks and will live in the same home as Dane Monroe, thanks to the generosity of his mother.”

  Lucia emerged from the vehicle with Allison and Frank flanking her. She seemed to flinch at each shouted question.


  “Amazingly, both candidates’ offspring are scholarship volleyball players at the university. Not only do they share a sport, but now they share a home.”

  They cut to my shuffle through a sea of reporters en route to our front door. I leaned forward to scrutinize my TV self, and thankfully it appeared I was sober. The stupid female reporter hollered the question about us sharing a bedroom, and—oh, crap—my massive grin was totally obvious.

  “It appears Senator Monroe’s son is happy about the living arrangement.”

  I cringed and glanced at Allison, who laughed at me.

  The video ended, and the anchorman’s face filled the screen. “With our country bitterly divided on issues, it’s wonderful to see Dane and Lucia putting aside their differences to live together. Perhaps the candidates can learn from their children and treat each other more civilly. Bravo, Senator Monroe.”

  When the reporter moved on to another story, Allison shook her head. “If only he knew how contentious it’s been in this house.”

  I thought back to brushing my lips on Lucia’s soft cheek. Things hadn’t seemed so contentious then.

  Probably mistaking my far-off gaze as me feeling upset. Allison patted my arm. “At least that story knocked the attention off of Yemen.”

  I nodded, then froze. I now had a good idea who had leaked the story about Lucia and me living together.

  Chapter 7

  DAYS LATER, MY HAND ZOOMED from my face to my lap once I realized I was touching my cheek, again. I took a sideways glance at Allison, but thankfully she didn’t seem to have noticed my caress of the spot Dane’s lips had graced. Though the kiss had been a few days ago, I could still feel his warm breath tickle my skin. I could still see his cocky grin as he lingered above me for a moment, gazing into my eyes. My heartbeat had rushed in my ears as I wondered if he would kiss me for real, on the lips this time, aggressive, hot and spicy…

  Then he’d just walked away. He just walked away! And he hadn’t talked to me for three days. His jagged journey from hate, to kiss, back to hate had given me whiplash. Talk about mind games. Apparently Coach Holter had nowhere near the psychological manipulation skills of Dane Monroe.